It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper update on here with some progress to share. We’ve made the final push towards to the Bolivian border and are now in La Paz.
The recent events have scarred my mind, and unemotionally I’ve been forcing my cranks in circles trying to push myself into a better headspace. It’s a slow process but thankfully time (and camping in my opinion) heals all wounds.The real setback was a switchover to a whole new set of gear which we look like monkeys trying to operate. The process of downloading and reinstalling maps on completely foreign devices was and still is very time consuming. Once you develop a good relationship with the gear you’re using it’s tough to get used to anything else.
We’ve unfortunately been forced onto the main road for a few days. Picking up my passport and credit cards are top priority, and La Paz is going to be our true point of departure for our Bolivian adventure. The scenery has been nice enough, though the sound alone of our tires wearing thin on pavement is sufficient to depress. I’m very much learning how to use my new camera and so this post will just have a few assorted images of varying quality. At least the fairly bland riding is forcing me to take some different types of photos, a practice I’m in desperate need of. After all, this journey is all about learning.
I’m not sure I want to know what kind of snacks they’re serving here.
When there isn’t a gas station, make one.
Salchipapas – a staple basically everywhere down here.
Titicaca, more like the ocean than a lake.
Alpaca heads, a friend tells me they are used as offerings to Pachamama (Mother Earth) when constructing the foundation of houses.
Overlooking Copacabana, a charming but touristy lakeside resort town.
Bolivians are all about green roofs!
People weren’t lying when they said food is hard to come by in Bolivia. The small town Tiendas have suprisingly little to choose from. Luckily we had enough left to cook, better learnt here than in the middle of nowhere.
Cristian Conitzer’s Casa de Cicilistas is a piece of history in itself. The walls literally speak for the hundreds of cyclists who’ve passed through and left their mark. It’s hard not to feel a bit small after witnessing some of these incredible journeys.