Viva las Américas!: La Paz and the Death Road!

The border crossing into Bolivia, for us went without much trouble, just a bit of hassle with trying to figure out where to go and in what order, nobody tells you where to go, so we just followed the crowd! We were introduced to Bolivian buses however, and Bolivian toilets, which, if the trend continues, are likely to give us Hepatitis.

However, we arrived in La Paz at around 5pm on the 30^th December. The ride in was a bit, well, interesting. The road takes you through the outskirts and surrounding Barrios of La Paz which are dirty, grimey and really feckin’ poor. So I assumed of course that all of La Paz was going to be like this and immediately wanted to turn around and head back to Cusco. But all of a sudden, the motorway opened up to reveal spectacular mountains in the distance and La Paz, sitting comfortably down in the mountain valley and it was a real gasp-inducing sight! We checked into the Wild Rover, which was already buzzing with people in prep for the New Year’s celebrations. New Year ’s Eve was set to be a black and white masquerade ball, so Kev and I combined sightseeing in La Paz with searching for tat to wear at the party. The party itself turned into a crazy one, with pretty much all of the acquaintances of the last 3 months all showing up at once at the bar so we had a major catch up and a subsequent piss up! So, as is predictable enough, we had a great night and the following few days were spent alternating between taking “the Cure” and nursing our sore heads.

Our main piece of blog-worthy news over the past few days is our mountain-biking adventure down the notorious “Death Road”. A good few of us from the hostel signed up to do the trip with a company called “Altitude”, at a slightly bargained-down price of 450Bs (about €50).With my fear of heights slightly quashed, I was still only feeling 60% brave, 40% violently ill. I had heard so many horror stories that it was enough to make me an insomniac for the night and I was awake long enough to count all the church bells nearby notifying the world of the approach of 6am, the dreaded wake up time.

We were all bundled into a fairly old and unstable-looking Hiace van for the 30 minute drive to our starting point, yet again at altitude. Is there anywhere in this continent NOT at altitude?! We were decked out in our protective gear and jackets, grabbed our bikes and off we set down the first part of our journey, a 24km cycle down your average asphalt road, through some really great scenery. And damn it was cold! I assume this part of the cycle was to allow you to get a feel for your bike, test the brakes and the gears etc. before the daunting Death Road began. We had some breakfast at an eatery at the side of the road and then, after visiting the bleak toilets, hopped into the van again, where we would be driven uphill to the start of the Death Road cycle. Greeting you at the start of the road is a giant Caution sign, which contained too much text for me to read from a moving vehicle, but I’m pretty sure it was saying “turn back now, you crazy, crazy people”.

Our group before we set off on the Death Road

The Death Road is now relatively unused by cars, trucks, vans and buses now since a newer, safer road was constructed a few years ago. This road, winding its way through the mountainside is only 3m wide in some places, with a dizzying, stomach churning 1000m drop to your left. And, when you’re a cyclist, you’re obliged to keep to the left at all times and in the case of meeting a vehicle, the vehicle is obliged to keep to the mountainside, therefore, leaving you, on a bike, standing on the edge of a massive drop as the car passes. If you managed to find yourself teetering towards the edge, a fall would lead to certain death; the drop is so sheer that there isn’t much chance of you hitting a gentle undulating slope where you would eventually roll to a stop! All this considered, and with copious amounts of Holy Water later, I was rearing to go. The gravel and sizeable rocks on the road, combined with little channels cut into the road by rain and waterfalls meant that the cycle was hair-raising at the best of times and it was difficult to build up an great speed without risking your life. I found myself, not shitting myself like I had imagined, but actually becoming so exhilarated by the ride and when you had the opportunity to take your eyes off the road for a second, there was some amazing, dramatic scenery to be had, especially once we descended below cloud cover. Our guides stopped us at several locations on the road, the most dramatic and treacherous parts of the road, for photo ops.

The entire road is about 40km and by the time we had mercifully reached the end; my hands were calloused and bruised from pulling so tightly on the brakes! We were hot, sweaty and our hearts were thumping, but we had the best bike journey of the trip. I am so thankful that I decided not to listen to the scare-mongering and do the trip, yet I am equally delighted never to have to do it again. It’s one thing I can tick off the list of things to do before I die.