Bolivian Blockades

Bolivia…from the moment that I arrived I was acutely aware that I was in a banana republic with a Government that few respect and with the assurance that nothing is assured.

What is it like when you cannot hold your own government accountable? All the issues that we theorised during my masters in Development, seem to be performed in practice in Bolivia. Corruption, free riding, foreign exploitation, civil unrest, natural resource management, etc, etc. I was not in Bolivia in order to see all this, but somehow, it was at my heals.

I arrived into Bolivia from Chile overland, over the geysers, deserts and salt flats. The landscape was incredible. Imagine the never ending plains of crystal salt, under your feet. Everywhere you look it is white crystal, and when you taste it – it is salt. It is an odd feeling when you can sit at a table made out of salt, on a chair made out of salt, in a room made out of salt, which is situated in an entire hotel made out of salt. I kid you not…there is so much salt, that it can be compressed to a density that solid salt walls can be formed. This landscape surrounds you fairly suddenly too, because just the day before, our over land cruiser had passed red lands, green lagoons, and multi coloured geysers. The geysers are constantly bubbling away, and whether it is water, mud or what looks like goo, it is mesmerising, because of the yellows, greens, reds, blues, oranges – colours in the geyser and the surrounding earth. There is always mist, but especially in the early mornings, because of the drastic difference in temperature between the thermal activity underground, and the cold air above the ground. When you begin this trip (and the only way to do it is in a study jeep or minibus), you think you are going over the border, from Chile to Bolivia, but somehow, between the two there is another planet. One that makes hardly makes any sense when coming from the ecosystems most of us are used to.

However, the more populated areas of Bolivia also seemed to be from scenes of a television screen rather than real life. For example, most people are wearing very brightly coloured skirts, trousers and shawls, over layers and layers of clothing – such that they seem to have stepped straight out of a anthological text book. It is incredible, features, clothing, food, expressions, have all remained just as we see on National Geographic, and it is certainly surprising and pleasing when you first arrive. Each region of Bolivia maintains distinct cultures, and the corresponding clothing, music and traditions. It is truly fascinating. You cannot help but be enchanted and just stare.

But it turns out that either I would find myself staring for a good few weeks, or I did not have sit to sit and stare, because messages from other travellers were reaching my ears, telling me that travel would soon come to a halt in Bolivia, the country was in trouble.

What does this mean, and how do you find out, when very little is being shown on television or being broadcast on the radio – apart from panic, and scenes of violence in La Paz. Travel in Bolivia always entails a to or from La Paz, but when I enquired what was happening, travel operators said that they did not know, but that it was impossible to get to La Paz. This threw the diverse group that I had travelled together with me from Chile into panic. Everyone had different but tight schedules to catch flights by x date, or reach the Inca trail by y date, or meet friends and family at the airport, who were coming out to join them at z date. I clearly remember sitting in the tourist office along with a room full of other travellers, asking what the best way was to navigate ones self through the country, and the tourist official saying that it was a risk in every direction, but to move fast because the road will soon come to a stand still – leave today, was the message. How were locals reacting? They were not. Most people did not have to leave the town I was in, and so they were not affected by the protests or the blockades that were surrounding La Paz, but in terms of what this meant for the government, and therefore the country's population, was huge.

I decided to continue on the route that I had planned for myself, and to try to get into La Paz after visiting Potosi and the Silver mines. Almost everyone else that I was with had to reroute because of the schedule that they were on, but since I did not have a time constraint as much it was easier for me to just see what happened. What happened was that I was fortunate enough to catch the last bus that was leaving for La Paz from Potosi, when I had planned. I was not sure if the night bus would reach its foretold destination of the capital La Paz, but when I woke up, there we were, chugging along, through the central streets of the capital, which was surrounded by scenic mountains at every direction. It is truly one of the most beautiful capitals that I have ever visited.

But I was not able to visit for long, and when I saw the state of the streets, I did not mind that too much. There was police every where, and all shops were shut and vendors had packed up. The city was like a ghost town. During the previous weeks, everyday there had been protests, with people taking to the streets, in order to stop business and make the Government listen to the fact that the exploitation of gas that was taking place by foreign companies, was not acceptable to the population. Most of the people on the streets were workers or peasants from the countryside, who receive little in terms of salary and see even less of an improvement in the state of the country. Bolivia is the second largest producer of gas after Venezuela I think. The sad thing is that every country that is well endowed with oil seem to have serious political problems. Venezuela for example has an absolutely crazy President at the moment, and as the country falls into further economic despair, so civilians are the first to suffer in the hands of desperation.

Back to Bolivia: It turns out that the very day that I was fortunate enough to make it into La Paz, was Corpus Christi, a national holiday. The two occurring at the same time are not a co-incidence, rather CC meant that protestors were in the mood to be with family, pray and party rather than block roads, and hence my bus was able to get through that day. But the flipside to this is that it was also the only day to get out, because tmw morning, the shifts would be occupied as usual, and so the blockade business would be up and running. If there was a time to get out it was today.
But that is really easier said than done. I made my way to the bus station as opposed to exploring the gassed delights of La Paz (the airport and train stations remained closed) in the hope of getting one of the infamous buses out. True enough, bus after bus after bus was leaving the city, but each one was packed to the seems with locals. I then learnt that buses that got out now, in the early afternoon would be the only ones that would make it to a border or frontier in time, before borders close. After noon(ish) there would be no more buses leaving La Paz, just in case they were not able to reach the border in time and therefore become stuck to be caught on the roads of Bolivia tmw. No sooner did I discovered this than the last bus was leaving. No one even had to tell me this was the last bus. People refusing to get off the bus, even though the doors would not close shut because it was so full, people wanting to strap themselves to the top of the bus, and people crying in order to aid their case before the conductor told me everything that I needed to know. I did not even attempt to climb on board, not only because it was not physically possible, but also because I would be shattering someone's dream, whereas I was on 'holiday' and so my dream was being made with each experience.

The bus left, and now I was truly stuck. I do not dabble into corruption often, but at times like this, when I know that money speaks loudest, I do use it (sorry). So I, and one other foreigner joined by six desperate last bus left-overs tried to buy a minivan driver to take us all the way, and we offered an obscene amount of money. The driver accepted and as the minivan was being prepared, it dawned on the driver that no amount of money in the world can put a price on risking any lives. So we let the driver go on his way, and did not tease him with money any longer. I was not sure what to do next when a friendly local from our group of six, told us about a bus that was going, but was waiting away from the crowds to avoid the chaos. When we found the bus, it was filling up fast, despite the clever parking, and soon there were people in makeshift seats int he aisle, but everyone was willing tohelp one another, and thankfully we were on our way (fror a handsome sum of money, naturally).

It turned out that we were not over charged for whilst the driver was going over rice fields(!) he was still stopped by some of the more hardcore protestors, and then had to bribe is way out of ech situation. There were some occasions when money could not do the talking, and stones were hurled at our bus as we ignored a blockades and sped right through it. Despite the drivers bestest efforts, we still came to a halt, with punctured tyres, because of nails that were sticking out of mud, forming one of the more effective blockades. So the journey was not easy or smooth, and we did not arrive at the border of Peru until very late (thankfully the border was open - just) and we left the country.

An experience of South America that I shall surely not forget in a hurry (just like the protestors were hoping)!