La Paz - Marching powder

La Paz  (Bolivia)
20 Nov - 27 Nov

After our hiatus in Santa Cruz we as a 'collective' decided that we'd move onto La Paz. As per my previous entry, I was close to cutting ties with the crew at this point with my sights set on the making it to the Salar de Uyuni via the judicial capital of Sucre. The promise of us to heading to La Paz however and then setting up an 'expedition' to the Salar with the aid of an Israeli contact of Gado's did have me intrigued and a little bemused as to how the plan would be executed. Needless to say that I went with it, albeit with a great deal of pessimism.

The journey from Santa Cruz to La Paz was to be somewhere in the vicinity of 19hours. I know, it sounds like a barrel of laughs right!? Well the real highlight of the jpurney actually comes from the process that you by duty need submerge yourself in at the bus station when attempting to purchase a ticket. Spruikers for the 100+ bus companies that base themselves in the bus station are in a constant battle with one another to make their destination point heard over all others. For some reason their voices tended to sound like that of a farmer that may have been calling in their chickens for feeding time, 'Potosi, Potosi, Potosiiiii', or 'Sucre, Sucre, Sucre, Sucre, Sucreeeee'. If you can imagine a cross between the wail of a police siren and someone calling in barnyard animals from their day out in the sun and then you'll probably start to get an auditory understanding of what was going on.

Chosing a bus company is a lottery. You try and find yourself the best price but at the end of the day they're pretty much all the same. Dina, Jade, Nick and myself decided that a cama (bed) as opposed to semi-cama (semi-bed) would be the best way to make the northen journey, but Gado, doing things in his own individualistic inimitable style, sorted himself out a 'chicken' bus for approximately 8-10 Euros less than our ticket prices and headed off on his own into vastness of the Bolivian countryside. Bidding him farewell we truly didn't know if we'd ever see him again, c'est la vie.

De riguer on our own Bolivian chicken bus, well, let's say my own strict formula for surviving hours of monotony was to read for as long as I was able to physically make out the written words on their respective pages. As the sun dropped out of sight and hid for another evening the ability to read was unfortunately negated by the lack of available light that Bolivian buses typically provided. For some reason their individual seating lights never worked and I wondered if the switches existed simply for show or whether they were deliberately inactivated in order to appease the animals and coerce them effortlessly and soundlessly into nocturnal bliss? No matter, this is usually the point where phase 2 of my own 'deal with the programme' plan comes into effect - I simply shut down and will myself to sleep. I don't know why or how but on buses I manage to morph into a type of human sloth, I tend to sleep for hours and hours on end, well, that ofcourse is unless we're travelling the Sucre to Santa Maria leg and the lovely beams of moonlight displays a drop from the precipe of something equivalent to an AJ Hacket bungee jump...a long, long way into space.

A few hours out of La Paz, we encountered a mobile protest

As a new day dawned and my travel companions wondered how many sleeping pills I had actually taken, I awoke to find myself awash in the rays of a bright new day and the road blocked by a large bunch of Bolivian activists supporting gay rights - well I could only assume that this was the case as there were a whole bunch of rainbow flags being waved by fanatical protestors in this parade. I was only to find out later in my stay that the flag or the Wiphala is an emblem commonly used to represent the native people of the central Andes. If you want you can check out what I mean here (Flag view on Wiki). As you can probably imagine, our progress in the next 40 mins or so was quite tedious. Damn those Bolivians and their honourable social causes!?

Arriving in La Paz - Bolivia

La Paz - Bolivia

La Paz - Bolivia - Illimani in the background standing at 6,438m

There's a couple of things that catch you immediately when you arrive in La Paz, the first is that the scenery is quite dramatic. The city itself if built in a canyon that was created by the Choqueyapu River, the buildings in turn look as they are cascading down the hillside into the centre of the city. The more affluent areas are located towards the centre at the lower altitudes and the poorer areas tend to hug the ridge line, although they do offer the better views! The second thing that catches you out quicksmart is the altitude. At 3,660m La Paz is the highest capital city in the world and in turn trying to fill your lungs with enough air to be satisfied quite often means a full breath and then a half breath in order to resolve the issue. Acclimitisation often takes several days, in the interim period even the most basic tasks of carrying heavy bags or walking up a flight of stairs will often have you panting like a porn star within seconds.

Downtown La Paz - Bolivia

Coloured collectivos

Another thing that I was also quickly finding out in La Paz, although this more than likely would have happened anywhere, is that when travelling in a group of five when everyone has their own idea of what they want to do and where they want to go, the compromising point blank sucks. Shortly after we arrived I discovered that the planned trip to the Salar was being severely compromised by each persons idea of what they would be willing to accept, for example, Gado and Nick didn't want to sit in a 4WD for two days and wanted to conquer the Saler or motor bikes, Gado also wanted to spend something like 10 days on the Salar whereas I was comfortable with doing 3 and Dina, now having made her way north to La Paz kind of figured that it was silly for her to be backtracking with time for her being of the essence etc, etc. It was all turning into a round of petty bickering, so much to the point that when Gado actually said, 'Hey, we're not married, you can do whatever you want', I felt like ripping his head off as he was one of the instigators of the idea of travelling in a collective - ahh, I should have known, compromise in travel always achieves second best or third best results. It was right then that I decided that I'd do a couple of things that I had originally intended to do whilst in La Paz and then I'd strike off down south on my own, the anticipated timeframe being something like 3-4 days.

The view from the Wild Rover hostel - the magnificent blue skies of La Paz providing the backdrop

La Paz - Bolivia

One of the things that I did want to do whilst in La Paz was make a visit to San Pedro prison, made famous by the well known, Australian authored book, Marching Powder and its ever so casual mentions in subsequent Lonely Planet guides. Now for those that don't know, Marching Powder  is the story of a British drug smuggler named Thomas McFadden who was caught trying to get out of Bolivia with 5kgs (or thereabouts) of cocaine. The story of Thomas and more importantly the ongoings within the prison of San Pedro are kind of remarkable, especially when your head does battle with itself against all the preconceived ideas of what a prison is.

So a couple of things, San Pedro is like a self-contained society, a little piece of the outside world within the confines of 15-20mtr high walls. It's location, not insignificantly is in the very centre of La Paz, prime real estate essentially. The inmates in this prison actually need to work in order to survive, and by survive I mean that they need to work in order to either rent or purchase their actual cells in the prison. If you don't have money then you don't have a roof over your head and then you'd better be very well aware of your place if you intend on sleeping in the courtyard or in the cramped halls.

In terms of finding work in the prison,well as I said, it's like a small self-contained socity. There are restaurants, gyms, grocery stores, spas, pool rooms, tv rooms etc. As an inmate your objective is to try and sort yourself out with work that will in turn allow you to earn enough to support a decent type of lifestyle (as of a lifestyle that a lack of absolute freedom can provide). In addition, there are a variety of sections, or you can say 'prison suburbs' where the 'well to do' prisoners live, the 'middle class' prisoners and the 'poorer prisoners' - from memory I think there was something like six distinct sections. Even more surprising in this peculiar penal system is that prisoners are allowed to have their families either come in and visit them regularly or even live with them. Indeed one of the oddities of the prison is that during the day you'll see children running around and playing freely, surrounded ofcourse by all sorts of characters that have made their home in San Pedro due to their extra-curricular activities, please see (murder, rape, drug trafficking et al).

Nightscape - La Paz

Nick @ the Wild Rover

Since the release of Marching Powder and San Pedro's ensuing notoriety, gringo's have been allowed to enter the prison for a price, the price being a nice bribe paid to the prison guards. Whilst these tours have been taking place since 1997-'98 there have been extended periods of time when they had been stopped. On the day that we went however it was 'all systems go' and the process of entry goes a little something like this. You make your way to the square/park across from the main gates of the prison and wait. What your advised to do in all the guidebooks and by the plethora of other backpackers that have taken the tour is just to wait, a prison guard will inevitably find you as you'll be standing out like a sore thumb. They'll ask if you'd like to take a tour and positive response will have you quickly escorted to the front gate.

As we were escorted inside the prison we were promptly taken to a waiting room. The guards explained that a 'prison escort/guide' would be along to take us on the tour shortly but that in order to secure access we would need to make a payment of 400 bolivianos per person, the equiavelent of 40 euros....and who says that corruption is a dieing artform in Bolivia? Once this is organised then you're assigned to your escort who by necessity is a San Pedro inmate. The three of us (Nick, Jade and myself) were assigned to Jose ( a Portuguese inmate who was busted for drug trafficking, although he had not been formerly charged or sentenced as yet...work that out). Accompanying us were another two inmates that were to provide the 'muscle' should there be the misfortune of encountering any trouble.

It's a Llama massacre in the Witches Market

The front gates of San Pedro

As you're guided out of the holding room and then into the throng of inmates that are crowding the main courtyard you become accutely aware of the privelege you've just paid for - to walk around a prison full of convicted felons (and ofcourse, some that haven't been convicted). At that moment you become a little hyper vigilant as to both your surroundings and belongings. Whilst you pretty much know that everything will move along swimmingly you still can't be 100% sure. As the tour progresses however you tend to ease into the scenery and become more bemused by the novelty of it all. All the guidebooks and all the hearsay from other backpackers are right on the money, it's a small community that operates pretty much in the same manner that things outside the wall operate. I mean, it's still a prison, the cells are small and the whole geography of the place has you in now doubt as to where you are but on the flipside of that there are thriving businesses and families within the complex that makes it difficult to marry up the idea you (I) understand a conventional prison to be.


At one point in the tour an inmate did stop and stare at me for some inordinate period of time. Not wanting to provoke the guy I looked away but this character walked to within a couple of metres of me and started shaking his head. He said something to Jose which I didn't quite catch and then Jose said to me that the guy thought he'd recognised from somewhere - actually he said that he was sure that he'd seen me in the prison before. I just shook my head and smiled back at him but this guy seemed to be quite adamant. We managed to get past the guy but encountered him once again towards the end of the tour at which point he started up again. This time however both he and Jose were laughing and it felt like they were having a bit of a joke and my expense, although when the guy approached me for a chat his eyes looked as though they'd been sprinkled with a couple of grams of crazy, at that point I just didn't know what the deal was.


The tour lasted for something like two hours and I'd say for the pure novelty of the experience it was worth doing. Jose guided us to a final 'holding room' at the end of the tour and it was at this point that the question came, 'So, if you would like perhaps a drink, or a smoke, or perhaps something else'  then it is ok here. We already knew what the 'something else' was but to be certain in our understanding we asked Jose to be unambiguous with his words and call a spade a spade - the 'additional item' on the menu was ofcourse coke, perhaps the other tourists snorting lines in our vicinity would have given it away. Nick looked at Jade, who looked at me, who shrugged and gave the 'When in Rome expression' ...a surpremely odd experience if there was ever one to be had. What's more, as we wrapped things up in San Pedro both Nick and Jade decided to take a few grams out for their own personal use. What a mind bending situation that was, actually knowing people that took drugs out of a prison!? Well, it is Bolivia, what else do you expect, right?

Santa Cruz - When in Rome, have a hamburger!?

Santa Cruz - Bolivia
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.

Parque Ambue Ari - Escape from Alcatraz - 'Parquelife'

Parque Ambue Ari - Bolivia
30 OCT - 17 NOV

Santa Maria is a small town, in fact, it's a small village located about 8kms down the road from Parque Ambue Ari. Of an evening it became our one and only saviour, a refuge from the park, a place to relax and obtain a cold beer. Essentially it was our local hang out, one that allowed us to complain away the ills of the day and recalibrate the mind in order to mentally and physically prepare for the following day, which would usually kick-off with a 6am wake up call. The 'rules of the park' were such that each volunteer was required to be in camp by 7am at which time they would undertake their 'weekly' task. This could involve one of a number of activities such as feeding one of the many species of birds in the avairy or one of the other 'minor' variety of animals. The weekly task was also to be quickly followed by an assigned daily task, to be completed between the 7am-8am timeslot, and it was one that could range from cleaning the lavatories (long drops), getting breakfast ready for the masses (usually between 40-50 people) or sweeping the patio (a revered area of glorified dirt and rocks infront of the common room). Once completed then it would be time for breakfast and our most favoured time of day, 'annuncios'. Loved the 'ole annuncios! They were delivered each day by Zach, a typical Australian with the standard type of drawl that had me wishing at times that we, Australians as a collective unit, could at least upgrade our accents to something a little more dignified and that had with a little more class. Some sections of the 'global villages' say that it's part of our charm but really, when you get to a place where you think is the middle of nowhere and the first voice you hear is that of an Australian saying, 'G'day mate, how 'ya goin', alright?' - seriously, the accent gets on your nerves. Well, to qualify that, it's probably not so much the accent as for the fact that Australians are anywhere that you can think of on this planet, literally anywhere! When I was in Estonia they had a saying in the hostels that went like this, 'Germans are everywhere and Australians are anywhere!'. Randomly think of any remote place you can, travel there and I'll make you a bet that when you arrive there will be an Australian opening up a local brew and they'll greet you with a 'Hey mate, wanna drink?'. As a person that likes to travel and as an Australian I have to say that this unique trait can sometimes be more than a little annoying.

Our standard days in Ambue Ari more often than not involved long stints out in the sun, walking cats, doing construction or sitting back in hammocks watching monkeys escape into their Amazonian hideouts (yeah ok, so I had it easy).What this also often meant however was that that getting sold on the idea of an 8km journey down to Santa Maria each evening was rather easy. The nightly ritual kind of went like this, 'Hey, are you going down to Santa Maria tonight?'

...'Well, I wasn't going to but now that you've put up such a persuasive argument, how could I refuse?'. Also, the fact that the 'park rules' stipulated that alcohol was not allowed on the property and that a lack of electricity meant that the standard temperature of any cold drink that you could find in the park was about 30 degrees meant that Santa Maria was the ONLY place to go after getting beaten down by the steamy climate.

Now I have to say that I had quite a few issues with the way the park was run and my stay there in general was less than ordinary but with that said there were also a couple of standout moments that I'll carry with me for a few years to come. I recall one night whilst a group of us were heading out of the bar attempting to make our way home from Santa Maria we were stuck for a ride.Not an uncommon event considering that the local bus that travelled the line passed somewhere in the vicinity of every three hours or so. On this evening there were probably 10-12 of us waiting up on 'highway 1' hoping that a good samaritan would come along and allow us to jump a ride back to our base. Watching a small flicker of light from several kms down the road grow larger and become a beacon of temporary hope, a prospective saviour of enduring boredom, we jumped out in front of the vehicle as it confronted outskirts Santa Maria and managed on this occassion to hail ourselves down a dual carriage cattle truck.Realising our opportunity, the 'United Nations of volunteers' clambered aboard our Bolivian vessel of austerety and prepared ourselves to sail across the 8km Amazonian sea of darkness to our abode.Now imagine this, there we were, twelve of us sitting about 3-4 metres above the ground on large wooden pailings that acted as the cattle fence on each respective carriage. Arched down the middle of the carriage from the back to the front was a large metal bar which provided us with support and was little bit of safety assurance from the truck's often wayward movement. As the truck drove off into the darkness pulling anywhere between 70-90kms an hour, there we were atop the cattle express, 6-8cms of wood to support our rear ends and with only a metal bar to hang onto in order to provide stability. If there had been a need for the truck to stop suddenly for any reason then it would have been a 'midnight carnage affair' and the local papers would have been reporting a major international incident. Not that I really thought of that at the time, what really captured my imagination on the journey were the small blueish coloured lightning strikes occuring on either side of the road amongst the tall trees and dense vegetation. Hurtling along the desolate road these captivating streaks of light were the only things that could be seen, brought to you directly by the  luminescent abdomens of the fireflys that made this area their home. Sometimes its the very small things that manage to capture the imagination.

Motoring home 'Parque style'

By the time our stay at the park had ended it seemed that Santa Maria had a lot to answer for. It was virtually the only place that we could go in order to get away from the park albeit with the very same people that we had worked with during the day and hence I'd say that it had a lot to do with the high incidence of 'musical beds' that was taking place on most nights and it also had to do with a moderately embarrasing/amusing episode that I had one evening after the park Halloween party.

The Halloween Party - cause of all things stupid!

I don't know what I was trying to explain to Dina but I think she was thinking 'What the f**k has he taken!?'

No wonder I lost my way home!

Seriously, do I have teeth missing here?

Savouring the opportunity to have several drinks and take advantage of the only half day free that we had in the week (we worked 6.5 out of the 7 days), I along with many others decided to tie one on in order to celebrate Halloween (although we never really needed a reason to drink). Calling it quits somewhere around 2:30am I was fortunate enough to catch one of the local line buses that happened to be passing as I made my way out of one of the two locals we frequented. Now the 10 min ride down the road was uneventful but when we got to the park I immediately realised the error of my ways. The park was electricity free, which equalled no light. Thanks also to the density of vegetation the entirety of this place was also pitch black. Fortunately I had made my way back to home base with two other revellers who had brought toches, unfortunately our barracks, or rather the one that I'd been assigned was 300mtrs down the road from the main camp. Immediately realising my predicament I asked around for a light and was kindly handed a Bolivian lighter. Now if you know anything about Bolivian lighters you know that they aren't built to last....very long...at all. Flicking my only source of light as I walked down the road I must have looked like I was some type of maniac at a Bryan Adams concert. Surprisingly I managed to find the start of the trail from the main road that led to our digs - and then - it was lights out. The crappy piece of Bolivian ingenuity literally crumbled in my hands! I had absolutely nothing! It was pitch black, I was standing on a road in the middle of the jungle with nobody around me, relatively smashed and desperately wanting to crash out for the night. Using my amazing powers of reasoning I decided to ditch my currently inoperative sense of sight and closed my eyes hoping that my other senses would be heightened and that I'd be able to feel my way along the trail, straight into the comfort of my straw matress bed...FAT FREAKIN' CHANCE. On my first attempt I must have made it 10mtrs before crashing into vines, thick undergrowth and all things jungle like. Actually it was this first attempt that sobered me up rather quickly as it took a few mins to get my bearings and find the trail again and in those mins I thought I really would be spending a night out in the jungle amongst the tarantulas, snakes and all possible things nocturnal. Making my way back to the road I attempted to mentally visualise the path and then when I was satisfied with the route that I'd mapped out I renewed my assault on the trail. Unfortunately I failed yet again! Walking back to the road yet again I prepared myself for one of two options. Wait for someone from our barracks to make their return, which I think at this point in time was only Dina and really,who knew when the hell she'd be back, or, there was the option of waiting alongside the road until dawn. Both those options quite frankly were crap, especially knowing that a bed was only 50mtrs away. I decided to give it another crack. Walking deeper into the jungle than my previous two attempts I thought on this occassion I might just have passed through the eye of the needle, that was until a copped a mouthful of leaves. It was then that it dawned on me. Whilst I was probably only 15mtrs away from the front door I was also effectively lost. Those fateful and familiar words of Axl Rose quickly entered my mind, 'Do you know where you are? You're in the jungle baby...you're gonna die'! So, what are you suppose when you're lost in the jungle at 3am? Well, there's only one logical thing to do...and out it came, 'Help....Heeelp, I'm lost!'....'Can someone help me please!'. Calling out into the pitch black at 3am, waking up your neighbours. How do you think that would go down as a way of winning friends and influencing people? Thankfully it was one of the permanent Bolivian staff, Jaime, that jumped out of bed and kindly scouted me out with a torch. The big smile on his face just screamed out 'You're such a dumbass!'. I knew he was right but I was also tanked and at that point could only be greatful for his rescue.

What I was hoping NOT to run into!

Me being 'AWESOME' - I know, it's really not hard for me!

It was only the next morning that I actually started to put together how crappy and badly run the park was. After a park 'sanctioned' night out we were still required to make it to daily and weekly tasks at 7am the next morning, set kindly on the only half day off per week that we had. Somewhat fortuitously I managed to roll out of the comfort of my straw matress bed for the the 7am start but Dina stuck to her hungover guns and stole a few additional hours in order to make up for the hours she traded against the evening before. This unfortunately did not sit well with the 'Parque elders'. After being called into the office for administrative purposes on this morning Dina was then given a somewhat sanctimonious 'lecture' regarding her duties and obligations in the park - the line that I'll always remember from this conversation, one that stands out for its sheer insensitivity and stupidity was this, 'I don't care if you're vomiting out of your nose, you still need to get out of bed and make it for your tasks each day!'. Excuse me but what kind of retard delivers a line like that, straight faced and means it? In fact it was also this same dumb ass girl that laid down the law regarding how the park should be portrayed online in terms of the photos we 'should' be posting, i.e., no photos of cats jumping, none of them hissing or being aggressive in any manner. Apparently photos like these would only show the park in a poor light and would damage its reputation! Oh really!? So essentially you don't want people to know that the park is dangerous, that you can in fact be attacked at any point and be injured quit significantly and seriously. In addition the website doesn't mention anything about its lack of medical facilities, that the only person that can really assist you is a veterinarian that will simply place iodine and a band aid on the most serious of injuries, that the park has no form of transport at its immediate disposal and that for serious injuries you'd need to endure a 5hr journey to Santa Cruz.

Fight night at the park - I wondered how I earnt the nickname 'Balboa'??

Whoa, I swear I left my car keys here - no more pina coladas for me!!

In short, in my opinion, the park acted in a manner that was both negligent and fraudulent, something that I advised them of when I let them know that I'd be leaving earlier than the original one months stay that I signed on for - the immediate response being 'well, I won't be giving you a refund'...really? After having advised you of how shonky I believe your dealings to be, howI think your organisations totally misrepresents what and how they do it, your leading concern is standing firm on not returning $60 USD to me? Seriously?

The 'Monkey trail' - the route that I took to 'work' each afternoon

Parque central

 

The end of my stay at the park quite fortunately came earlier than expected and it did do in slightlymade parque friends (Nick and Jade) had also decided that they'd enough of this little farce in the jungle and plotted their escape. Advising the parque  representatives of their desire to leave two weeks earlier than scheduled the none too surprising response was 'ok but you need to pay for the remaining two weeks that you said you'd stay'. Also none too surprisingly the response from Nick was something roughly equivalent to 'You're dreaming!'. After what I was told was quite a heated argument and what involved tears from the dumbass volunteer that I mentioned earlier, Nick was directed to leave the park the very next day. Now without going into the specifics of how disgraceful and unprofessional I thought the actions of the park were, Dina made the call that in act of solidarity that we should make our 'escape from Alcatraz' at the same time. This was a no-brainer for me. My time at the park had been the only low point on my trip thus far and leaving in order to get back on the road was something that I'd been  considering for nearly two weeks. My bags were packed in  melodramtic circumstances. Approximately 5 days before our readjusted date of departure, our newly under 10 mins and a few hours later D and I were on the floata heading for Ascension de Guarayos and beyond that the rest of my South American excursion.

Parque Ambue Ari - Monkey business

Parque Ambue Ari
Amazonian Basin (Bolivia)

30 OCT - 17 NOV

I'm stubborn, I mean really stubborn, so much so that at times it can be quite detrimental. The day after I was attacked by Yuma I decided that I was going to get back out on the trails and walk that damn cat to the point of exhaustion. Yeah, I was going to show that wild beast who was boss! I mean it already sounded as though everyone in the park had a similar story of either being attacked, 'jumped' or mauled, I was simply going to have to suck it up and deal with the situation, no matter what the consequence. It was only later, in my own quiet time and with some equally critical reflection that I realised the park, with its specific type of 'eco-adrenaline-adventure' activity may in actual fact be a large drawcard for a specific group of people that we'd commonly term as 'nut jobs'.

Out on the trail with Yuma on my second day was not a particularly pleasurable experience. I was hyper-vigilant, I was overly watchful and wary of every single move the cat was making. Everytime she stopped on the trail, every slight turn that she made, I assumed the worst and had mentally prepared for a rush at my legs, or even worse, my nether regions - 'why oh why had I decided to leave the box at home?'...'Always protect yours nuts Henry, ALWAYS!'.

Popular - see that mouth? That's why there's a need to protect your nuts!

The previous day I had made some mental notes of a few hazzards or some potentially difficult situations on the trail should the cat decide that it wanted to test my metal. The day before I had dismissed these thoughts as being overly cautious but now out in her territory on my second day and in light of past events I was at best only hopeful that she wouldn't try to test me...unfortunately I didn't have to wait long until the battle commenced.

Taking photos of the flora - better than getting attacked by the local fauna

Walking down into a little gully I already envisaged would would happen with the cat out in front of me on 2-3 metre lead, it was kind of a self fulfilling prophecy. As Yuma reached higher ground and comfortably stood a metre or so above my head she turned to face me, then immediately she gave me that evil hiss which I knew was a test but at the same time automatically had me hitting panic stations. Looking at her straight in the eyes I was judging the distance and already agreeing with the assessment that Yuma had already made, 'Yes, a leap from there would have you around my throat quite successfully'. Facing off for what felt like an eternity I saw her feet start to move and then she took two or three quick steps. I tell you, there is nothing quite like the experience of mentally preparing yourself for a puma to be flying at your head. It's not like being in a plane where you have the tried and true 'brace position' to use for your protection - although if you're going to be hitting land at somewhere close to 500kms p/hour is there really any comfort or solace to be found in placing your head between your legs? In any case, as quickly as the move started and as quickly as I started back pedalling, it was over. She stopped before pouncing. Yuma just stared me out from her vantage point with a type of defiant look that said 'I own you'. The damn cat had bluffed me and caught me with my pants down. It knew very well that I was scared and this test I had failed dismally. There was no recourse, there was no coming back from here.

Meal time for Popular

Later in the walk Yuma did go for me one more time and drew blood but by then I had mentally checked out. There was just no way in the world that I'd be comfortable walking her again let alone on my own. In my mind it was just too dangerous and too stupid a notion to contemplate. That honour would need to be accepted by another brainsick volunteer whose disturbed nature would adequately suit the moody and temperamental Yuma.

The next day I was transferred to a male puma named Sayan. He had an interesting story. For sometime he had been the pet of a Bolivian family on the outskirts of Sucre. Most of his life had unfortunately been spent in a relatively small cage, an absolutely cruel existence especially considering that over the years he actually got too big for the cage and effectively 'grew into it', deforming his spine and leading to extreme digestive problems. One particular year his Bolivian 'carers' were suffering financially, perhaps their cocoa crops were failing or perhaps the Uruguayan matè market was starting to look for more exotic import destinations than nearby neighbour Bolivia. Whatever it was, their financial crises demanded a quick and prompt resolution, the 'family decision' being that a sacrifice to the Gods would be enough to alleviate their difficulties and set them onto a new path of wealth, prosperity and good fortunre - Sayan was to be their offering.

Popular - in his usual spot - just chilling out and escaping the sun

Now, the story of how Sayan was saved seems to be a little patchy. Apparently volunteers from one of the parks had heard through the grapevine of the existence of this cat in Sucre. They decided that it would be in their best interests to make a visit to this family and convince them that the best place for the cat would be far beyond the Sucre city limits in the wilds of a former cocoa plantation. Fortunately their actions couldn't have come at a more opportune moment. In the way the story was told to me, the scene must have been reminiscent of an epic drug bust of one of the new wave Mexican narco-cartels. The door was kicked down and in rolled the volunteers with their peace flags fluttering in their swift wake, finding poor little Sayan tied to the table with his 'death clock' reading at under five seconds. When I imagine the scene in my own head I see the patriarch of the family with a double handed grip on a huge kitchen knife ready to plunge it into Sayans' heart - and then my mind automatically defaults to what an 'epic fail' it must have been from the families' perspective. Their lives were just about to become infinitely better with this offering to the Gods and on the stroke of midnight it all imploded with these 'do good campaigners' breaking down the doors and stealing their golden ticket. I wonder how the family fared in life after those events?

The few days that I spent with Sayan were comfortable. Orr, the volunteer that had been looking after Sayan for the previous month, spoke ad nauseum in regards to what a great creature he was, as to what his respective idiosyncracies were, as to the best way to entertain him...and for the most part he was right, the cat was calm, fantastic, and I loved the way that he 'play stalked' me everytime I turned up to his cage. Unfortunately the realities of the wild cat scenario had dawned on me. No matter what I did, no matter how careful I was, these creatures only needed the smallest trigger and they would be 'at' you. That evening I decided that the daily exercise requirements of wild cats, with only my experts ninja skills as reasonable protection would probably not lead to a long and healthy life. I made the call and pulled the pin on the escapade. My next project was to be a group of Howler monkeys whose only requirements were to be an afternoon feed of bananas and a few hours let loose in the in the trees.

In a short Sayan post-script, my volunteer replacement, a young docile German guy by the name of Atiene had his arm savagely torn by the cat after Orr incorrectly judged the amount of playtime that the cat required. Atienes' arm looked like he had just come back from a weekend spent at a self-harm clinic, it had been shredded. Unfortunately Atiene had learnt of the ferocity of these cats the hard way ....a week or so later when I had left the conservation park I met Atiene briefly at Santa Cruz bus station, he was on his way to somewhere far safer. Apparently his 'heart conditions' had returned and he thought it best to leave the park in search of appropriate medical advice. I simply read that as code for, 'Bro, I was shit scared!'.

The Monkey Challenge

Ah monkeys, what could possibly go wrong with a cheeky group of Howler monkeys? After advising the park co-ordinators that being torn to pieces in the midst of the lush greenery of the Amazonian rainforest was not actually my thing - to their moderate dismay - I was transferred onto the rather cushy afternoon gig of 'walking the monkeys'. I know, counterintuitive right? How the hell do you go about walking monkeys? Is it even possible? Well as a matter of fact yes, to a limited extent it is.

The simple logistics of this gig was as such. Go to the monkey enclosure, take out the largest female monkey named Thalia (the Muse of comedy), put her onto your shoulder and walk her down to the monkey park with the other three monkeys, two males, named Bin Tong & Chico, and a young female named Faustina, following in Pied Piper fashion close behind. Then, in the park, you simply let them escape into the tree and lie back in your hammock for a few hours, reading, daydreaming or formulating your escape from the park. At the end of those few hours you call them back to their crib and lock them in for the night...so in theory it sounded like a cakewalk and in reality it looked easy as my American 'monkey coach', Chase, had pulled off those very steps teaching me the ropes.

Taking Thalia for a walk

Faustina

So with all the confidence of a veteran monkey walker I entered their enclosure one sunny Tuesday afternoon in November in order to take this group out for their afternoon session of tree swinging. Walking through the first of the double doors I could already tell that the monkeys were excited to be going. As I opened the second door however all four of these cheeky bastards shot straight past me and jumped onto the first door, which unfortunately had not been properly locked. Quickly realising the error of my ways I made my way for the door but this guys had split - it was a freakin' jailbreak of epic proportions. They were already out of reach and shooting up into the trees! Bloody hell, how was I going to explain this back at camp, '...well guys, yeah, I kind of lost your monkeys'. What kind of person is dumb enough to lose four monkeys on their very first day on the job? Well ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Mr Henry Elisher!

Trying to keep an eye on these guys through the trees I called out their names continuously. I was like a bad Billy Ray Cyrus song on perpetual loop, nauseating and depressing. There was simply nothing that I could do to get them back. This essentially became my life for the next two hours, 'Thalia....Bin Tong....Chico...Faustina', 'Vamos Chico's, vamos'. As the hours of the day drew on I could envisage myself sitting out on the trail in candelit, calling out to the trees in the withering hope that these monkeys may return.

Cruisy afternoon - laying in a hammock with a bunch of monkeys

Monkey business - you can just see that they're scheming for something that would inevitably amount to no good

Yeah - trash that hammock - 'go ape', or something close to that

Hours went by and I sat by their cage, not knowing what to do or whom to turn to ....and then....with the sun dropping in the sky and the familiar colours of an Amazonian sunset colouring the sky behind the dark curtains of trees, these cheeky bastards made their way home, Thalia first, followed by Bin Tong, Chico and then Faustina. It was like the Brady Bunch had just come back from an afternoon picnic and Alice (aka, yours truly) was waiting for them with a cheesy grin and an equally cheesy line, 'Well where have you been you cheap banana sluts?'...ok, that wasn't my line but it should have been. In any case they were back home and I was happy that all was now well in my neck of the woods.

Hanging out with Thalia in her favourite spot

After that first day things became much easier. I figured out how to lock and unlock doors professionally, how to get Thalia onto my shoulder with any difficulties and also how to swing my afternoons away in a hammock as the kids played in the trees above my head. It was definitely a 'sweet ride'. Who knew that 'monkey business' was going to be so much fun?