Jungle fever

Hoff left you as we had just arrived in La Paz. Nestled in a valley in the mountains – when I say valley I mean a huge one with space for millions of people – LP is a mad city. It’s criss crossed with cable cars as the hills are so steep they need ski lifts to get about and there are almost as many cars as their are people. It’s also ridiculously high – it’s one of the highest major cities in the world – and that makes walking up even the smallest hill a real challenge.

After another standard South American breakfast of bread and eggs, we jumped in a taxi to the airport to meet our friend Anna. Anna is one of the only people we know who is mad enough to come out for South America for a week, and specifically to a country that only a few weeks ago was in the midst of civil strife. It was great to see a friendly face coming through the arrivals hall and Hoff and I were secretly excited about having someone else to talk to for a while. I’m not sure Anna was ready for the onslaught of chat that hit her but she took it like a champ after 20 hours of travelling. Once we’d dropped her things at the hotel we all went out for a celebratory beer. It was great to catch up on all the things we’d missed in London, whilst having a local brew. We also planned our trip to the jungle the next day and jumped onto another free walking tour. This one was actually very good and we learnt a lot about the history of the city as well as more recent events. It was sad to hear how much the city relied on tourism – much like the rest of the country – and our guide was keen for us to tell as many people as we could that Bolivia was back open for business. That evening we had some interesting Dutch Bolivian food, which was nicer then it sounds, before we all went to bed ahead of our jungle trip the following day.

We awoke the following morning to torrential rain. Luckily it cleared as we headed out to get a taxi to the airport. Having thought that getting a taxi would be easy at that time, we ended up running around for 20 minutes like headless chickens trying to flag one down. Eventually we did and it was a complete pile of junk. No seat belts, a broken Speedo, no wing mirrors and the wobbliest steering wheel I’d ever seen. I valiantly took the front seat – normally a win for the leg room but in this case I felt like I’d end up through the windscreen if we had to brake suddenly (not that the brakes would be good enough for that). We flew up the road to the airport and I was seriously glad we arrived in one piece.

Before we knew it we were through security and waiting to get on the short flight to Rurrenbaraque, the gateway town to the jungle. We were all boarding the flight when we got told to go back to the gate again as the flight was delayed due to bad weather. Settling in for what we thought was a forty minute wait, we then got told to board again as the weather had suddenly cleared the far end and they wanted to get us airborne ASAP. We’d heard that this could happen and that flights were frequently delayed due to bad jungle weather, so we hoped our flight would get out second time around. Luckily it did and we had a quick and good hop across the mountains, emerging from the clouds thirty minutes later to dark green treetops and brown rivers flowing below us. The shuttle bus to the terminal was most amusing – basically a minibus down a waterlogged and muddy jungle track – and the terminal was essentially just a glorified shack, but our bags were there in minutes and we hopped in another taxi – this one with just a cracked windscreen so positively brand new in comparison to our earlier one – and soon were at our hostel.

We spent the afternoon relaxing in the hammocks reading our books as the rain came down in buckets. It was a huge downpour, so strong it was making the mangoes fall off the trees above us and slap down onto the ground. Luckily no one got hit on the head; they would definitely have left a good lump! Soon we were all fast asleep, rocked by the gentle back and forth of the hammocks in the breeze. It was also the first time Hoff and I had been at something close to sea level for weeks so we could sleep easy for once. Groggily we all went out to get a pizza that evening and with full bellies and for once not suffering from the altitude, we slept like logs despite the night time thunderstorms and mosquitos.

After yet another breakfast of, yup, you’ve guessed it, eggs and bread, we grabbed all our gear and walked through the rain to our tour company. We’d spent the afternoon before walking around a few companies to see who would do us the best deal. It was clear that they were keen for our business – not only was it the slow rainy part of the season, but the wider issues in Bolivia were taking their toll. We’d been told to expect another three people on our tour but rocked up to find out it was only us. The other three had mysteriously all ended up in the hospital with tummy bugs. It sounded too convenient and we suspected it was a ploy by the tout company to get us to go with them over another business, but we’d already paid and we therefore had a private tour for the three of us, so we weren’t that annoyed. Just before we set off, Hoff had the brilliant last minute idea to nip across the road into a small shop to buy us some red wine and Doritos. At 8.30am it seemed a weird purchase, but in the next few days we’d savour the cheap plonk and cheesy goodness, and hold Hoff in high esteem for her inspired purchasing decision that early morning.

Up next – we make our up river to our jungle lodge and get savaged by mosquitoes, try to catch and anaconda, and go fishing for piranhas.