Welcome to the jungle

Amaszonas Airlines obviously hadn’t read the Rough Guide’s description of their flight.

“Unbeatable views of the Andes and rainforest as you descend to the Amazonian plain,” it said.

The pencil

Unfortunately we were greeted at our early morning flight by a very small plane nicknamed “the pencil” with dirty, almost opaque windows. Amaszonas had also neglected to read any airline regulations so we took off silently, ignorant as to what we should do in an emergency.

After 40 minutes we landed into the tropical heat and (relatively) thick air of Rurrenabaque. We met our guide (who had a real name but we know him as Jungleman – a self-assigned moniker) and were whisked through a bustling Sunday market to our boat, which motored us up the Beni to Mashaquipe jungle lodge, via an audience participation sugar cane-crushing demonstration.

Crushing sugarcane the traditional way

Leaf cutter ants

The lodge was lovely, and we soon saw our first fauna of the day (aside from wasps and spiders) in the form of some Spider Monkeys right next to the dining building. After the first of many substantial meals and a welcome siesta, our afternoon ‘Jungle Walk’ saw us explore what else the area had to offer. We learnt that the area – Madidi National Park – was named after a carnivorous ant, how to listen out for venomous snakes (first hand), and which plants and mushrooms we could eat if we wanted to hallucinate (we didn’t).  We also saw bright red orchids, a huge stick insect and a very small, very poisonous spider and learnt that if a disturbed spider scurries away it is not poisonous, but if it crawls slowly it probably is and is preparing to strike!

In the morning we were awoken by the howls of Howler Monkey, which sound like the opening up of a portal to the underworld. Once we’d freshened up (opting for the millipede in Toilet 1 over the spider in Toilet 3) and breakfasted we began the day’s walk, to a jungle camp where we’d spend the night.

Puma paw prints!

The walk included picturesque viewpoints over the Beni river, from which we could see white heron stalking the water's edge. We grazed on the plentiful fruit (under the strict instructions of Jungleman) including a juicy sugar-cane-like bamboo good for kids to chew if they have diahorrea. Huge bright blue butterflies that I'd only ever seen in books ambushed us then fluttered off ahead. In the lower land we saw a fresh Puma paw print! 

After setting up camp (a mattress on an open-sided platform under a mosquito net and wooden roof), we continued along the river to a high cliff viewpoint from which to see brightly coloured parrots. A gravestone nearby showed where someone had died trying to get good photos, so we kept our distance from the sheer drop.

We saw lots of pairs of red parrots swooping past, accompanied by “Photo! Photo!” from Jungleman. During the walk we also saw a toucan high up on a bare tree. Anteater burrows were pointed out, and at one point we saw the disappearing behind of a wild pig! By then we were so comfortable with the day-time jungle we weren’t too perturbed at becoming momentarily misplaced when Jungleman lost his “secret trail”.

We ascended another viewpoint later that afternoon to watch the sunset

Night, however, was entirely different. Our cook summoned us to see a tarantula in the dining hut and another bigger one was spotted right next to our sleeping platform. Knowing tarantulas to be pretty harmless, we still gamely set off on our “half hour” night-hike, only for until-then-jovial Jungleman to sternly warn us not to touch any foliage whatsoever, especially with our heads, since the most venomous spiders and insects would be on the march in hunt-mode. After this the evening descended into an hour-long torch-lit fight against the (mostly imaginary) horrors attempting to buzz, crawl or jump onto us, interspersed with pitch-black stops in the middle of the bush for us to “enjoy the stars” while we imagined what we would discover at our feet once our torch relit. Needless to say we did not spot the Puma of the paw prints, only a very dazzled nude-coloured frog and a nesting moorhen-looking bird.

Jumping monkey - almost the whole troop made the leap

Look at that mud!

We survived the night by sleeping surprisingly well, and in the morning headed to the river amongst a huge troop of swinging Cappuccino Monkeys (above). We also spotted a rarely seen Leoncita monkey with a fierce-looking black face. At the river, Jungleman swiftly made a log-raft with our inept help, and we set off down river. We soon proved more adept at steering (thanks to our punting experience), so Jungleman slept while we navigated some slightly bumpy rapids.

Back at the lodge we showered, lunched, and all too soon were on a boat back to Rurrenabaque and the pencil plane back to La Paz, a world away.

How to climb a 6088m (19,974ft) mountain

[Roger] Arriving into central La Paz is a little like driving over a cliff, but one in which the near-vertical drop hosts extensive housing. Once we'd done some much-needed washing in our Airbnb apartment, we set out to explore the city, with the help of a Red Cap walking tour.

Our two guides' sense of humour was as dry as the moistureless air. "Bolivians like dehydrating things", said the newest member of the Red Cap team as we wandered through a food market. 

We learnt about the (in)famous La Paz prison where inmates can buy themselves swanky apartments with their profits from cocaine refinement. We gawped at some dehydrated  llama fetuses in the witches market. We nodded sadly as our guides told us about Bolivia's troubled political history. We also had a shot of alcohol at the end, the perfect conclusion to a walking tour. 

The rest of the day was spent preparing for our climb of Huayna Potosí, which at 6088m (19,974 feet) is significantly higher than Everest base camp (5380m). 

View of Huayna Potosi, behind a roadside cemetery

We set off on our two-day adventure the next day (Thursday 9 November). Gridlocked La Paz traffic was our first challenge, but our able driver soon had us deposited at base camp (4700m), where our guide Estaban provided an Avocado, Cheese and Tomato Sandwich Lunch (ACTSL). 

Looking back down towards base camp from high camp

Refugio II with glacier and false summit behind

The trek to high camp (5200m) was arduous, as we trudged through increasingly thin air with all our usual 'tramping' (hiking) kit plus the equipment needed for the climb - crampons, ice axe, hefty boots, gaiters etc. At Refugio II (bunkroom + kitchen) we admired the glacial landscape before an early dinner of LOTS of pasta, cheese and tomato, prepared and served by Estaban. Together with our fellow aspiring mountaineers (Australians, Israelis and one German) we tried to get some sleep from 6-11.30pm.

[Dora] Midnight was breakfast time, then kit-up, distribute some immodium to  stomach-troubled mountaineers, and head out into the darkness. Unfortunately over the first section, rocky and steep, we were pursued by the three speedy Israelis, leading to an early sense of humour and oxygen failure from me. However the snow was close and crampon-strapping provided a good rest. Roped together (Estaban-Dora-Roger) we set off slowly up the glacier, three small pools of light in the darkness.

It's hard to describe the effort required just to walk slowly up a slope in such thin air. The darkness reduced my world to a small patch of snow in front of me, my own swaying shadow and the sound of Roger's motivational monologue behind me. As we inched higher it seemed to reduce further to simply a set of lungs and the sound of breaths, one by one. Three hours' trudge and I was forcing an in-out breath every tiny step, focused on maintaining the steady rhythm.

Estaban stopped us and briefly explained that if we wanted to return, now was the time. We hadn't even seen the dawn yet, so giving up was not an option. I took a Sorochi pill (coca, aspirin and caffeine) and we pushed onward. We discovered why it had been the time to turn back: a steep icy incline was next. We were hurried along and pulled up by Estaban, with erratic ice axe use and an un-negotiable rest at the top. 

A further three hours of shuffling took us up the upper glacier, across several small and one large crevasse, which we had to straddle then use the ice axe to haul ourselves up the other side. Finally, the dawn came and we could see another group just ahead of us - both big psychological boosts. At 6000m we paused: "treinte minutas" to the top!

The icy ridge and path just below the summit (photo taken on the way down)

The final push included a slim, icy ridge on whose side we perched precariously whilst others came down. We collapsed on the summit just before 6am as sunshine poked through the clouds. 6088m. And having just achieved "the hardest thing in the world" ... Roger asked me to marry him! He presented a beautiful NZ pounamu (greenstone) ring that he'd smuggled up taped to the inside of his sunglasses case! I carried it down, on my finger.

Just after the proposal, on the summit

The view from the summit, as the clouds cleared

Just off the summit, with others there behind us

Glacial scenery and crevasse on the way down

Elated, the way down was certainly easier, helped by the increasing oxygen. However, Estaban was keen to keep the speed on so we were down before the crevasses started melting in the sunshine. The ice ridge and ice wall tested our axe skills again, and we were incredibly relieved to reach Refugio II. Back in normal hiking boots and with snacks on board, we slithered down to base camp to a second Estaban ACTSL.

View from the La Paz hotel verandah

As an engagement treat Roger had booked us in to La Paz's fanciest hotel's penthouse apartment, which had huge comfy sofas and a steam room! Heaven. It took all of the next day to recover from the climb, and make all the happy phone calls and messages to family and friends. We also had a relaxed Mexican dinner with our backpacker friend Catherine, and the next night, delicious tender llama skewers at the hotel.

Time for the jungle!

A perspective on the Salar de Uyuni

Our first challenge in Bolivia was finding an ATM that had cash in it, for Catherine. Our second was finding the train station, which we walked straight past and instead found by walking alongside the dusty tracks.

Safely on the Expreso del Sur in Ejecutivo Class we enjoyed views of rock pillars, irrigation and hilarious 90s Spanish music videos, as we wound through valleys. We were summoned to the dining car for an early meal, then blankets and pillows were distributed by the suitably dressed conductor. We slept as best we could between Tupiza (where the train's electricity was temporarily cut off) and Uyuni, where we disembarked at 1am. Our very proximo hostal's twin beds and coca tea breakfast were incredibly welcome.

At 10am we embarked on our first tour of the holiday: Al Extremo's 2-day Salar de Uyuni (the remnants of a big inland sea). José our guide spoke less English than we spoke Spanish, but we were ready: no one had spoken English in Argentina either. A convivial combination of our phrasebook, miming and Google translate ensued, ensuring we understood the important details (e.g. men not women 'harvest' salt from the flats, once a month, and José used to work for Coca Cola in Chile). 

The first stop on the tour was the train cemetery, a tribute to the bygone era of mining, steel and steam across the altiplano. Veinte (20) minutas (minutes) of that and we were off to Colchani to learn how to make salt table-ready (dry it and grind it), pretend to admire some big, rough salt sculptures of llamas, and browse handicrafts. Then onto the Salar itself - with a quick stop to look at piles of salt and bubbling water making its way through from below the salt crust. Lunch was at the now closed Salt Hotel (environmentally unfriendly to run a hotel on the Salar): quinoa, beef, veg, salad (peeled) and more stilted Spanish convos.

Finally, we got to the whole point of everyone's Salar tour - perspective photos. And José did some 4WD maintenance to help with the salty environment. Roger also ate a bit of the ground to ensure it really was salt.

A second highlight turned out to be the Isla Inca Huasi - just like an island in the white salt sea, with 9m tall cacti. We tested our altitude tolerance walking up to the top, with views of the mountains hovering in horizon mirages and lines of 4WD roads criss crossing the expanse. We walked down via fossalized coral arches and caves. Finally, we left the Salar behind and headed to our homely hostal at the village of San Juan, where there was more welcome coca tea on arrival. We had a quick nosey round the village, which had a promising looking if not-yet-completed main square, and a illustrative sign for the necropolis down the road. Over the three course dinner we eavesdropped on the English group on the other table, who discussed: tea, gardening, allotments, Waitrose and spicy sauces they could eat. Our guide casually told us breakfast was at 6am, so we beat a hasty retreat without introducing ourselves.

Eggs and a hot shower fuelled us on the bumpy road towards the Chilean border. José helpfully stopped at the train tracks so we could ask about infrastructure and logistics (freight only, every day). We brushed the border, with views of the active volcano (Ollague) that marks it, and stopped to admire the second-best rock formations of the day. And then - our first flamingo lake, Laguna Canapa! And a second - Laguna Hediona! Here are the highlights of the many flamingo photos.

A further drive across the barren moonscape took us to the entrance of Reserva de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa, marked by the arbor rock (best rock formation of the day). 

A hot lunch appeared from thermos boxes on the shores of Lago Colarado, so named because of its blood red colour. The lake is fringed with stark white: an ice-borax combo. 

Then began the long road back to Uyuni, via a village with great toilets. We spotted vicuna and llamas, and napped. At a toilet break at copper mining town San Christobel we chatted to an English man travelling on his own, who was deaf and could lip read perfectly, but apparently it's much harder in Spanish. Pretty impressive. Later in La Paz we bumped into him again!

After 4hrs sleep in an Uyuni hostal, we boarded the train again at 1.45am and tried to get some sleep amidst snoring, political midnight chatting, coughing, the rollercoaster like train movements and the occasional deodorant cloud. Sunrise over the altiplano made it worthwhile, and of course carb-heavy breakfast in the dining car. At Oruro, we hurtled through town in a gas-powered taxi to jump on a 9.30am bus to La Paz!

Culture vultures' night flights: Cordoba and Salta

We arrived in Cordoba after a mediocre night's sleep on the night bus. Hotel located, we injected some caffeine over breakfast and wandered to a city walking tour (our thinking being that we would be forced to stay awake out of politeness). 

The tour was a whistle-stop foray around Cordoba's highlights: the cathedral, Jesuit block, colonial governor's house, the public university and a memorial museum to those 'disappeared' by the authorities in Argentina's not-too-distant-and-not-so-pleasant past. 

The Jesuits made quite a mark on the city before the Spanish booted them out of the continent, including an impressive church with a roof curved like the bottom of a boat (the previous occupation of the Belgian architect). We took admiring photographs, trying not to encroach on a local's very visible confession to his priest, his wife waiting with the shopping.

Our attention was also held by some of the walking tours' less mainstream offerings. Macaron-esque treats were handed out to maintain blood sugar levels, along with lurid descriptions of the university town's drinking culture. 

Back at the hotel, we avoided the murky swimming pool overlooking the train depot (much to my annoyance) and did some planning. As night fell, we walked through the end of a protest demanding answers to a much more recent 'disappearing' of an indigenous rights activist. After failing to find our desired restaurant we settled on an average pizza place, slurping '24/7' local beer and a bottle of malbec at an outside bar to finish off the night (far too early for the real nightlife that starts at 2am).

The next morning we perused some more colonial architecture, enjoyed several pedestrianized streets, ate our weight in steak at a meat-centric restaurant ('Parrilla') and pondered the afternoon away in an excellent modern art gallery (inc. sculptures that questioned our perceptions of bodies and beauty, clever marketing material for human milking, and some deft sgraffito). 


After a supply stop we then boarded another overnight bus, this time for the city of Salta. Finding a Spanish-ish hotel we freshened up the next morning with a walk up the hill overlooking the city. We looked disdainfully at the teleferico (gondola) option, until the sweat dripping into our eyes forced us to focus on walking. At the top the view was great, and much more open than the promised cafe. We puzzled for a few minutes at some artificial waterfalls made of concrete, and trotted back to the city for lunch (vegan lasagne) and lemonade at a vegan restaurant (to offset the increased steak consumption).

Vegan

The highlight of the afternoon - if you can call it that - was an exhibition displaying and explaining three children sacrificed by the Incas. They were entombed at the top of high, sacred peaks, presumably so they would be well enough preserved to display in a 21st century museum. The museum also displayed the arrays of intricate miniatures and cloth they were buried with. There are three such incredibly well preserved children, with only one on display at any one time. We saw El Nino, the little boy, eerily lifelike.

Not vegan

A final huge steak and some local dry white wine (delish) in the evening fueled us up for an early morning bus to Villazon, on the border with Boliva. As we walked to the train station at 6am the party-ers of Salta were wandering home from the clubs. 

The journey was spectacular, as we climbed onto the Altiplano (southern Andres plain) through striations of coloured rock and across millpond-flat desert. Reaching the international crossing, we befriended Catherine, a Brit on her gap year who spoke much better Spanish. This helped make the process remarkably smooth, as we crossed a bridge into our second South American country. 

Crossing the border into Bolivia

The 'Paris of South America': "Una botesha de malbec por favor?"

Flying in from opposite sides of the world, Roger and I reunited at the Tienda Leon bus station, Buenos Aires (BA). I was feeling pretty good, having achieved a Premium Economy upgrade thanks to AirNZ airpoints and eaten breakfast craning my neck to view the Chilean Andes. Roger had already been on a run through a park, lunched at an Italian and bought breakfast for our Airbnb, after arriving earlier on an awful Al Italia flight followed by long arrival queues. That night we took the subway to a steakhouse in trendy Palermo, where we had our first taste of HUGE Argentine portions andMalbec (although the maitre'D was unimpressed by our (in)ability to discuss the wine list in Spanish). We dashed back through the streets under a sudden, heavy rainstorm.

The next day we maxed out the BA walking tours. In the morning, the grand Parisien architecture, palaces, monuments and stories, particularly around history and politics. (Las Portenas (BA'ians): descended from Italians, speak Spanish, and live in a French style city with the airs and graces of English lords.) Our guide was quite outspoken, but presented the Falklands Memorial pretty evenly, which faces the mini 'Big Ben' gift from the English after WW1. 



After a salad bar lunch and icecream-flavour navigation in Spanish, we joined the Cementerio de la Recoleta tour - a highlight of the city that took us through crazy, ornate, grand, spooky and stylish crypts, from Eva Peron to a horrifying story of a young woman accidentally entombed alive, to a beloved wife killed in an avalanche and followed shortly by her dog (from unknown causes). 











Our Spanish was put to the test buying bus tickets to Cordoba, after which we needed a nap ahead of a colourful and sexy tango-and-dinner show. 

Leaving our bags at the bus station we thoroughly enjoyed the Museo Nacional de Belles Artes, from the traditional Argentinian religious inconography to bauhaus furniture. Lunch was a long affair in a little Mediterranean-feel courtyard cafe, with HUGE desserts that were probably the result of poor Spanish. 

We wandered through the Plaza de Mayo main square into the Puerto Madero area (having established the political history museum was closed), visiting a private art collection with some striking nudes and Antarctica photographs (in different displays). On the advice of a very helpful tourist info man we then pretended we were dressed better than we were, and took the lift up to the swanky bar in a high rise Puerto Madero hotel for sundowner drinks. Sun set, we scooted over to the bus station, wolfing down takeaway pizza ready for our overnight cama (bed) bus to Cordoba!