From Paraguay to Bolivia

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  Samaipata, Bolivia
Monday, May 3, 2010

Several months ago when I was leaving Paraguay the first time around, I took a bus out of Pedro Juan Caballero to the Brazilian city of Campo Grande. I spent several hours during the ride talking to a Mennonite couple who lived in the colony of Loma Plata. It sounded pretty interesting but I didn't think I'd make it over there and so I didn't write down his contact information. In fact, I didn't even catch his name. And I was cursing myself for it the whole ride from Puerto Casado to Loma Plata.

In Loma Plata however, we had walked less than 30 meters from where the bus dropped us off when a motorcycle pulled up to us. The curious driver saw us three foreigners with our big backpacks and decided to stop for a chat and to offer some advice. As soon as he took of his helmet, by some remarkable coincidence, I recognized him as the guy from the bus! He recognized me too, and after chatting a bit with Ferdinand (in English) he gave me his phone number.

Being here was really a surreal experience. Everyone is as white as me and the first language is German, so 'guten tag' is a more common greeting than 'hola'. Most people speak English too. Back in the 1920's and 30's, Paraguay basically gave this land away since it is very hard to farm due to the arid climate of the region. A bunch of Mennonites settled down in exchange for religious freedom and formed a few farming communities here in the middle of the dry Chaco. There isn't really much to do here though and everything closes at 6 PM, so we called Ferdinand and he picked us up at our hotel and drove us around a bit before taking us to his house where we spent a couple of hours asking him questions about the Mennonite community while drinking some terere. Basically, everyone here pays a monthly fee to a cooperative, which builds roads, and provides healthcare and even food. The communities are seemingly completely independent of the Paraguayan government in their constant struggle against the dry climate. Many shops display calendars from years past, which chart the daily and monthly rainfall in the region as a proud reminder of how the Mennonites have been able to conquer the climate. Pretty interesting stuff.

The next day, Ferdinand picked us up again during siesta and took us to his brother's peanut farm where we were given a tour and I tasted the freshest peanuts possible, right out of the ground. Delicious. After the farm, Ferdinand dropped us off at the bus station, where we took a bus to Filadelfia, another Mennonite community nearby. It wasn't as nice as Loma Plata, and there really wasn't much to see there, so we made a hasty decision to take a bus that same night into Bolivia. The only problem is that Filadelfia is about 20km away from the main Chaco highway, so the bus doesn't stop there and we would have to take a separate bus to Mariscal Estigarribia and catch the onwards bus there. It's a few hundred kilometers from the Bolivian border, but its the last place to get our passports stamped. The immigration office was a small building that looked like it had just recently survived a World War II bombing. We got our stamps, and then unrolled our sleeping bags and slept outside until our bus finally came by at 4AM.

So then we crossed from one landlocked South American country to the other. Bolivia is the only country on this continent that is poorer than Paraguay, and that was evident when the paved road ended and gave way to a dirt road right at the "Welcome to Bolivia" sign. A few more hours on the bumpy road and we were in Santa Cruz.

I really disliked Bolivia the last time I was here three years ago, and it was mostly because I found the people cold. But I must say that Santa Cruz isn't the Bolivia that I remember, and that's probably because it's the country's richest city. Some of the flawed logic is still apparent though. For example, I couldn't plug my own laptop in at an internet cafe because "it slows down the rest of the computers". Also, the guy in charge of our hotel wouldn't let me trade books at the book exchange because he claimed the books were there only to be read by guests during their stay. Pretty stupid. I still traded Asimov's Foundation for a really interesting book about Teddy Roosevelt's expedition in the Amazon while the guy wasn't looking. The city was mostly dead while we were there due to a three day weekend, so I spent most of the time just walking around and playing chess in the plaza. The level of the players here is noticeably lower than Argentina and Chile so I can actually hold my own.

After two days in Santa Cruz, we headed over to Samaipata, a quiet little hippy town in the mountains about three hours away. It's very touristy, and most of the hotels and restaurants are European owned. And if I didn't already know that I was back on the gringo trail, the guest list at our Samaipata hostel would serve as proof. One column asked guests to fill in their previous destination and another asked for the next destination. And everyone who filled out the list is either coming from Santa Cruz and going to Sucre, or the other way around. Oh, how I miss Paraguay already. I'll have to do something to get off the beaten path sooner or later...

Samaipata is as relaxed as it is touristy, so I ended up spending four days there. One day we visited some pre-Inca ruins and another day we checked out some nearby waterfalls. Sam is in a bit of a rush, so he took off towards Sucre on the third day, and we might meet up in a couple of weeks in La Paz or Cuzco. So like that, the trio that had been traveling together for the last three weeks was reduced to just Ray and me. Ray's a pretty cool 36-year-old Austrian machinist with a funny laugh. He absolutely loves salads. He's been traveling for five months and will keep going "until the money runs out". He climbed Aconcagua back in December but had to turn back about 300 meters below the summit. But my favorite of his stories is the one about a long distance bus ride he took in southern Chile. A woman sitting near him fell asleep while breast feeding and her naked bosom was flopping around as the bus drove down the bumpy road. He wanted to take a picture but her husband was sitting right next her. Oh well.

Next up on my agenda is La Higuera, where Che Guevara was killed 43 years ago. Many people take day tours from Samaipata or Valle Grande but I refuse to do it with a guide. I'll find another way to get there even if I have to walk!

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Nice waterfalls near Samaipata

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