Bolivia... Jungle Jaz

It has to be said that Bolivia is right up there with Mexico and Colombia for me in fact I've fallen head over heals, although this is probably because I've dedicated more time to the place, but regardless, this is one love affair I won't be forgetting in a hurry. Bolivia is South America's poorest country, but it is undeniably rich in culture and has the highest percent of people with indigenous heritage which is apparent by the abundance of folk wearing traditional dress. It is also one of the most diverse countries I've ever been to and is host to just about every different type of landscape imaginable. After bidding farewell to Mumma G in Peru my first stop was La Paz. Coming into La Paz via bus you can't help but get a bolt of excitement run through you as your first glimpse of the city is from above. Looking down on what feels like the centre of the world, you see a gigantic valley with houses sprawling up the sides of the surrounding mountains, one edge unexpectedly hosting a Plato, giving the impression that the city has been carved out with a giant wooden spoon. La Paz is without doubt on 'The Gringo Trail' but although a lot of us backpackers (including me) end up subscribing to the concept that there are grades of authenticity when travelling (always adhered to with competitive undertones), a lot of places are on 'The Gringo Trail' for a reason.

So whilst in La Paz I took a trip to the Witches Market, which is actually filled with a variety of beautiful things to fill your home with as opposed to voodoo dolls and potions as one may expect. Having said that there is a section of the market dedicated to more hocus pocus based goods including an extensive array of Llama foetuses sold as good luck charms. As tempting as it was, after much consideration, I opted not to purchase one and stick to kissing my St Chris pendant occasionally that has hung from my neck since the very first day of this adventure, and although a little grimy by now, seems to be doing the trick. I'm going to be honest now and say that other than the Witches Market and the odd excursion to the central square I largely spent my time in La Paz fully living up to the backpacker stereotype of getting far too drunk with other gringos, and spending most mornings in a hung-over state in which I was capable of ordering food from the hostel bar and little else! Much like indulging in too much chocolate, while I know this lifestyle was bad for me, temporarily, it felt so good, and I really do believe that occasionally it is necessary to lose yourself in reckless fun!

Needless to say La Paz was the sort of city I needed to escape after a while before it sucked me in completely. With that in mind I headed north bound to a town called Ruenbeque which borders the Madidi National park which is right at the Amazon Basin and my main incentive for the visit. To get to the park itself we needed to take a three hour boat ride which is enough to make you feel like you are right in the heart of the jungle (even though in reality you're not even scratching the surface), and after three days there I'm surprised we didn't come away picking each others fleas, we were so well adapted! During the course of our time there a local guide took us on daily treks where we were fortunate enough to encounter a family of over 100 monkeys, an ant eater, several tarantulas, macore parrots, soldier ants, a jungle turtle, a baby alligator and most impressively a family of over 300 wild pigs, and let me tell you, Disney most certainly did their research when it comes to Pumba because these dudes stink! Actually they sound exactly like you'd expect them to, like wild beasts that want to rip your flesh off which is why when our guide signalled for us to follow them, I was a little surprised! In fact our guide was so overcome with excitement whilst chasing after the beasts that he managed to get us lost and it took us an hour to find our track again! My whole jungle experience was wonderfully authentically wild, including swinging from giant vines, along with drinking from them, falling asleep to the sound of tree frogs and making warrior face paints out of the sap of strange jungle leaves. However, anyone who has travelled will tell you that what often makes a trip is the people you meet along the way. Unfortunately I was stuck with a less than inspiring group, including one incredibly obnoxious American girl whom I would have happily of fed to the crocs!

As much as I loved playing the part of Jungle Jaz for a few days, I paid a high price for it on my return trip to La Paz when I embarked on a 22 hour bus from 80's classics hell. I may have found myself secretly tapping my knee to 'In the navy' the first time it was played, but by the tenth time the only thing that was moving was my right eye with the nervous twitch it had developed. Think back to when you were 8 and you owned a little battery powered key board, and the really cool ones had buttons at the top which played tunes which you'd then pretend to play along to and insist to your parents that you where in fact composing. Now imagine hearing those same tunes at full volume from 8 in the evening until 8am accompanied by little red and blue flashing lights in the isles, this was my bus. Still I got there in one piece and managed to restrain my urge to butcher the driver.

After a brief second and equally as messy stop in La Paz I headed south to a town called Cochabamba. When you backpack you learn to tolerate a lot. One of the down sides to this way of life is often the accommodation. I arrived at Cochabamba and checked in to Hostel Colonial at 5.45 in the morning. Three of my English pounds in such an establishment gets me a private room with a shared bathroom. That’s not so bad I hear you say, let me elaborate... a private room with paint flaking off the walls worse than the dandruff that has sought permanent residency on my granddads shoulders for as long as I've known him. A shared room with a table with only three legs. A shared bathroom with an electric shower which, despite the duck tape protecting you from the metal tap, still manages to give you a shock every time you turn it on. Yes it is a classy existence I live right now, but all this I can tolerate, even learn to ignore, it was only when I lifted back the cover of my bed in search of sanctuary for an hour or two before it got light, only to discover my sheets were not only dirty but decorated with little black public hairs, that I felt enough was enough and paid a visit to reception. In response to my request that they change my sheets they replied 'what now?' To which I shan't repeat my response.

The second main exhaustion I've faced while travelling, particularly in the Americas is the constant underlying feeling of fearing for my safety. I like to consider myself a fairly rational person when it comes to fear (except for of course in relation to wasps) but I have honestly met more people with horror stories of being robbed in these countries than without. Recently I have been travelling with a girl called Sarah who is the same age as me and is also travelling on her own. One night we got talking as to why she doesn't have any jewellery and she told me one of the worst stories of kidnapping I've heard first hand. When she was in Nicaragua she got chatting to a local guy on a bus on her way to a market and he told her he was heading the same way as her so they decided to share a taxi at the other end. He flagged down a taxi with two women in it which reassured her and therefore she got in. Two minutes down the road it transpired that the entire thing was a set up and they demanded her bank card. The problem was she didn't have her bank card with her, only cash. This was an extremely nasty group of robbers and when they discovered she didn't have what they wanted they got violent. They proceeded to strip her of everything she owned, to the extent of using her lip balm to lubricate her finger to remove her ring. They mocked her when she cried mimicking shooting her with their gun and even took pictures of her on her camera. After two hours of driving around in these conditions they took her to a deserted land fill sight, dragged her to the back of the car, opened the boot, loaded a bullet in their gun, and then for some unknown reason threw her to the floor and drove off. Amazingly Sarah decided to continue travelling, and she has got to be one of the bravest people I know. I know a lot of you will probably think to yourselves that she was just unlucky, or perhaps even silly for getting into the taxi but you have no idea how often this type of mugging occurs and how cunning people can be. The problem is that sometimes getting a taxi is unavoidable, and it’s something I certainly won't miss about this trip.

On a lighter note it has to be said that for every horror story you hear whilst travelling, there’s guaranteed to be a tale that is sure to send you into a full belly rumble! While in La Paz I met a guy whose story topped them all. He had been held up by knife point in Rio, by a man... wearing Speedos! Apparently he was nursing a rather severe hang over on the beach, when a man jogged past in nothing but a little pair of briefs, when all of a sudden he whipped a knife from his Nether regions, proceeded to demand all the guys money and phone, which he then stuffed back into the said zone, before continuing to jog on. This is a lesson I will certainly bare in mind when checking out the eye candy in Rio... large packages are not necessarily a good thing!