Subject: Going shopping

Going shopping.

Since Samaipata (The lovely little town where we live) does not have so

called cosmopolitan shopping possibilities, we make a "shopping trip"

every once in a while to Santa Cruz.

In Santa Cruz you can get just about anything you ever wantedÉ If you

can find it.

The only thing they do not have (as far as I have discovered) is

instant pancake-mix and this is a serious problem for a box-cooker like

me (A box-cooker is a person who cooks from a boxÉ Just add water and

your sauce, pancake mix, bread dough etc is ready)

ButÉ I will learn to live without it. I am a well educated person with

a world of experiences, so pancake-mix, or actually the absence of it,

can not harm me (much).

Anyway. So we went shopping in Santa Cruz. It is a quit beautiful 130

Km drive through the foothills of the mighty Andes. Wonderful views and

quiet little villages from one hairpin-curve to an other. It usually

takes 2 to 3 hours.

I say usually because there is a reason I write about this little

shopping-trip.

After two days in Santa Cruz we were ready to leave this large, busy

and warm city, but I received a rather disturbing phone call from a

friend who happens to live in Santa Cruz and has a

television (and

actually uses it).

A bridge had collapsed due to the heavy rain. Don't get the wrong

impression, bridges are not that badly build that rain can make them

collapseÉ But the water from just about the entire Andes-mountains has

to pass underneath this bridge, and as a result after several days of

heavy rain it had just washed away leaving a rather unpleasant gap

between the two pieces of road that we wanted to use to get back home.

The news also mentioned that an alternative route was being created and

would hopefully be ready by the end of the day if it stopped raining.

WellÉ No problem. We just told our hotel-receptionist we would not be

leaving and enjoyed some more smelly, noisy and mostly wet city-life.

Wet, because it was still raining as if Noah was going for a test ride

in his new arc.

Since my partner Frank would arrive the next day from a tour in Chile

we decided to wait for him and then make some plans concerning our

little drive back home to Samaipata. The new alternative road would

surely be ready by then.

So, there we were, the three of us, on the way to "the bridge" to have

a look. We had already heard the nasty rumors that the alternative road

would take a few days to a week to be build, but we wanted to see for

our selves what was happening.

It so happened that we picked up a conversation between two

truck-drivers about a sneaky, secret road to an old river-crossing that

might still be usable, so we decided to follow them which turned out to

be a good idea.  20 minutes later we stood at the side of a, not to

large, rather fast flowing, brown, foaming, roaring river crossing.

It looked pretty awful, but just as we attached a towing cable to the

end of the car so the truck could pull us out if things went ape-shit

(this means very wrong), a small 4-wheel drive jeep drove straight

through it, making us look like a bunch of weenies. A bit humiliating,

but also very reassuring. If their small jeep could make it, our 4X4

pickup-truck would have no troubles at allÉ except for a bit of mud on

the paint..

And soÉ 3 minutes later we had crossed the wild roaring river. An other

5 minutes later the trucks had done the same and we were on our merry

way againÉ for about 500 meters.

Bolivia is also known as the land of roadblocks. When ever people don't

agree with the government, the mayor or the almighty himselfÉ they

block a road and truly believe this solves something. In reality all it

does is creating more problems, mostly for innocent people that just

happen to be passing byÉ Like us.

Yes, on this godforsaken deserted muddy back road, that had not been

used for the last 50 years there was a roadblock. Some local nut-heads

had figured

out that sooner or later people would start to use this

road again and they wanted the mayor to know that this road needed to

be better maintained. It was a good thing I had not brought my 12'

shotgun with some widespread elephant shellsÉ The atmosphere might have

become a bit less friendly.

But, luck was on our side. Just as we had turned around a small convoy

of governmental vehicles drove by. Not just the mayor, but also the

prefect himself were present to inspect this bypass and negotiate with

the blockaders (the people that had blocked the road). And even better,

just in case negotiations would fail they had brought there own rather

large bulldozer.

To my enjoyment the bulldozer did not even bother to negotiate, but

just created a new road through all the rubbish.

Frank, with his extraordinary conversational skills arranged with the

mayor and the prefect that we could hook up with their little convoy

and just like that, we were on the way again.

After some nasty slippery muddy tracks we reached the main road where

only a fat steel cable separated us from the road itself. But have no

fearÉ the bulldozer came blasting by after a short wait (Bulldozers

tent to go a bit slower then cars) and quickly the cable was history.

Extremely grateful we said goodbye to our short but loved companions in

the government convoy and continued our journey home.

No, do not fear6 This story is not over yet.

Leaving the flatlands of Santa Cruz we entered the mountains and the

road started to wind itself around endless curves. EndlessÉ until the

first landslide. But luck was on our side again. Not only one of the

trucks we had started out with had made it this far, also a bulldozer

was working its way trough the 1 meter high wall of mud that blocked

the road and 15 minutes later we were moving again.

Since the road was completely empty, remember there was no bridge and

we were the only 3 or 4 cars that had made it through, a huge boa

constrictor had chosen to take a sunbath on the road. Of course we

stopped to tear the hairs out of our heads for not having a camera (we

actually did the same when we saw the collapsed bridge).

The snake was at least 10 cm thick and almost 2 meters long, the

largest I have seen in the wild. Apparently it was not used to this

amount of attention and slowly it moved out from the road into the

forest. I was sad to see it go, but was glad I had seen it at all.

Continuing our drive we passed several small landslides, but nothing to

big or to scary to pass. At one point we could see a complete

mountaintop slide down the slopes, an awesome sight. Imagine that some

of those landslides are 100 meters wide and crash down the mountain for

600 or 800 meters dragging down everything in their path. Ju

st pretend

a snow-avelange to be brown and you get the idea.

After things had settled down a bit, and we had pulled out the last few

remaining hairs again for not having a camera,  we passed the place,

but luckily it had not reached the road.

Further down the road itself had slid down a bit and of course broke in

half doing so, but there was enough space to (carefully) pass.

Next came a spot with two landslides coming from opposite directions

and colliding at the lowest spot (the road), creating a 3 meter high

wall of muddy clay complete with trees and bushes, but a bulldozer had

already made a path.

And thenÉ

Less then 30 Km from Samaipata, we spotted trouble. A line of cars,

busses and trucks. They were not there to enjoy the view, although at

that spot the view is fantastic, they were there because they had no

other place to go.

The road was cut in half over a length of 50 meters. One half was still

there, hanging onto the mountain-side. The other half was resting 100

meters lower, halfway down the slope that went on for an other 200

meters (OK, technically that is not halfway, but this is what is called

literary freedom).

Apart from this, there where the road was still complete, it was

covered with mud and dirt (and trees and other unidentifiable stuff)

and next to it was, working franticly, a tiny little bulldozer.

Well, of course the tiny littl

e bulldozer was big enough, but compared

to the landslide it just did not stand a chance. (The landslide was

about 3 meters high and 60 meters long.) Even while it was working,

more mud slid down the slope. It looked hopeless and that is how we

felt.

Even, when after 15 minutes big brother (a bulldozer 3 times the size

of the tiny one) arrived things did not look to well. The bulldozer

worked franticly, crashing itself into the wall of dirt and mud, but

each time it took out s scoop the size of a small swimming pool, it did

not seem to amount to much.

We decided to go back to a small village we had passed 10 Km earlier to

have a bite to eat (by now it was 18:00, we had left Santa Cruz around

noon) and then come back in 1 or 2 hours to see how things were going.

A few Taxi drivers left there cars and passengers and jumped into the

back.

Bermejo, itself a tiny town in the middle of awesome red sandrock

formations, was crowded with people by now. As we settled down in the

only restaurant and enjoyed our meal, we discussed our options. Rumors

went around that there were more landslides up ahead and chances of

getting through were getting slim. Especially when we saw the bulldozer

return just as we drove back again to check out the progress. For 15

minutes we speculated wether he had finished the job, had run out of

fuel, had no lights (it was dark no

w) of worked on union-hours but as

soon as we reached the area and saw the row of vehicles unmovable we

knew enough. Time to find a place to sleep.

Back in Bermejo we visited "Gingers paradise", a small alternative farm

with hostal run by a friend where we could spend a comfy nightÉ. If

only he was at home which of course he was not as we discovered after

crossing the flimsy suspension bridge, in the dark (on foot) that

crossed the raging river. Even worseÉ The trail to his house had turned

into a small river aswel and there was no way of getting there in the

pitch black night it now had become. Gingers Paradise had turned to

hell.

After some asking we found a room, with no door or windows, no light,

no bed and no mattressÉ. But it did have a roof and space to lay down

some blankets to sleep on.

Frank decided the car would be more comfy.

And so we spent the night. 40 Km from our warm and comfortable beds in

Samaipata. 12 hours after we left Santa Cruz for the 130 km drive home.

The next morning we took it slow. Very slow. No need to hurry back to a

place where we would have to wait while here at least we had a table

and, more important, coffee.

Around 10:00 we decided to go and look for some fuel. While driving up

and down and through all those muddy tracks we used up a lot of this

valuable liquid and the nearest fuel stati

on was in Samaipata. The

second nearest just behind the collapsed bridgeÉ so both were slightly

out of reach.

Unfortunately the two (unofficial) places that sold fuel in the village

were empty. So the adventure became just a bit more adventurous.

Slowly we drove to the place of the big landslide and, since we wanted

to check it out, passed the now long line of cars and trucks that were

stuck. Lucky us. Just as we came close to the front of the line we were

told to move to the side because the large bulldozer had finished its

work and was on its way back down. How about that for timing!

By now there was also a long line of trucks and cars on the other side.

A slight problem since, as you probably remember, half the road had

slid 100 meters down the slope and was therefore difficult to use. So

we all had to use the other half that was trying desperately to hang on

to its present location. Large cracks predicted not much good.

On the other hand we were happy to see this long line of cars because

it also meant that the rest of the road was now also cleared of

landslidesÉ for now.

Since we happened to be almost at the front of the line it took only

about 15 or 30 minutes to cross. Loudly cheering we continued the way,

only slightly concerned about our fuel situation.

With 50 Km/h we crawled up, higher and higher counting down the

remaining kilometers u

ntil we reached the outer limit of the cellular

phone network of Samaipata (In Bolivia there is no such thing as

complete coverange). Again a loud cheer. At least now we could phone

for fuel if we ran out.

An other 15 minutes later we rolled into the gasoline station in

SamaipataÉ 24 hours after we started this 2 or 3 hour trip.

Life in Bolivia is never boring.

Maarten & Tip

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