Hello Paraguay

Villamontes Bolivia to Concepcion Paraguay

Good-bye Bolivia, hello Paraguay. Things got very hot in Villamontes. The temperature reached the high 30’s by 10am and stayed there until well after dark, so by Canadian standards it was stinking hot. We realized that we have little knowledge on dealing with heat, cold we are trained up on. In reality it is a very similar coping device, in the cold you hide indoors to stay warm, in the heat you hide indoors with the A/C to stay cool.

The border process would prove to be very different this time, according to our research we have to stop in a little town 60km from the border called Ibabobo to get our passports stamped for exit from Bolivia, then at the actual border we would complete the Aduana paperwork for the bikes, both Bolivian and Paraguay Aduana, then the Paraguay entry stamps in our passports are completed in Mariscal, 200km into the country. This was going to be the largest no-man’s land ever.

To say the road is in rough shape from Villamontes to Mariscal is an understatement. I try to paint the picture; we are riding along on a pretty good paved road that is being overtaken by the shrubs on the sides, 

then we come up to a Detour sign pointing to the South. The paved road ahead is blocked by 15 foot high dirt piles that were installed across the road at some point, there is a path cut through the pile wide enough to drive a truck through and we could see a couple of large trucks in the far distance. The detour route was sand, and there was a dust cloud in the far distance. The GPS showed to go the route of the dirt piles and the detour road went in the complete wrong direction and seemed to end, on the GPS anyway. We decided to take the dirt piles route and if it was impassable then we could circle back and take the detour. 

The two trucks were fuel tankers and they let us past so we would not have to eat their dust, shortly after we crossed the last dirt pile and were greeted with brand new pavement. This was a nice treat, except now the GPS showed we were off any marked road, basically a green spot on a white screen, but we were heading East so we should come to the border at some point. Before we get to the border there is a Military checkpoint that records our passport numbers before sending us on our way to the border a couple of km’s down the road.

The border is controlled by a yellow bunkhouse 8 x 45gallon barrels and a couple fence rails. We look around an see a couple of small sheds in the trees and deduct that this must be the border offices and the three guys sitting under the tree must be the officers. Sure enough they were and with a little coaxing they completed the paperwork for the bikes and we were on our way.

The road on the Paraguay side was exactly as reported, continuous potholes varying in size up to about the size of a VW bug. I am not exaggerating, we took a few pictures of the bikes parked in the holes. My best guess is that because the base of the road is built on sand and swamp that provides no support for the heavy trucks that travel this route. The result is approx. 200km of non-maintained road that has turned into a suspension systems’ worst nightmare. Once in the town of Mariscal the Immigration office is closed and we are forced to get a room in the only hotel in town, a nice place if you like the smell of swamp water and are not scared of large bugs, oh and of course they charge extra for the ambiance.

Our lovely accommodations.

The Gran Chaco is about 647,500 km² (250,001 sq mi) in size, though estimates differ. It is located west of the Paraguay River and east of the Andes, mostly an alluvial sedimentary plain shared among Paraguay, Bolivia and Argentina. It stretches from about 17° to 33° South latitude and between 65° and 60° West longitude, though estimates differ.

Historically the Chaco has been divided in three main parts: the Chaco Austral or Southern Chaco, south of the Bermejo River and inside Argentinian territory, blending into the Pampa region in its southernmost end; the Chaco Central or Central Chaco between the Bermejo and the Pilcomayo River to the north, also now in Argentinian territory; and the Chaco Boreal or Northern Chaco, north of the Pilcomayo up to the Brazilian Pantanal, inside Paraguayan territory and sharing some area with Bolivia.

Locals sometimes divide it today by the political borders, giving rise to the terms Argentinian Chaco, Paraguayan Chaco and Bolivian Chaco. (Inside Paraguay, people sometimes use the expression Central Chaco for the area roughly in the middle of the Chaco Boreal, where Mennonite colonies are established.)

The Chaco Boreal may be divided in two: closer to the mountains in the west, the Alto Chaco (Upper Chaco), sometimes known as Chaco Seco (or Dry Chaco), is very dry and sparsely vegetated. To the east, less arid conditions combined with favorable soil characteristics permit a seasonally dry higher-growth thorn tree forest, and further east still higher rainfall combined with improperly drained lowland soils result in a somewhat swampy plain called the Bajo Chaco (Lower Chaco), sometimes known as Chaco Húmedo (Humid Chaco). it has a more open savanna vegetation consisting of palm trees, quebracho trees and tropical high-grass areas, with a wealth of insects. The landscape is mostly flat and slopes at a 0.004 degree gradient to the east. This area is also one of the distinct physiographic provinces of the Parana-Paraguay Plain division.

The areas more hospitable to development are along the Paraguay, Bermejo and Pilcomayo Rivers. It is a great source of timber and tannin, which is derived from the native quebracho tree. Special tannin factories have been constructed there. The wood of the palo santo from the Central Chaco is the source of oil of guaiac (a fragrance for soap). Paraguay also cultivated mate in the lower part of Chaco.

Large tracts of the central and northern Chaco have high soil fertility, sandy alluvial soils with elevated levels of phosphorus^[1] and a topography that is favorable for agricultural development. Other aspects are challenging for farming: a semi-arid to semi-humid climate (600–1300 mm annual rainfall) with a six-month dry season and sufficient fresh groundwater restricted to roughly one third of the region, two thirds being without groundwater or with groundwater of high salinity. Soils are generally erosion prone once the forest has been cleared. In the central and northern Paraguay Chaco, occasional dust storms have caused major top soil loss.

So that is what Wikipedia has to say about the Chaco.

Our impression of this geographic region is that it would be a very harsh place to live. The soil looks mostly sandy and the vegetation is desert like, short shrubs and patchy grass. The GPS shows side roads but as we pass the intersections it is apparent that none of the roads are maintained in this part of the country and soft deep sand is no fun on a motorbike in 30+ degrees. There seems to be very little water and relentless heat and wind. I guess that is why after riding for a few hours we have seen no habitants in any direction.

The soldiers at the checkpoint are stationed in the middle of this nothingness, poor bastards. The fuel stops are few and far between and luckily the jerry-cans are full as we need the extra fuel to get to Mariscal. The power was out at the gas station and we had to wait for a while in order to fill up, this gave me time to tighten the chain on my bike and with wrenching comes beer, so the ice cold Brahma beer refreshing. I think it tasted ok, I didn’t really give it a chance to hit my taste buds.

If you can't go over it, go through it.

Uyuni to Tupiza - jan 29th

We planned on an early start and by tourist estimations 9am is fairly early, the Bolivian service in restaurants is anything but fast. The bikes were all filled with gas so after breakfast it was just a matter of hitting the dusty trail, and it was actually dusty instead of the mud that was reported and expected. 

This was our first crossing, not one of the big ones rumored to be on route.

We were told all kinds of horror stories of buses waiting for the river to calm so that they could cross only to get stuck in the mud climbing the bank back up to the road. There were two of these type of crossings, the first was only 40km from Uyuni so the possibility of turning around and finding an alternate route would be easy at that point. When we made it to the crossing we could see where the buses had gotten stuck but after walking out into the river it seemed it was only about shin deep with a solid bottom. 

The bikes made it through this with ease and I didn't even get wet feet. The road was washboard most of the way to the next crossing which was considerably wider, this is where the buses had to wait for the water to subside, again we were lucky that there was very little water flowing and that the river bottom was firm. Easy peasy.

Just when we thought we were in the middle of nothing/nowhere we meet a lady on a bicycle, she was from Ontario and has been pedaling around the world for 4 years. She had done Africa, Asia, Europe, and was now on her way North back to Canada. I thought this was quite an accomplishment considering she was travelling alone. The rest of the journey was smooth sailing, well at least until it started to rain...heavy rain, the kind of rain that you wish you had a snorkel or gills. Unfortunately we were riding through some very cool landscapes of hoodoos and red rock canyons and the rain made it near impossible to see let alone take any decent pictures.

Canyon just before the rain started.

 

Once in Tupiza we could see that a smaller tributary creek was ready to burst its banks, the water level was very high and almost touching the bottom of the bridge. The three of us found a nice hotel and after sorting out all the wet luggage we enjoyed a nice meal together. Phil was heading in a different direction in the morning so this was also a goodbye meal.

Tupiza to Tarija Jan30th

The hotel put on a nice buffet breakfast and we may have over did it a little. The coffee was fresh ground so it was hard to resist. We said our good-byes but somehow know that our paths will cross again down the road maybe in Canada maybe in New Zealand.

Once again we are gifted with a fantastic route through the mountains. It had been raining throughout the region but we managed to miss some of it at least, we could see rain in the distance and that was a good place for it. The pavement out of town was short lived and some 40km later we were turning onto a somewhat muddy secondary road that cut the landscape in half. 

 

Literally the road was more or less straight out in front of us to the horizon. The ride to the horizon was bordered by shrubs, sand, cows, and not a single person. Once we reached the end of the straight section we were happy that the terrain changed and so did the altitude. Another high plain of unending grassland with intermittent mountains to navigate over with switchbacks going up and down, enjoyable riding and because we were not going that far today it was nice to take in the vast scenery. We could see for miles and although somewhat barren the views were absolutely spectacular. 

The route would gain altitude up a mountain side then reward us with more long sweeping curves across the plateau, then repeat the process, sometimes going down rather than up. This repeated most of the morning until we found ourselves in a small village that was not on the map, as we had dropped elevation quite a bit and with this came much higher temperatures. We had stopped to take off our rain jackets and take some photos of the village when I noticed a few people sneaking looks out partially opened doors. I suspect they have never had tourists in town let alone ones on motorbikes. One brave lady started a conversation from her doorway, and when I explained what we were doing she lit up like a lightbulb. Big smiles and giggles, and astonishment when she realized that there was a woman under all that weird motorcycle garb. Brenda usually causes this reaction, the ladies down here are limited to scooters, very few even drive cars by our observations.

Not long after the village a decision had to be made at a fork in the road, the classic decision, left or right. The less traveled road seems like the obvious choice in these situations so I guesstimate that the locals have made some sort of road instead of taking the much longer loop that is shown on the GPS. 

Common sense prevails and with the help of the GPS I could tell we were getting close to the other side of the loop, much to our surprise we came out of the desert at a mine site of some kind, and the road was paved. The rest of the route into Tarija was just as spectacular as the road cut through some canyons then up and over one last mountain pass, well almost over, they must have got tired of going up and decided to go through the mountain instead. The tunnel was the longest we have seen thus far, it was about 4km long with a bend in the middle and a different weather system at the other end. We emerged out of the tunnel into a cloud bank so thick that we could hardly see the road, we had to slow right down until our eyes adjusted from the dark tunnel to the fog like clouds. 

Down and down we go until we see a much needed gas station and the town of Tarija in the background. Another great day of riding almost complete.

Uyuni Salt Flats

Jan 28

The tour was to start at 10:30am and last about 5 hrs, we decided against taking the bikes onto the lake bed as it is currently covered with 4-18 inches of water depending on where you drive. This of course is not a good environment for anything that salt water will corrode so we opted for a jeep tour instead. We finally got going at 11:15 in a nice new Toyota Land Cruiser, our driver was very quiet but seemed to know the road very well as we weaved around holes and navigated the water crossings. Our first stop on the tour was at the train graveyard, just 3km from town. There is a nice collection of old steam engines and other period railway cars, unfortunately there is a lot of graffiti on the trains which takes away some of the nostalgia and replaces it with disgust. Is it really necessary to spray paint your name on the side of a train, lots of idiots think so.

 

Brenda doing some weight lifting.

 

 The next stop was a small market in the town of Cholchani for a quick look at the crafts and then off onto the salt flat. The entry to the lake was quite deep and our decision to take a jeep was reinforced as the bumper was submerged under the water, then it was a long 10kph drive out to the Hotel del Sal. This is a hotel build out of salt blocks, it is no longer used as a hotel but is still a good base for the jeep tours to gather and such, there is not much left other than a few walls and a washroom. We took off our shoes and walked barefoot in the ankle deep salt water, taking pictures and getting sun burn. There were lots of people and many jeeps buzzing around the hotel. Soon enough it was time to pack up and head back to Uyuni, the slow drive off the lake was almost painful but allowed for a good long last look. 

Back in town we were surprised to see the kid from Sucre, he was selling his maps here and when he seen us he said hello then went on with his business. We are still puzzled how a 12yr old kid gets from Sucre to Uyuni, all for the purpose of selling maps to tourists. There is not much to do in town except eat, drink and shop. We settle on eating and call it a day as tomorrow we have a long day of gravel and from what we hear, water crossings and mud. 

Protests and Silver mines.

Before we leave in the morning one of the cleaning ladies wants a picture of the bikes, this is not the reaction we expected after the bikes have been dripping mud on her floor. She was so excited about the photo we got her to sit on the bike, she seemed to very happy about this, she must ride a moped or something and the big bike is a novelty item.

Cool bridge in the middle of nowhere.

 The rain does not bother us until we get to a road block about 40km from Potosi. We pull up to the front of all the vehicles and find a friendly French couple travelling on a Ural motorcycle w/sidecar. They said they had been there a while and were actually getting out their stove to make some tea, a local man told us not to proceed as the protestors would throw rocks at us. This seemed a little extreme so we thought we better wait it out and not try to go through, sitting in rain lost its’ attraction after about 3minutes and I was soon looking for options. I scanned around the area and just past the line of truck there was a gas station with a canopy. That seemed like a better spot to wait than out in the rain so we made our way around the busses and cars, between some of the rocks that had been scattered on the road and then into the gas station.

I did not even stop under the canopy, I made a judgement call to only pass under the canopy and go to the road block which consisted of a bright green dump truck and about 5 tons of scattered rocks.

 

I got off my bike and did the friendly tourist thing by smiling and nodding to what looked like the authority figures in the crowd. I pulled out my camera and they seemed okay with this, after all what is a protest if there are no photos to prove it happened. One older gentleman made eye contact with me then gave a customary one arm flap to indicate that I should go through. I asked via charades about the rock throwing, he shook his head and gave another arm flap, that was my queue to finish taking pictures and get going. We weave around the rocks that litter the road for about 1.5km, then there was about another 3km of rock on only one side of the road, then a whole bunch more buses and vehicles on the other end of the blockade. The system seemed to be that the buses would bring people as far as the road block then the people would walk through the stones to the buses waiting on the other side. The only thing is they would sell a full fair ticket and after walking the 5km roadblock the people were faced with paying for a second ticket on the other bus. What a lovely system.

Anyway, back on the move we complete the last 40km to Potosi without incident, the rain turned into scattered showers and by the time we hit the edge of the city it was almost sunny. Just a teaser though, by the time we checked into the hostel it was raining hard again. The hostel was a nice refuge from the rain as the central courtyard was covered with a roof made of clear corrugated plastic, so the light could get in which made the courtyard a nice gathering spot for the guests, and two motorcycles. 

Our room was big but basic, the bed comfy and the shower actually had HOT water, not just the luke-warm stuff they pass off in other places. After a cold wet day of riding that shower felt like heaven on earth. No time to sit around, we had to find something to eat, down in the entrance we see the French lady from the road block, she is checking into the Hostel as well but can’t find a place to park the Ural. When I was shopping around for hotels one of the desk clerks mentioned a parking garage, I asked the lady at the desk and she indicated it was one block this way and two blocks that way. Good enough, I told the French lady to wait and I would go check it out, sure enough it was roughly where she said and because it was for parking cars the Ural would fit through the gate. Once the French folks were settled into the garage we left them to their business and got on with finding some food. During supper we discussed how convenient it is to be able to roll the bikes into pretty much anywhere, while the Ural w/sidecar would always require a parking garage of some sort, preferably close to the hotel which could really limit the options.

 

 After supper we checked our emails and “Phil the Kiwi” was on his way from Sucre tomorrow so we would be able to do the mine tour together on Monday. We had hoped to do the tour on Sunday and get out of town but there were no tours running until Monday. Some kind of slave labour day off or something, so we hang out at the hostel most of the day hiding from the heavy rains, napping and researching where to go next. Potosi is definitely on the tourist trail as the Hostel is full of people from all over the world, we ate breakfast with a young guy from England and another from Sweden. There was a group of girls from Argentina or Chile and they made a big batch of rum balls and were selling them to supplement their travel budget or at least recover the cost of supplies. There was also a bunch of people from Japan, there must be lots of tourist from there as the hostel had signs printed in Japanese as well as English.

On one of our short outing we bumped into a couple of big BMW bikes coming out of the Hostel across the street, they had a wider doorway so the big bikes fit without taking off their saddlebags. The two riders were from Spain and Argentina, Alicia had ridden around the world solo and Andreas is an offroad tour guide in Arg. We talked briefly then exchanged contact info, pictures and because Alicia is Spanish we had to do the customary double cheek touch & chow thing, then they were off down the street. I must say we were shocked at how such a small person could ride a 700GS around the world, she was like 4’5” tall and maybe 110lbs under all that riding gear. She gave us a sticker from her journey to put on our bikes. My bike is slowly changing from white to stickers.

Finally, Monday morning and we can get on with the mine tour. Potosi was founded back in the day due to an significant strike of Silver in the surrounding mountains and at one time was the largest city in the country. The mountains today are still producing small quantities of silver but the bulk of the resource has been depleted and now only tin and lithium are extracted in large quantities. Silver is still mined by both Cooperative and independent miners and we were told that on average each miner will extract on average about $500 per week. In a really good week they could pull in $1000 which is a really good income in Bolivia, but of course it is not consistent and some weeks is a bust. The tour started by making a stop at the “miner’s market” this is where we are supposed to buy gifts for the miners, as our tour is interrupting their work and they do not make much money any gifts are welcomed with open arms. Now by gifts some of you may be thinking trinkets and stuff, not in Bolivia, here we buy dynamite, accelerator, blasting caps, fuses, pure alcohol, coca leaves, Fanta, water, gloves, all kinds of mining essentials. There is something a little exciting and unsettling at the same time about buying dynamite at the corner store with no questions asked. By the way, four sticks of dynamite costs $20Bs or about $3Cdn. What good is dynamite without fuses pre-loaded with blasting caps, I laughed when the lady handed me four fuses each was about 6” long or 30 seconds worth of running time once lit. No messing about here.

The first person we meet on the tour is a little old lady sitting in the dirt apparently sorting ore from the independent miners. Usually this is a job for the wives and daughters of the miner but this lady was a widow so she relies on the courtesy of others to make a living. She would make $10Bs per day sorting for whoever will hire her. Our guide asks one of us to give her a bag of coca leaves.

 In case you did not know, coca leaves are chewed by the miners, the guides, truck drivers, old ladies and children as it is a miracle “cure all” to these people. They chew big wads of it like chewing tobacco except they swallow the liquid, supposedly it helps keep their energy level up and prevents the onset of miner’s lung. Every four hours they spit out the wad and start again, putting the leaves in their mouth one at a time, pulling the center vein out of the leave, and chewing up the balance. They also use a accelerator made out of fruits and veggies to aid in the breakdown of the leaves, they use just a fingernail full of this greyish paste per wad. Sounds attractive don’t it. So, after the guide and the little lady have a chat we proceed to the entrance of the mine and wait for our guide to make the arrangements for us to enter. This takes about 30 minutes and we are kept entertained by the group of guys trying to boost a car. We laugh to ourselves as we watch the circus act. Here is a question. How many Bolivians does it take to boost a car.

If you can’t make it out there were 13 men contributing to the one ring circus act.

Now that all the arrangements are made we can proceed underground, we were given rain gear, rubber boots, hard hats, and headlamps back at the Hostel and we finally get to use them. The entrance to the mine is made for the locals who are about 5’5” tall, so the majority of us are bent over forming a line that looks like a string of elephants marching across the Serengeti, I guess it is time for the miners to laugh at us. The tunnel is shored up with old posts and whatever else they could salvage, some are cracked others are broken, but we keep going deeper and deeper into the mountain. 

Once in about 50 feet we are able to stand upright again, at least temporarily as the roof height varies with every step. We were warned about the tight access and that if anyone was claustrophobic this would be the wrong attraction to undertake. We come to a bit of a cave Cathedral and we are instructed to sit and listen, our guide speaks English but she loses something in the translation, we oblige and this is where we are introduced to a miner and hear his story. He has been working in the mine for 23yrs, his father for 32yrs, his 4 brothers as well for various lengths of time. They pick away at the mountain in what seems like a futile effort, or maybe it is just a show for tourists and the machines are in a different part of the mine doing the real production. He explains the plight of the miners and how the industry and labour rules have changed over the years. 

Currently the independent miners have no benefits or pensions, the cooperative miners have both and also receive a share of the ore produced on top of their base wages. He also explains the rituals that the miners perform every shift in order to ensure they make it out of the mine. Above ground they practice Catholicism, underground they are in the Devil’s lair and perform more Pagan type rituals. They have created statues of their underground Gods upon which they bestow offerings of coca leaves and alcohol. They put leaves on the head and in the hands of the statue, then prinkle a bit of alcohol on the hands, shoulders, head and penis of the statue. The last offering of alcohol is dripped on the ground in front of the statue for Mother Earth and one shot for the miner to seal the deal. This ritual is to prevent accidents and cave-ins underground and they truly believe it helps. The guide informs us we are to give him a few gifts of dynamite and coca leaves then we proceed on to meet his father. Dad is a round mad plopped in the dirt with a little hammer and a piece of burlap. He is in charge of doing the rough breakdown and sorting of anything the boys give him. He takes each pebble and hits it with the hammer to break away the waste material and recover the silver. He is literally picking salt gains out of the pepper.

 The area is small so we have to view the process two at a time. From Dad we go down another small tunnel, then have to climb up a couple of levels to find a couple more sets of tunnels. 

We would not be allowed to do this in North America and we did not even sign a waiver.

There is nothing much happening in this area until we are joined by the blasting expert. We give him some dynamite and he goes to work setting up the charge, he unwraps a stick of dynamite to reveal the nitroglycerine inside. Looks like grey silly putty and has about the same consistency. This stuff is harmless by itself when it is dry, if it is sweating you may have a problem. The guy quickly wraps a stick with some accelerant (potassium nitrate) with the plastic bag it came in, then he inserts the blasting cap/fuse, peals back the loose end to reveal the core of the fuse and asks if anyone want to light it. This is quiet the life experience and the Swiss guy wins the lotto and gets to light the fuses. There is about 4 minutes of fuse so we have time to take a few sparkler photos before the blasting expert takes the dynamite down an empty shaft and sets them in place for our entertainment. We are all anticipating when the blast will happen and when it does the tunnels fill will a very loud rumble followed by a massive cloud of dust and debris. Oh, wait that was only one kaboom, there were two sticks bang, there goes the second one. As expected the rest of the tour is less than exciting and we make our way topside once again. The ride back to the hotel is filled with chatter about the size of the tunnels and of course the dynamite.

This is only the start of our day, we have to ride to Uyuni yet this afternoon. We had checked out of the hotel before the mine tour so we have to get changed in the courtyard. We get some strange looks from the other guests as we put on all our riding gear, topped off with our own rain gear. Then we push all three bikes out of the Hostel and we are on our way. It is raining again but shortly after I hit the dog the skies clear and we can remove the rain gear for the rest of the day. He, the dog, just ran out across the road and I could not maneuver fast enough in the rain to safely avoid him, I just tightened up everything and hoped for the best. I nailed his ass end and was lucky enough not to wipe out, Brenda said he ran into the field so he must have been ok. The road is paved so riding is easy and we could enjoy the scenery the rest of the way. It was different to be riding with a third bike, Phil joined us on his XT200 Honda, and because his bike is smaller he would loose lots of speed in the hills, we did not mind as it gave us a chance to slow down and enjoy the ride.

Bolivians must all think the same because as we approached Uyuni there was another road block, this one seemed more organized as there was a guy giving a speech to a large group of people. They had mini vans blocking the road as well as a single row of rocks, this was too easy to navigate through and we barely slowed down until we were at the group of people. A little old lady waved me through and that was it for the roadblock. The people on the busses had a much harder time. They had to walk about 6 or 8km from where the busses stopped to where the taxis picked them up on the other side, and of course pay more for the taxi, no refund from the bus for not delivering you to said destination.

Uyuni was a bit of a surprise to us, we thought that because it was a major tourist destination that there would be a more well set up town. When the pavement ended at the entrance of the town I knew it was going to be interesting. The recent heavy rains also added a nice element that all the side roads and any low spot was filled with water. The main street was actually finished with paving bricks so it was dry but any side street or ally was dirt and wet. Most of the hotels are along two streets and we found a nice spot with the help of our French friends who were sitting in the sun having an afternoon drink, they had been here a couple of days and were leaving in the morning. They returned the favor of finding a hotel with a garage, such nice people, I wish I spoke more French so we could converse properly. The rest of the day was spent roaming the streets, getting the lay of the land, booking our salt flat tour, and dropping off our laundry for cleaning. It really needed it. 

More traffic jams.