Not The Worlds Most Dangerous Road.
3 Days spent shopping and eating and drinking with friends, browsing round the witch market where i withheld buying alpaca feotues and other animal bits and pieces. Despite that, I´d bought so much stuff that as we left our hostel on the way to the post office to send it home, the staff ran after us into the street, with a look of horror on her face, thinking we were doing a runner, asking for our room number and names! Happy shopping!
We paid up, checked out and hit the road for Coroico the next day.
It´s amazing how a country can turn a death trap into a tourist attraction.
The only road that used to run from La Paz to Coroico was named "the most dangerous road in the world", with the worst year reaching a death toll of 320. The unpaved path winds high above the valley below. These days it´s not used by vehicles but sensation seeking tourists on two wheels. Plenty of mountain bike companies, some how manage to entice travelers to clutch the breaks for 3 hours as they hurtle 63km downhill. Offering advise to stick to the left (next to the sheer drop), that way those who dare overtake can do it in safety!
There didn´t seem much safe or attractive about this option so Rach and I took the bus down the new "safe" road.
So safe is this route that we had our tires checked by police at two different spots, then as we arrived at the beginning of the peaky journey, high above, clouds tumbling to depths below, the driver pulled over, took out his holy water, offered some to the road, did the sign of the cross and drank a little. How very reassuring.
The jounery, maybe 2 1/2 hours from this point, has bird eye views, but with at least 20 graves dotted sporadically along the road side and as many hosptial advertisements painted on rock faces, i didn´t feel the new improved version is all that safe.
With this in mind, for our return journey, we waited in Coroico bus station for at least an hour, trying to find a sober driver! Harder than one would hope. Being blatant, speaking to different companies "Where´s the driver?", "No not him, he´s drunk!", " Sin alcohol!". Being looked at like WE were the crazy ones, but we did succeed.
The red glassy eyed drivers were a result of the 3 day religious festival that had just been celebrated, and our reason for going, as well as Coroico being that bit lower than La Paz presenting a tropical altitude more comfortable to breath in.
The town square was paraded around by marching bands and brightly coloured dancers in elaborate costumes to exaggerate their moves. Massive shoulder pads and short swaying skirts made their routines more impressive. Men danced just as eagerly as the women, it was as if we´d been transported to the set of a musical, the audience participated with the same fancy foot work, which they were all too happy to teach us with their drunken enthusiasum. Everybody of every age joined in. I´ve never seen anything like it, definately putting the Paignton carnival to shame! Candyfloss, balloons, clowns, childrens games, music and dancing, all typical of an average carnival, but with so much more energy, fuelled by the limitless supply of beer being consumed.
That first day the atmosphere was vibrant with a family, community ambience. A group performed on the stage as night fell, making the total number of bands playing in the small square, three. Music stopped only for rain at about 2:30a.m.
Despite hangovers, 40 piece marching bands continued the party starting at 5:30a.m. persistant in the blazing sun, it clearly makes thirsty work. The crates perched on every street corner were constantly drained and refreshed. Hour by hour it became a little more messy. As the music lost its loud rhythm and the dances became more sloppy, the streets stank stronger of piss. People could hardly open their eyes let alone walk, a man passed out with his face in his dinner, a woman struggling to sit up breast-fed her baby. The whole town seemed dirty. I´m not one for leaving before the end of the party, but I didn´t want to see the end of this one, it was definately time to leave.
We paid up, checked out and hit the road for Coroico the next day.
It´s amazing how a country can turn a death trap into a tourist attraction.
The only road that used to run from La Paz to Coroico was named "the most dangerous road in the world", with the worst year reaching a death toll of 320. The unpaved path winds high above the valley below. These days it´s not used by vehicles but sensation seeking tourists on two wheels. Plenty of mountain bike companies, some how manage to entice travelers to clutch the breaks for 3 hours as they hurtle 63km downhill. Offering advise to stick to the left (next to the sheer drop), that way those who dare overtake can do it in safety!
There didn´t seem much safe or attractive about this option so Rach and I took the bus down the new "safe" road.
So safe is this route that we had our tires checked by police at two different spots, then as we arrived at the beginning of the peaky journey, high above, clouds tumbling to depths below, the driver pulled over, took out his holy water, offered some to the road, did the sign of the cross and drank a little. How very reassuring.
The jounery, maybe 2 1/2 hours from this point, has bird eye views, but with at least 20 graves dotted sporadically along the road side and as many hosptial advertisements painted on rock faces, i didn´t feel the new improved version is all that safe.
With this in mind, for our return journey, we waited in Coroico bus station for at least an hour, trying to find a sober driver! Harder than one would hope. Being blatant, speaking to different companies "Where´s the driver?", "No not him, he´s drunk!", " Sin alcohol!". Being looked at like WE were the crazy ones, but we did succeed.
The red glassy eyed drivers were a result of the 3 day religious festival that had just been celebrated, and our reason for going, as well as Coroico being that bit lower than La Paz presenting a tropical altitude more comfortable to breath in.
The town square was paraded around by marching bands and brightly coloured dancers in elaborate costumes to exaggerate their moves. Massive shoulder pads and short swaying skirts made their routines more impressive. Men danced just as eagerly as the women, it was as if we´d been transported to the set of a musical, the audience participated with the same fancy foot work, which they were all too happy to teach us with their drunken enthusiasum. Everybody of every age joined in. I´ve never seen anything like it, definately putting the Paignton carnival to shame! Candyfloss, balloons, clowns, childrens games, music and dancing, all typical of an average carnival, but with so much more energy, fuelled by the limitless supply of beer being consumed.
That first day the atmosphere was vibrant with a family, community ambience. A group performed on the stage as night fell, making the total number of bands playing in the small square, three. Music stopped only for rain at about 2:30a.m.
Despite hangovers, 40 piece marching bands continued the party starting at 5:30a.m. persistant in the blazing sun, it clearly makes thirsty work. The crates perched on every street corner were constantly drained and refreshed. Hour by hour it became a little more messy. As the music lost its loud rhythm and the dances became more sloppy, the streets stank stronger of piss. People could hardly open their eyes let alone walk, a man passed out with his face in his dinner, a woman struggling to sit up breast-fed her baby. The whole town seemed dirty. I´m not one for leaving before the end of the party, but I didn´t want to see the end of this one, it was definately time to leave.
posted by happytrails @ 6:41 AM
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