17 NOV - 19 NOV
So I have kind of deliberated for sometime as to how I deliver this particular write-up. I wavered between brutal honesty and simply glossing over the risquè and sordid details. Not that it really bothered me a great deal but I know how the grapevine works and the inevitable questions I'd need to face if the cold hard facts ever hit the light of day. When I hit the shot however I found that the ball eventually ended up laying in a position where I thought some type of tawdry metaphor might just be enough to become the requisite amount of 'smoke and mirrors' I required. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Santa Cruz.
Dina, Jade, Nick and myself made our way out of the circus that was Parque Ambue Ari and headed the 45 mins to Ascension de Guarayos, the one road transit town stop which was a necessity to get to any other place of significance, i.e., Santa Cruz. Over the past three weeks Ascension had been our weekly afternoon escape from the Parque structure. On our 'half day Saturdays' we'd make our way into town in order to buy supplies, communicate with the outside world and pretend for a moment that we were close to civilisation (I did say pretend). It had more than Santa Maria could ever offer but it was too far away for it to be a viable nightly drinking/dinner option. The town also managed to gain a little noteriety in my head for having the cruelest and most inconsiderate nuns on the planet! On one particular Saturday afternoon I found myself on the wrong side of town, kms away from the closest public bathrooms (which were none too pleasant mind you), and in desperate need of some human kindness in order to relieve myself from whatever vegetarian food I had had at the park the night before. Waying up the limited number of options and deducing that perhaps the kindess of Bolivian nuns would know no bounds and that they were more than likely a certainty to help a poor gringo on the dustbowl streets of Guarayos, I knocked on the doors of a convent and gave them my best 'puppy dog eyes' which also smacked of embarrasing desperation. Asking them in my best Spanish, Puedo usar los banos?, the response that hit me square between the eyes disarmed me with its brutality, No senor!, supported by a distinct shake of the head in a manner that displayed almost disgust. Oh c'mon now sisters are you kidding me here!! The nun that I spoke to then motioned for another, I believe more 'superior', or perhaps 'more holy' nun to come over and speak to me. When I mentioned my predicament to this nun the response was distinctly the same and they sent me back onto the streets without a smile!! These disciples of God, these people that are supposedly filled with all sorts of kindness and goodness, who are suppose to help people in need, just sent a man in total desperation back onto the streets in order to relief himself who knows where and with who knows what repercussions and ramification!!! And I tell you, there WAS a personal accident pending! Those damn Bolivian nuns, screw them! God will be your judge ladies and then we'll see who'll have the last laugh.........anyway....no ill feeling here! LOL
Ascension de Guarayos - really didn't have that much to offer, can you tell?
Bringing the story back from the slight tangent that I took off on, the four of us took the five hour ride out of the Amazonian basin to Santa Cruz. Now Santa Cruz de la Sierra is not the most picturesque city known to man and whilst it maybe the most populous in Bolivia this tropical municipal capital had little to offer me. Fortunately after coming out of the jungle our requirements were not extravagant and all we really needed were comfortable beds, cold beverages and a pool to laze by for a few days before deciding on our next move.
Cruising out of Ascension de Guarayos - that is certainly a look of relief
Now before we had left the park the five of us (Dina, Jade, Nick, Gado and myself) had what I 'thought' was fairly firm plans to make our way from Santa Cruz to the Salar de Uyuni (the world's largest salt flat). That was what 'I thought' the plan was going to be. Needless to say, once you put five people together, all with their own agendas, budgest and ideas, well, things get a little messed up. The plan that I thought we had agreed upon all of a sudden changed tack and our compasses were turned north to La Paz from where we would apparently start to work out the logistics on making an attack on the Salar. In all truth the 'plans' sounded a little shoddy to me and I teetered on the edge of heading out on my own and this point and leaving the group. Somehow the idea of travelling with some decent company for the next week or so won out and I reasoned that over the next few months I would have plenty of time to travel solo.
Downtown Santa Cruz - Bolivia
Ok, so if you're just joining me with this blog update let me refer to my first few lines when I spoke of the concept of a metaphor. To kindly quote Wikipedia a metaphor is the concept of understanding one thing in terms of another - my need to do this begins now. So, it may not be well known but Bolivia is has vast areas that it uses for cattle, it's rolling hills and endless ranges of Palmetto Buffalo grass provide some of the best quality beef that Latin America has to offer, indeed, it is probably considered only second in quality to Colombia. Now in our travelling party we had people that were either fans of Bolivian beef or fans of beef generally. I was not one of these people. I had never tried beef in my life, let alone Bolivian beef but I was told that at the price mince was being offered in this state that I'd be a lunatic not to at least give it a go. Me and my 'rubber arms', sometimes I get led astray when my will is a swaying.
Nick in Santa Cruz
I call this 'Reflections in beef'
On our first night in Santa Cruz both Nick and Jade had decided that there was a certain amount of Bolivian mince that they wanted to acquire but didn't really know how to locate a butcher that could provide them with what they wanted. Somehow we reasoned that a local taxi driver would be able to assist us in our endeavours and hence after using some Spanglish and the universal sign for the hamburger we finally made our way to a desolate roadside corner where four to five garishly dressed ladies where seemingly more than happy to assist us. It was a weird situation, a night time transaction on a dodgy Bolivian street buying grams of mince for a ridiculously cheap sum, it had my mind racing as to what I would actually say when I got interviewed for the TV programme Banged Up Abroad. It was an odd transaction, a little seedy and a little exciting all at the same time. Back at the ranch the produce was laid out and then it became 'time' - so Mr Elisher, will you be partaking in a taste test of this Bolivian produce? With a rolled up Boliviano as company I went ahead and that my friends was that, march on young man. Fortunately or unfortunately the grade of beef on this night was particularly average or so I was advised and the only thing it put me through was a need to converse about political and economic events. Who knew that Bolivian beef could be so intellectually stimulating?
Nick and Gado
Discussing evening events with Jade
The next day/evening in Santa Cruz ended up being a far more reaching and protracted affair, it was as if we had encountered a local churrasco that specialised in quality beef and this could only mean one thing, a long night. Through powers of deduction and a certain degree of stereotyping, the crew managed to make contact with a local butcher that was able to provide 20grams of decent quality mince - this was to be shared out amongst five people! Oh dear, this Bolivian beef was going to be the end of me. Our second day and night in Santa Cruz on the back of this local produce was quite an eye opener for me. I was wired for hours and my capacity to hold up a conversation was nothing short of startling. As I wasn't any sort aficionado I found this consumption of meat to be somewhat enjoyable and stimulating and I guess for a little bit of an experience with some Latin American flavour it was always going to be par for the course.
So to all you 'meatlovers' out there, I get it. Not to say that I'm ever going to be a huge carnivore but neither will be the psuedo moral vigilante that I once use to be.
