DAY 27/28 : Oruro/La Paz
What comes up must come down. In retrospect I was too cocky, too tired or both. Fact is that not one but many things went wrong on the way back from Uyuni to La Paz.
But I really must describe to you my safety precautions when travelling. Firstly: my passport, return ticket, immunisation certificate and travellers cheques are kept in one place: an underarm removable pouch which is worn strapped around my chest in the way criminals wear guns in the movies. Whenever I am in transit, I always carry it on me. Secondly, all my cash is around my waist in a slender moneybelt that looks like a real belt but is hollow and stuffed with $100 notes. Then my credit cards, banker’s cards and general plastic are kept in a small pouch which I wear around my leg. Plus, I keep photocopies of my passport, the numbers of travellers cheques and the return ticket. I have two small locks for my two pieces of luggage: a large backpack and a small shoulderbag. Whenever I leave my hotel room, I put all my valuables in my large backpack, I hide it under the bed and lock it, unless I am sleeping communally, in which case they always stay with me. This strategy has seen me through one Round The World trip, three journeys to South America and multiple ones in Europe and the US. End of parenthesis.
As I said before, I was anxious not to spend a night in Uyuni, coz I hated the place. My companions Pascal, Natalie, Umbert and Maeva already had tickets to La Paz with the overnight bus. There was no point staying in Uyuni. All buses to Oruro/La Paz were nightbuses. So far, so good.
What I did not know is that we had to change. Pascal, Natalie, Umbert and Maeva had already booked the cheaper tickets to Oruro.
"So what are you going to do when you arrive there ?"
"We will be arriving in Oruro at 3:30am and leave with the first bus to La Paz at 5:00am".
"But on Wednesdays there is a direct bus to La Paz, so why the hassle ? Do you realize what it means changing in the dark cold station at 5:00am ?"
I was sure the English guys were taking the direct bus. I tried again :
"The bus to Oruro leaves at 7pm. The La Paz bus leaves at 6pm. If we change in Oruro at 5am, we'll be in La Paz at 8:-8:30am. Surely the direct bus is quicker", I kept arguing.
Apparently, though - and this clinched it - the direct bus was old and unpredictable according to Lula, the Toñito rep. It stopped frequently to pick up people, it was full to the rim and it was liable to breakdowns. Implicitly everyone wanted me not to break the party. So, what the hell: against my good judgement, I let myself be persuaded that it was better to change at Oruro although all indications were to the contrary. I bought a ticket for the Oruro bus with Katrin.
This was mistake Number One.
Things started going badly pretty soon. The Hotel Avenida lets you use the public showers for a $1. As neither of us had washed for 4 days, this was a must, so we gathered in one room and started undressing in turns; everyone keeping an eye on the other's belongings. Except me - I just had to go to the toilet for a dump. By the time I had finished - and we are only talking five minutes - Lula at Toñito tours had locked the office and left. My backpack with my clean clothes and washing stuff was still inside. I looked at my watch. It was 4:00pm. Less than three hours till the bus left. I waited for half an hour; the office remained closed. Luckily, I spotted Fidel, our driver who took me to the travel agency's owner's house. (I’m glad we had given Fidel a princely $30 tip). I made the owner come over and open the agency office and took all my luggage out. The others were now getting ready. I was in a rush, and as I changed in the open, I put all my valuables in my shoulderbag for convenience. I showered (bliss!), dried myself quickly and put on some clean clothes without removing the pouches containing my passport, credit cards et al from the shoulderbag to restrap them around my arm and leg. By the time I realized this, I was fully dressed. So, all eggs were in one basket (the shoulderbag already contained my camera and portable CD player) for the first and only time ever. (The moneybelt with the cash was safely around my waist anyway). "What the hell", I thought. "I'll hold the bag all the time".
This was mistake Number Two.
When I finished we all split up. Pascal and Natalie went to buy the brochure for the National Park tour we’ve been to; Maeva and Umbert to change money; Katrin to call her aunt. I stocked on coca leaves and legía, chocolates and water. At about 5:30pm we met up again and sat down for our last meal together; we exchanged addresses and phone numbers. However, by 6:15pm, although we had drunk beers and Cuba Libres aplenty, service was terrible and the food was not ready - we had to leave hungry to catch the bus. At 6:45pm we were at the station. My large backpack went to the top of the bus with all other heavy luggage. A large canvas was thrown on and was tied tightly around the bags. My sleeping-bag and my backpack stayed with me. I was just able to buy a piece of chicken and chips to alleviate my hunger for the night. Thank the Goddess for the coca leaves, I thought, as I sat next to Katrin.
And wow! The bus rattled with no shock absorbers on an unpaved stony camino. The window next to me clang loudly throughout. We went through dried rivers, dirt roads and steep inclines at 10mph to pick up local Quechua Indians who stood up in the corridor. One hour out of town and the bus had a breakdown for half an hour. I had just finished chewing my first batch of coca leaves and was in bad mood. I went out and shouted :
"I have a new concept for you: how about doing some maintenance BEFORE you leave the garage ? Novel, eh ?". I thus antagonised the driver and the conductor.
This was mistake Number Three.
At least I had a pee while they were trying to fix a broken shaft - in the rain. I took it out on Katrin. I didn't say exactly that I was pushed into doing something I did not like, but left no doubts about my feelings.
"I can't believe the La Paz bus could be worse. I mean what more can go wrong now ?"
I was tempting fate.
This truly was the most uncomfortable ride of my life. The 7-hour drive took 10 and a half hours. I saw the Moon and the Southern Cross rise and fall. Presumably to stop us hearing the rattling, the driver put on loud music - so that we didn't spend any time in non-macho activities like sleep. Worse, the old banger of a bus, passed through the dirt roads with the warm air on and circulated dust and sand. I had to put a hankie on my nose and breathe through that. The dust was so thick, visibility inside the bus was down to one meter. Eventually, they shut down the recirculating air; but that made the bus icy cold. In fact the temperature was below zero. I huddled together with Katrin who had a blanket - she managed to sleep for about four hours. I couldn't.
By the time we reached Oruro, I was tired, I was sleepy, I was cold, I was hungry, I was coughing. I just wanted to get to a bed in La Paz and I was angry for letting myself be persuaded not to take the direct bus. We got off in the dark, busy Oruro station rubbing our eyes. My arm was numb. I put my sleeping bag and shoulderbag down next to me. With the corner of my eye, I saw a taxi backing up towards me. "If he comes closer, he'll hit me", I thought. But I concentrated on picking up my large backpack from the top of the bus. Watch it! It nearly fell to the ground. I put it down carefully. The taxi was now behind me. Two Quechua Indian women were inside. How odd! I would have thought they would not have the money to pay for a cab. I turned to my shoulderbag.
It had vanished.
I looked again. No, there was just my sleeping bag there. The taxi behind me moved on slowly. I panicked. And a panicky JohnM is not a pretty sight.
I started shouting "Ladrones" and "Ayudo" intermingled with some very English swearwords. I searched bemused bystanders. I stopped taxis and made them open their boot. I kept shouting (in Spanish ? English ?):
"Please, no! I’ve been robbed! My passport, my camera EVERYTHING is in my bag.".
I looked up at the bus conductor still on the bus roof.
"Surely you saw them. Surely you saw what happened".
He looked at me cold and unsympathetic.
"Call the police", I kept screaming. "Someone call the police".
"The police will not open until 9:00am", someone said.
Everyone just stood there watching me shiver in the cold - or was it in despair, as it was dawning on me that what happens ‘only to others’ was now happening to me.
To this day, I believe that the taxi who had come so close behind me was the culprit. It left quickly with the two Quechua women inside, after I started shouting. You see, I couldn't search underneath their crinoline dresses. The taxi returned pretty quickly; I recognised the driver. Yeah, the Indian peasant women paid a taxi for a quick ride, did they ? I also could not stomach the idea that the driver on top of the bus who was unloading the luggage had seen nothing. Was he colluding with the taxi driver ? Was it a hardened gang rather than an isolated thief who chanced his luck ? I will never know.
Katrin and the French were also in shock, especially since they were the ones who persuaded me to come with them against my instincts. Umbert was uncharacteristically speechless and remained so throughout. Katrin refused to believe me and kept yelling back "You left it inside Dummkopf, go and check" – until she did so herself and came out ashen-faced. I made a snap decision to continue to La Paz. After all, the embassy would be there. I could not wait for three hours plus to report the theft in Oruro. Maeva and Natalie seemed the most together at the time. They found the next bus which was leaving at 6:00am. Katrin bought me the ticket, which was nice of her, although I had money. All my cash was still strapped around my waist.
I know what you are thinking. Yes, I was insured. But money was not the issue. I felt traumatised as if physically beaten up – and yes, ultimately stupid and very vulnerable.
We boarded the bus to La Paz. Katrin sat next to me. I wanted to go to sleep. This was going to be a long day.
"I want to go home", I said, my heart as empty as the Bolivian landscape around me. "Bugger the rest of the trip".
Katrin held my hand:
"Sleep on it", she kept repeating.
Slowly, what I had lost started mounting up:
"My Lariam pills! I still had two to take to complete my anti-malaria course. My detailed maps! My Bolivia Lonely Planet guide".
In the back pages of this book I had all the addresses - of Sergio in Santa Cruz, Froudo and Katje in the Pantanal and of the Uyuni gang themselves. (I had the South American Handbook for Chile and Peru but the Lonely Planet Guides for Brazil and Bolivia).
"I don't even know where to look for a hotel in La Paz", I exclaimed.
"Shush", said Katrin. She gave me her aunt's number. "Call me if you want anything", she added.
"Here", said Pascal and lent me his copy of the Lonely Planet. I found the address of the British Embassy. I chose a hotel roughly in the same area: Hotel España.
After three hours we reached El Alto. The drop from the ring of the shanty towns around La Paz to the town itself is a 400m dive with magnificent views of the capital. Just for once, I forgot my woes and admired a view I could not any more capture on camera. Despite being in the doldrums I couldn't help liking the city. Just as well, coz I didn't know how long I'd have to spend there. I parted from the others in the station. They all embraced me and wished me good luck- I had spoiled their holiday as well. It was a quick and silent good-bye.
Hotel España was nice and inexpensive :$15 for a single with own bath and TV. It also transpired that it was also only 10 minutes on foot from the British embassy. I searched my luggage, and I raised the biggest cheer of the day: I found the photocopy of my passport I'd made in Sâo Paulo. Without it, the hotel might not have accepted my word; and I do not even want to consider for a moment the trouble I might have had at the British Embassy.
The people in the hotel were nice and understanding. In fact, everyone was. I wasn't - still am not - angry with Bolivia or its people. If anything, I was angry with myself. I kept trying to objectify my sorrows: "I know these things happen and I am about to find out what people do in these circumstances".
Entering the British Embassy was difficult; the guard wanted to see my passport. Armed with the photocopy and my International Driving license (the only piece of ID left on me), I persuaded him to let me in. I was, after all in quite a state. Lisette on the other hand, at the British Embassy, was calm and composed. She gave me a list of addresses and phone numbers.
"Passports are at a premium", she said. "It's a good thing you have a photocopy. Without it, it would be difficult and time-consuming to issue you with another passport. But we first need a police report. Your insurance will also demand it."
Lisette was so streetwise she said to me to ask for the discotheque 'Love Weekend' rather than the Tourist Police; apparently everyone knows where the former is situated. I left with a pack of application forms for a new passport and a list of things to do. Lisette finished with a bombshell.
"May I remind you that you need the signature of another person who knows you for some time on the back of your photographs ? He or she also needs to countersign the application form".
I froze. The only person who could help was Katrin. But she’d only known me for a week.
"What if I can't find someone to sign for me ?"
"Then we can only issue you with a temporary passport applicable only in Bolivia and the UK. You will not be able to travel to other countries with it".
Shit. Good-bye Peru, good-bye Chile.
The taxis in La Paz are on a flat rate: $1 per trip in the centre. Just as well, coz I needed to travel quickly and had no map. The tourist police was in the Plaza Estadio next to the large city football stadium. They were polite and relieved I spoke Spanish. This speeded up the process of making the 'denuncia', because I did not need a translator. Nevertheless, they still used two turn-of-the-century typewriters at a rate of one character a minute. After the policeman finished typing and asked me to sign, I realized I had left out the air ticket in the list of things lost. A list already so long, the police became suspicious. They wanted to question me privately in an interrogation room. At that point, the superintendent came down. He said that the British Embassy had called and asked if they could offer me all help possible. He approached me and listened to my story. He was very interested in the name of the bus company; I still had the ticket which he photocopied and attached to the denuncia. He told the policeman who was dealing with me. "This guy is telling the truth". I don't know what it was that convinced him, but this changed their attitude and returned on being helpful. But they were closing and I had to come back at 4:00pm to help them retype the denuncia with the return air ticket included. As I left, a Norwegian bloke entered; he had lost his passport. I asked how many tourists get robbed every day.
"About 4-5", they replied. "The ones who come to us".
It was 11:30am. I had woken up at 4:30am yesterday to visit the geysers. I was clocking a solid 30 hours on my feet, but the adrenalin was keeping me wide awake. I returned to the hotel and called Katrin. Her aunt Gisa answered the phone.
"Is that John ?", she said. "I was expecting your call. I am so sorry to hear what happened to you" and she started a tirade against station thieves.
I politely cut her off. "Can I speak to Katrin ?"
"Katrin is asleep".
I told her I needed Katrin's countersignature for my passport application papers, as she was the only one who could vouch for me.
"Could she call me when she wakes up ?"
I didn't have to wait long. After about fifteen minutes Katrin called. She couldn't sleep.
"Listen", she said, "we'll be having lunch soon. Do you want to join us ?".
"Yes, thanks", I said. "Much appreciated. Where do you live ?"
"Do you know Plaza Estudiantes ?", she asked.
I jumped. It was hard to believe in such coincidences, but Hotel España was a bit below the Plaza Estudiantes, less than five minutes away. Aunt Gisa lived on the 13th floor of an exclusive glass building in the centre of La Paz with the most dramatic and incredible views of the city and the surrounding mountains, especially the snowy magnificence of Mount Illimani which is the city's trademark. I was not hungry but I ate for Katrin's sake.
Would she help me and sign my passport papers ? Of course she would. She did it on the spot. We decided that she would not lie on the application form: she would say she only knew me for a week and hopefully the staff in the Embassy would understand. She filled in the ‘occupation’ field ‘speech therapist’ with a sigh:
"At last I am filling in a form for people who understand what my job is".
I felt better. I am of the opinion that you can make your own luck; I was careless for a minute and I lost my belongings. But to counter that, I had also made friends; I was thousands of miles away from home and yet I was not alone. Aunt Gisa's unruffled manner and Katrin's willingness to support me steeled me up. Before that lunch I was a panicky individual under shock. After that, I was cool and intent on taking everything on my stride. It was then I decided I I would finish my trip as planned. This was part of the adventure, not the end of it.
There were still complications, though. Back in the hotel, I couldn't find the AMEX traveller cheque numbers. I had left the key to my flat with a friend in London to check out my mail and water my plants; but he had recently changed phone numbers, and I could not remember the new one. I knew I had left a copy of the cheque numbers on my kitchen table. I dashed off to the British embassy again to check if they had a London phone directory. They did, but an old one. Lisette let me use the phone in her office. I tried calling directory enquiries. We couldn't get through.
I popped in at the AMEX office; I called the States on a dedicated line and I cancelled the cheques by remembering only the place and date of issue; they were extremely efficient. However, I would not have the cheques reissued until I discovered the serial numbers. In the worst case, I would be reimbursed when I arrived home.
Then to the police for the second time to retype my denuncia with all items declared, including the air ticket this time. But I hadn't finished yet. The superintendent had to sign; he would not be back until next morning. I signed in triplicate and it was then I noticed that I had been robbed on the 13th of the month. How droll. 6pm. Back in the hotel for the final task: stopping the credit cards. Lisette had given me the toll-free numbers for VISA and Mastercard. I knew my VISA number (I had paid by VISA in Bonito and still had the receipt), so I stopped the card easily. My Mastercard took longer, but the guy on the other end, (Francisco, God bless him), was very helpful and managed to stop my Mastercard via an exhaustive list of information - from my address to my mother's maiden name. Francisco did not stop at that. He called back after an hour with an offer.
"I could order a replacement to be issued in La Paz. Would you want me to ?" Would I hell!
"How much will it cost ?"
"Depends on your Bank. It is within reason".
"How long will I have to wait ?"
"Oh, about 24 hours if you go and pick it up at our representative's office yourself"
Gosh. Now that was impressive.
And the final piece of good news. During the search for the VISA receipt from Bonito, I had found the list of traveller's cheques' serial numbers. :-)
The program for tomorrow was set: I would return to the AMEX Office first thing in the morning and then I would ask for the BA ticket to be reissued. And I had decided: I would replace the camera and the CD player. Life would go on as smoothly as possible. Everything was now under control. After about 40 hours without sleep, I slept like a log for twelve hours.
So what did I lose ?
Passport
British airways ticket Santiago-London
A Minolta SLR 500xi camera with a 28-200 Sigma lens and various filters. Total approximate cost £500.
A portable Sony CD player with one CD ("The future sound of Italy") inside. Small headphones.
My Mastercard and VISA credit cards
My Nat West Switch/Bankers Card
International Certificate of Vaccination
$1600 in AMEX travellers cheques
£80 cash
My Rayban glasses (cost £140)
The last film inside the camera - the pictures from Alota onwards. Thankfully all other films were in the large backpack.
The Lonely Planet guide to Bolivia with all the addresses of the people I met on the back
My Lariam anti-malaria pills. I had not finished the course after leaving the Pantanal
and finally:
my meticulously kept and daily updated travel diary.
Yes, what you have been reading up to this point have not been the transcripts of the original diary. As a final act of defiance, I rewrote everything while in South America while it was still fresh. My day-to-day first-hand diary began with this chapter.
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