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Date:
April 13, 2002
Hola form Tarija, Bolivia !
I hope this email finds you all well.
Tarija is a city in Bolivia's main wine growing
region. I am writing form the central plaza where I am
surrounded by flowers, stately palms, shoe shine boys
and pigeons. Behind me is an ornamental fountain and
to my right rests my bag of pastries.
My journey from Sucre to Tarija was without major
incident but full of observations. I hope that find
them interesting.
During my first day out of Sucre I indented to hitch a
ride to the intersection where the " highway "
connects Potosi and Tarija. This way I could avoid
riding the same road twice. After enduring 2 hours of
apologetic waves from drivers who could not carry me I
began the difficult ride to Tarija. A statistic for
the cyclist who are reading this. During my second day
I registered an estimated 6000ft in elevation gain
over a 65km of paved road. What followed my climb was
375km of poorly maintained, mountainous dirt road that
punished both myself and my bike. The " highway
culminated in a bone rattling, white knuckled, one and
a half hour decent through cold rain and fog into
Tarija. I could have kissed the road sign that
announced my entrance into town.
My weeks ride was also filled with some enduring
memories. At night I laid in my sleeping bag and gazed
at the vivid Milky Way that straddled the sky until
the illumination of the full moon took precedence. The
" highway meandered between stark badlands and
irrigated farmland where mature wheat waved in the
warm afternoon breezes. In the mornings I absorbed the
changing hues of desert sunrises. Bolivia is a
visually stunning country.
I met a sweet woman in Caramago. I arrived at her
hotel resembling an animal after 4 days of camping. It
was after a shower and a change of clothes she
observed me hunched over my cook stove preparing a cup
of tea. She brought me a bowl of local peaches and
informed me that tomorrow I would eat a proper
breakfast while seated at a table. It was after this
breakfast that I realized how much I miss the
formality of a meal. She gave me a warm maternal kiss
goodbye before I departed.
I entered a tiny store in a dusty desert town south of
Potosi. As I approached the counter. The native woman
who owned the store silently retreated and pointed to
the soda bottles displayed on the counter. Her gesture
reminded me of an offering to an unfriendly monster to
leave her and her family in peace. Granted this
monster was adjourned in a salt-encrusted broad-rimmed
sun hat, a long-sleeved grey t-shirt that was darker
in some areas that others and black lycra tights. The
entire ens-amble was accessorised with a film of
desert dust and a 3 day growth of facial hair. What I
sensed from her was the fear and distrust of anything
new or different. I have been frustrated by endless
apathetic stares of the native population. I do not
feel welcome in their presence.
As my journey through Latin America comes to an end I
have become aware of my inability to cope with the
realities of living in this region. Bolivia has been
my favorite country. It is brimming with natural
beauty, a rich history and other resources that could
enable it to flourish. Yet there seems to be an
underlying sense of down-trodden apathy that prevent
Bolivia from realizing it's potential. I did witness
political rallies and a general strike in Sucre but
the events pale against the daily lack of desire to
demand positive change. It is as though someone has
brainwashed the population into believing change is
impossible. I hold a new regard for my home country.
From Tarija it is a 3 day ride to Aguas Blancas where
I enter Argentina. At the border I enter the 11th
country of my trip and also eclipse 10000kms of
cycling since departing San Francisco.
I miss you all !
Dennis
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