Bolivians love a strike so it was almost inevitable that during our three weeks in the country, we'd experience at least one. Unfortunately for us, the one we encountered prevented any vehicles from entering or leaving Uyuni which was the next town on our planned itinerary.
We had two options; either we give up on the idea and go through Sucre instead or we hang around in La Paz in the hope that the road would re-open in the next three days. By choosing the latter, we'd still be able to fit in a one day tour of the legendary salt flats (as opposed to the original three) if the strike did in fact seize.
However, having already spent three solid days walking in circles around the markets and buying everything in sight, we had to find something else to occupy our time. Therefore, we opted for a trek which would enable us to further explore the beautiful Bolivian countryside that we touched upon during our trek to Huayna Potosi.
We met our guide, Alejandro, the day before departure; an elderly man in his early sixties who instantly charmed us with his welcoming smile which we soon found to be permanent feature on his weathered face. He was like the Bolivian grandad we never had and though it was his job to guide us, I felt equally obliged to look out for him too.
On the morning of the trek we were also joined by his son, Yuni, one of six of Alejandro's children. He has clearly inherited his father's charm and we knew we'd enjoy his company on the long walks ahead. However, before any walking was to be done, we had to drive to La Cumbre. We were supposed to be dropped at the summit but due to the heavy snow storms of the past few days, the vehicle couldn't make it to the top.
We almost couldn't either! The moment we unlocked the car doors they flung open and we were thrown out onto the roadside. Even with our big backpacks weighing us down, the wind was literally sweeping us off our feet and we had to fight against it to stay grounded in the right direction. In a rush to find warmth, we battled our way to the summit and took cover the other side. With the absence of the freezing cold winds, we could fully appreciate the beauty of our whereabouts. It was a completely clear day and from this high up viewpoint we could see virtually all the mountains which surround La Paz, including Huayna Potosi where we'd been just a few days before.
The El Choro hike follows an old Inca trail which if you were to continue along it for many months, would bring you out at Cusco! It's a relatively easy walk this way around as it's mostly downhill but in the other direction, it would be quite the trek. Along our route we saw the remains of a number of Inca settlements where they would presumably have paused for long rests.
We'd been walking for three hours when we passed our first modern town. Completely isolated from the rest of the world, this tiny community consists of a few shanti houses, a school and a shabby old building which is presumably their town hall. Two children saw us approaching and came speeding out of their front door with their hands held out in hope. Alejandro gave each of them a caramel sweet and told them to run along. They were covered in dirt and though thankful for the candies, we could tell they wanted more. They needed more. The only other sign of life in this run down ghost town was an old man with one solitary tooth who was sat on the steps of the town hall collecting donations. We were all thinking it; who on earth could live here? But thank goodness none of us actually said it as a few metres on Alejandro pointed to a wooden shack with a widened smile: 'Mia casa!'
Our alpine surroundings in the initial leg reminded us very much of New Zealand which is quite remarkable considering how far away we are from it. However, the beauty of the El Choro trek is that the scenery changes dramatically in just a matter of hours and we soon found ourselves in a jungly terrain which was more like that of Fiji. Gradually the clear skies were overcome with a mist so that we walked the remainder of the trail trapped within a bright white cloud.
After six hours of walking we eventually came to a quaint little camping ground deep in the valley. To enter we had to pass the first of many bridges which we were advised to cross just one person at a time. Slightly concerned, we treaded carefully hoping we wouldn't be the straw to break the llamas back.
The camp site is very basic but has the most beautiful view. We sat down to tea and biscuits where we were joined by two lovely French girls and a boy, all from Paris. We entertained ourselves by exchanging our travel stories until night fall. At dusk, a Bolivian cholita appeared and started lurking around the table. It was a little while before we realised she was chasing a live chicken. 'Cena,' she smiled, dinner.
It was a relatively warm night and even more so because Hana, Erica and I were all crammed cosily into a two-man tent. We topped and tailed with Erica in the middle, and Hana and I half up the sides but I surprisingly slept rather well, soothed to sleep by the sound of the running river. It was only when we were packing away the next morning that we discovered Alejandro had put a one-man up for us too which had remained empty all night.
The second day consisted of another seven hours of walking, the majority of which we simply followed the river. The sun was back out and we took regular breaks to cool down by paddling our feet and splashing our faces. I suspected these rest stops were as much for Alejandro's benefit as they were ours but we were rather grateful as our heavy backpacks were beginning to take a toll on our weary shoulders.
Another night, another camp ground; this time a tiny little ledge on the side of a mountain. It was a pretty surreal place to spend the evening but we huddled around the table for dinner with our new French friends, two Canadians and a Chilean girl. We could barely see what we were eating, having only one candle, two head torches and a few stray fireflies between the nine of us. We were all tired from two long days trekking but played a few rounds of cards before retiring to our tents. The three of us had been looking forward to a more spacious night's sleep but found that Alejandro had only put up the one tent tonight, thinking that we all wanted to stay together. We didn't have the heart (or the Spanish) to tell him otherwise.
The final day began at six in the morning as we needed to get the majority of the walking out of the way before it became too hot. We only had five hours to complete but it felt like longer as our feet, shoulders and knees began to ache terribly. Once again we were rather thankful for the slow and steady pace of our elderly guide in comparison to the others who looked as though they were racing down the mountain side. We had only just come back from Huayna Potosi, after all!
By the time we arrived in Chairo, we'd completed over twenty hours trekking, covered fifty-three kilometres and met at least eight amazing new people along our way. It was a beautiful trip and though it hadn't made it onto our initial schedule, it was a worthy addition and did a great job of keeping us away from those markets!
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