Week 10: Conversations

Having spent a few lovely days in Sucre and the last one just with Jen and Eefje, it was time for me to go on by myself again. In the morning I bought my bus ticket to Samaipata, a small town and the location of some pre-Inca ruins. After another emotional goodbye, and a parting gift of my sunglasses to Jen, who broke hers on a tree the previous day, a got onto the bus and readied myself for an uncomfortable journey. Here is where I met Gulo, a Bolivian who lives in Santa Cruz. I had what I felt to be my first proper conversation in Spanish. We talked about family and the city - it was hardly sophisticated but I understood 90% of everything he said to me and managed to say everything I wanted to say. I am pretty sure he watched me when I had a wee at the side of the road but let's pretend he didn't.

I felt like a real traveller when at 0300 the bus stopped in a ghost town and I was informed this was my stop. Gulo gave me a piece of paper with his number on and told me to call him to meet up when I arrived in Santa Cruz. I sort of... err.. lost it. After half an hour I managed to find somewhere to stay but wasn't able to sleep - despite it being the first night in some months I had a whole room to myself - typical.
The following morning I went for a short run, as I am still easing back into it and after a relaxed lunch taking in the square I went to the ruins. I had to rush them a little as I wanted to arrive in Santa Cruz before nightfall. However they were very interesting, particularly the rock carvings.

After a cramped 3hr car journey I arrived in Santa Cruz and having had an extremely sweaty walk I arrived at a hostel I had been recommended, only to realise that it had a swimming pool! I had some (very strong) mojitos with the other girl from my room - an American called Rhen who was studying in Cochabamba, also Bolivia. We ended up chatting for a while before deciding it would be a smart idea to get takeaway pizza. We got on really well and the conversation flowed freely (the bottle of wine we bought probably helped) and somehow we got from pizza to politics with any number of topics under the sun along the way.

The following day I woke up and realised I was pretty sick. I had one cold slice of pizza late in the evening but that was all I ate the whole day. It is the first time I have really got sick since I started travelling so I count myself lucky. I spent the day recovering and reading Price Caspian before getting an early night - I must have been out like a light because I didn't hear anyone come in.

A fair in the park down the road from my hostel

Mostly recovered the next day I went for a bimble into town and sat on a bench in the square, reading. I noticed a man kept looking at me. "Here we go again" I think. And it was, but not quite as I thought. After a few minutes he walked over: "allemania?" ("german?") he asked me. Just the week before at the salt flats a woman had sidled up to me and simply said "aus Deutschland?" ("from Germany?"). I told him I wasn't and he explained to me that he had received a letter in German and couldn't read it. Luckily for him I told him I could read it. Unluckily my spanish isn't that great. Luckily he speaks Italian. So there we are on the park bench: an English girl reading a German letter to a Bolivian man, in Italian. Mind. Blown. Also realised how bad my italian has got since picking up Spanish. He tells me his name is Desiderio and we go for an ice cream (note to self and others: do NOT go to a Bolivian ice cream parlour. It is an awful experience.) and then to the market before amicably parting ways.

The church in Santa Cruz main square

In the evening I catch the overnight train to the border with Brazil. It is surprisingly comfortable - my best overnight journey so far. They do however play the film "The Call" right before bed - basically a guy kidnaps blonde haired girls and scalps then kills them to make wigs for his dead sister. Creepy, and not really pre-sleep viewing.

The next couple of hours after disembraking from the train are a horrible blur. Despite being a border town it is nigh on impossible to change any money; the banks are so full of people you can barely get in (and, as I later discover, it wouldn't have mattered anyway as my card only works with one Brazilian bank) and I almost miss the bus to Rio. Thankfully I have the help of Lázara, a local woman who is insistent that she will help me. It's a good thing she does or I think I could have been stuck there for some time. At a push I manage to board the bus to Rio. It takes 29 painstakingly slow hours. Probably because the driver seems to insist on stopping every hour and a half. On the bus I meet Giovanni, an Italian with a lopsided beard who looks as though he has been travelling for much longer than 2 months. We share in each others discomfort and annoyance at stopping all the time. There was a toilet on the bus for goodness sake!

I eventually arrive in Rio de Janeiro in the early evening and after my epic 46 hour journey give in and get a cab to my hostel. A few hours later, my friend Lou arrives, having flown from London, and I cheer up a great deal.

This week has not been the most interesting (note the number of pictures) in terms of sights but it has been interesting meeting people from all walks of life and in all sorts of situations. The following days of "Holiday from travelling" and "Holiday" have been greatly anticipated by myself and Lou respectively - Brazil I hope you are ready for us!