Lesson one: if you value life, avoid taking local buses/collectivos, particularly between Sucre and Tarabuco, as an anxiety attack may be the least of your problems*.
* Ok, so I know I harp on about buses - especially Bolivian buses - but they are a constant source of memorable and/or unpleasant incidents. This particular incident was of the unpleasant variety and parental viewing of this section may not be recommended.
If you visit Sucre, you will hear all about the Sunday markets in Tarabucco, about 65km southeast of the city. They are well known for their textiles and also as a place Bolivians from more rural areas visit to stock up on weekly essentials. If you make the journey, you will see many of these people in unique traditional dress making the often kilometres long walk to the village along the roadside.
Having heard some rave reviews, Bec and I decided to make a day of it on our second Sunday in Sucre. We got up early and headed to the tourist office to book a place on the tourist bus. Having seen some of the maniac drivers here, we figured the tourist bus might be slightly more tame. When told there were no seats left, the guy in the office casually promised that it was 'no problem', there were plenty of 'collectivos' a short cab ride from the Plaza. Eager to see the markets, we decided to brave it, and courage it required.
To give you an idea, you wouldn't really call a collectivo a bus, it's more of a van and is not much bigger than a combie. With this in mind, the drivers wont leave the city until the collectivo is overflowing with people. Usually it is children who get the raw end of the deal, being shoved into a corner, laid across strange bodies or squashed under a leg. It took around fifteen minutes for the chicken-coup sensation to set in and we were on our way.
I will now write briefly of my observations of the general adherence to safety regualtions as to driving in Bolivia: there is none. In Bolivia, 72 people have died in bus crashes in 2010 alone! This is due to a number of factors. Speed limit signs are mere formalities and are observed by no one. This is particularly in the case of collectivo drivers making numerous trips to Tarabuco and wanting to make as much money as possible and, hence, as many trips as are possible. The most terrifying fact, however, and one I'm sure many tourists aren't aware of, is the incidence of and nonchalance that many drivers have towards driving while drunk. I've been told by a number of Bolivians that it's a serious problem here. In January this year, a drunk driver was at the wheel of a bus that killed five and injured 43. This accident was the impetus behind the government's introduction of a law that indefinitely suspends the licence of a driver caught driving drunk. It was also the cause of large-scale strikes by workers, bringing out riot police all over Sucre last week. They were protesting the new law. Finally, if you are an optimistic foreigner in search of a seatbelt there is fat chance you'll find one!
Take these factors (with the exception, I think, of the drinking one), put them together, and you can probably imagine that this made for a pretty uncomfortable and frightening trip, made worse by the fact that our driver managed to make the 1.5 hour journey in one hour there, and 45 minutes back. We held our breaths the whole way. When we were back on solid ground we told a friend of our experience. She said she'd passed an upturned collectivo only a week before on that same road. With a huge festival coming up in Tarabuco this weekend, we are thinking very carefully about our transport to and from the village.
It wasn't, however, all doom and gloom. We did get to the markets and they were great. Bec especially scored in the shopping department and the people watching was at its best, as you can see from some of the pics. You'll also be happy to know that we have decided to fly from Bolivia to Ecuador where we start the
next part of our trip.
Lesson two: being a good Samaritan is totally worth it but be prepared for unknowns.
Unknown languages. Unknown and/or unsanitary substances.
The two of us sat with our Swiss friend Barbara, waiting with anticipation for the collectivo to leave Tarabuco. There were already about three adults too many, not including the little boy identifiable only by half his torso and legs sticking out from behind two men. The driver opened the van door with the hope of stuffing one last person into the coup. An old, tiny lady, with beautiful wrinkles that I'm sure would tell a thousand stories. She would have been half my size - literally - and, abandoned by the driver, couldn't hoist her pint-sized body onto the bus without some assistance.
With a kind gentleman pushing from behind I, being closest to the door, was in a position to hold her hand as she climbed in. No problem. This lady, however, had different ideas and took the on-the-knees, head-in-the-lap approach, coughing and wheezing the whole time - allllll over my bare legs. Nice. 'Bec', I inconspicuously whispered, 'Do you have any of that hand sanitiser that I can put on my legs?'....'No.' Ok. I'll just have a shower when I get home, no problem.
The bus spluttered to a start and we were off. Five minutes in we hit the same windy road we'd experienced on our way in, no seatbelt to hold us in place as we swayed from side to side into strange shoulders. At this point, my old friend, while clutching at an unsuspecting German guy's leg for support (his girlfriend in hysterics) started chatting away to us in Quechan, a language spoken mostly be rural dwellers of which I have no familiarity. Unfazed by my confused looks and futile 'no entiendo's, she chatted away for a good ten minutes while I, trying to be polite, nodded and smiled.
If the high speed and incomprehensible chitchat wasn't enough, I noticed something moist running down my leg which, being in a human straitjacket, I couldn't inspect. At first I thought my old friend may have been incontinent but, no, the substance was cold and was, I think, coming from the shopping bag resting on her lap. To be honest, I didn't really want to know what it was.
At that stage, a shower was looking very good.
In the background, our Quechan friend
Lesson three: Think twice before asking for two 'pechugas' (breasts), while pointing at a chicken in a chicken shop. This can be quite hilarious to patrons eating meals, and equally hilarious to the 12-year-old boy manning the shop counter who may take some time to compose himself.
Lesson four: children should be physically active and nothing should stand in the way of this.
Another short and sweet lesson. I guess there aren't many ovals in Sucre - I haven't seen one - but this didn't stop one school from holding their athletics carnival...in the street! I took this video. The kids are being told to run around the block, which had been cordoned off to facilitate the event. I guessed this was the 'long distance' event. I was concerned when I captured a couple of them falling over, expecting blood and tears from the hard asphalt, but that didn't stop these tiny tots from finishing the race. I was a fascinating sight but a pleasing one at that, a bunch of kids having a load of fun.
1 comment:
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