Death Proof

Now you can call me Old Mr Picky if you like, but when a transport company, say for instance a bus company, tenders a specific duration of journey time, say for instance three hours, I would like to think that said journey would be completed in and around that given period. Well, based on these apparently insane assumptions it was disappointment all round for my recent bus journey from Puno to La Paz - the first of my destinations in Bolivia. So after telling me it would take no longer than three hours I arrived in the middle of the night after an eight hour journey, complete with two changes of bus and a little boat trip thrown in for good measure. I'm really not sure why this compulsive lying occurs - I'm going to these destinations anyway and would buy the ticket regardless of the time it takes. No sense means nonsense and here is a prime example of why.

La Paz is said, by some people, to be the capital of Bolivia. Unfortunately to some others this is not the case and I'm yet to discover the truth. Either way, it's a very important city for the Bolivians, bringing in the majority of the country's wealth through it's financial and touristic facilities. Again it's a city set down in the valley of some mountains and old volcanoes and really looks the part as you come in from the top and look down into the bustling metropolis below. There are many things to see and do in the city itself, but mostly people come to La Paz to party and it really doesn't disappoint in those stakes. It's right up there with the drunken hedonism of Salvador and maybe even better cos there was also karaoke thrown in. That was a strange affair and I'm pretty confident it wasn't only for singing, but also doubled up as a brothel. Loads of fat Bolivian women in slutty clothes mewling all over some fat Bolivian men and even a German friend of mine got a dance. No extras though. I must say, I was quite the cult hit in the karaoke bar - at least I think that's what they were chanting. Either way, lots of fun to be had in La Paz at the Loki hostel that never sleeps (closes at 1am) and the surrounding discos - just for you gringos out there.

One of the most popular attractions in the surrounding areas of La Paz is mountain biking down the Yungas Road. In itself that doesn't sound that impressive, which is why no-one locally calls it by that name - opting instead for the far more chest-beating and ball-clacking colloquialism of the Death Road. Exciting, eh? Since I began travelling around South America, this has to be the most frequently raised must-do trip - a few people even mentioned it to me in Canada before they knew I was heading down, so this made it an essential during my time in Bolivia. It's known as the Death Road because it currently holds the record for most amount of deaths on a single stretch of road. I think a road in Baghdad took over for a short period of time recently, but, thankfully, more people died on Yungas and the record was returned to its rightful owner.

The 64km road is split into two sections - the first of which is a pretty well-maintained asphalt surface that acts to lull you into a false sense of security, but although 35mph on a pushbike overlooking Bolivia's mountainous countryside is no picnic, it's a full-on Sunday afternoon punting down the River Camb with jam sandwiches in comparrison to the second half - known as the Death Road Proper. Once you finish the concrete section - which includes 5km of uphill, the less said about the better - you turn off the main road onto the pain road. On first glance it looks like the mouth of a gravel quarry and being cloaked in thick fog only served to heighten the menace. 'Keep on the cliffside edge in case of oncoming traffic.' I'm sorry, what? OK, and if any arrive out of the fog I'll be sure to jump to the safety of the 600 metre drop. They're not making this any easier.

As we descended (4,700m-1,300m) the fog started to clear and once again I found myself surrounded by breathtaking scenery. This time it was in the shape of the Bolivian jungle complete and for a more pictoral description please refer to the picture provided at the top of this posting. Something that raised the blood pressure along the way, even further, was the proliferation of crosses peppered along the route, announcing the final resting points of some less fortunate fellow travellers. Statistics are varied about Yungas and the inaccuracies are staggering, ranging as they do from 4-5 people a year to 200-300. I'll go for the latter as it makes me look harder. Not an altogther effortless exercise, I'm sure you'll agree. Anyway, seeing the crosses really brings home the very real danger of the road and as you tear down the dusty track you tend to squeeze both your brakes and sphincter in equal measure.

The five-hour ride is not easy and certainly not for the faint-hearted (I refer you to my earlier comments about how right hard I am) but it is definitely worth the buzz that surrounds it. Truly one of those 'once in a lifetime' experiences that makes you feel glad to be alive. There were a couple of hairy moments and now I think I have acquired permenant partial clawing to my hands because of the constant grip of terror on the handlebars, but I wouldn't have missed this one for the world.

Thanks this week to another Anonymous - I'm losing track of you now. Who's who? I just don't know. Blue Hawaii, I find your suggestions absurd and ridiculous. Next thing you'll be telling me is that my ball in the mouth during dinner was inappropriate. Preposturous. Finally Al, you and possibly many others will be relieved to hear the face fanny is now no more. My sister said she wouldn't pick me up from the airport if I didn't get rid, so rid it is. Hasta luego.