Riots and Rio

This isn´t the best written of my emails but probably the most exciting...

Our last day in Santa Cruz was probably the most exciting of the two months. We were woken up about half ten by the sound of explosions outside the hostel so ran out to see what was going on. There were a few protestors firing firecrackers at what I later found out was the tax office which was coincidentally opposite our hostel. We´d known that there´d been some protests in Bolivia and especially Santa Cruz and Sucre—the most affluent areas incidentally. Unfortunately, from the salt flats we´d had to head through Sucre and Santa Cruz to get to Rio.

The protests initially began as a handful of students firing firecrackers at the tax office and a little later some tear gas started being thrown about. I´ve never felt tear gas before so the first time it was thrown down the street in my direction and people began running away, I ignored it. It was a bad move. The stuff disables you completely. I began running as I started realising that the stinging in my face and eyes especially would be too great. However, I was too late. My eyes stung so much I couldn´t keep them open and tears were streaming out of them.

Thankfully a protestor, or he may have been a reporter, had a spare face mask and he tied that round me and doused my face with vinegar which seems to counteract the tear gas. Eventually, most people on the scene had these. I was lucky to have mine so early as I´d need it all day.

The police eventually arrived with riot shields and attemped to keep the protestors on the plaza end of the street. The scene was a straight road that led to a plaza. Our hostel was on the road just behind the police front line. The police then had another line about fifty to a hundred metres behind this. The protestors´ front line was just ahead of the plaza so their numbers could swell infinitely without congestion.

The situation escalated when the police arrived and the lines were drawn. There were no barriers as yet but both were attempting to gain territory on the road. The police edged forward but had to retreat slightly or at least pause as protestors hurled bricks and more firecrackers their way.

The police here are much more keen than the British to use rubber bullets and they began flying soon after their arrival. By now, many news teams and more protestors and observers had arrived. The protestors´ front line was half protestors and half TV crews and photograhers cowering behind pillars.

Every few minutes there´d be shouting and we´d all sprint back towards the plaza as the police had fired either tear gas or rubber bullets. At one point, rubber bullets were fired so I hid behind a pillar rather than run all the way back to the plaza. However, a tear gas canister had landed just behind me and I hadn´t noticed. When I did turn around, I realised that unless I ran through the gas I´d be isolated with only a handful of other protestors/press. So I legged it through the gas knowing how painful it would be and reached the plaza coughing and spluttering on the floor again. At least this time I knew the pain would be gone soon. After every gas canister thrown, there´d be people caught out by it who didn´t run quickly enough.

The rubber bullets had caused a few casualties and they were run/carried into the square to waiting ambulances. Their would be a stampede of protestors and press towards any injured person. Protestors were either trying to help or making sure that the press got the bloodiest photo possible of the person, which was of course what both protestor and press wanted.

The standoff carried on for some time. The protestors found a white board to use as a barrier against the police´s bullets. Got some great photos of them behind it. The press here were mainly behind pillars just behind the protestors´ front line, now defined by the board. I do remember being behind a parked car at one point too with them. This is where I got one of my better photos that the BBC used.

Later on the police took the board originally held by the protestors and so their front line edged forward as they hid behind it. The protestors used small ice cream trolleys as a new defence instead. The police would occasionally rise up from the board with guns pointed our way. I spent ages with my camera trained on them from behind a pillar hoping for them to do this but never got that great photo.

We decided to try to head back to our hostel. It was between the police´s front and second line. I was lucky getting through with my camera—them assuming I was press—but Jamie and Nick had to argue their way through. This was where I possibly got my best photos. The area was completely clear between the two police lines except for a white car with three or four photographers behind it. This is where we could get photos of the police behind the white board they had taken earlier and this was the photo the BBC used to illustrate a few of their stories about the situation in Bolivia.

Got back to the hostel and then went and got some lunch. After lunch, the numbers had swelled hugely though the situation was pretty much the same. A group of protestors drove a small van into the police line but I wasn´t in the best place to see this.

Eventually the police gave up and let the protestors storm the tax office. They started fires outside and would burn everything they could find that wasn´t worth looting. Over the afternoon, they would do the same to a handful of other government buildings. Looting was taking place in all of them and there´d be a huge scramble whenever anyone emerged from a building with a box containing anything of any value (phone cards at one point) to computer equipment etc.

I´d gotten bored of it all after lunch, just as the police clearly had as they let the looting and burning go on. The most exciting point had been in the morning. Once the buildings had been looted and the protestors had made their point, they also got bored and things cleared out as the sun went down.

We were meant to be flying to Rio at five the next morning but there´d been loads of reports that the airport had been taken. South Americans seem great at giving bad advice or claiming to know something that they don´t and this happened with advice about our flight too. We decided to head to the airport around midnight and everything was as normal except a few tires sat outside probably waiting to be burned the next day.

We flew out fine and arrived in Rio mid afternoon the next day. We´d intended going to a World Cup qualifier between Brazil and Bolivia in the evening but everyone told us not to bother as we wouldn´t get tickets. This turned out to be bad advice again. As we watched the game in a bar, we noticed that barely half the seats were taken! Disappointing.

Later that night I emailed some photos to the BBC. I was very excited when I got an email—and later we spoke on the phone—from a lady asking me about them, what was I doing there etc. Got a lecture about the lack of safety and the fact that the other press had training, flak jackets and proper gas masks but she was grateful for the photos. It was great to wake up the next day and find that they were being used.

Since we arrived in Rio, we have spent a day on Rio´s Copacabana beach, had a look around the city which reminds me a bit of London and is very different to every other South American capital we´ve visited. Been to a place called Lapa last couple of nights. It´s where the party´s at and here it´s a huge street party outside all the clubs and bars that we´re used to. Watched a group of drummers playing samba with locals dancing under an arch under Lapa´s iconic acqueduct last night. Heading there again in an hour or so and hoping to make a bigger night of it.

My pic has been used a few times now as the situation has escalated. The protestors were the rich end of Bolivian society complaining about the indigenous and socialist Evo Morales´ policies against them. The US ambassador to the country was expelled the next day as Morales claimed that the US had incited the riots in an attempt to begin an overthrow of his government. I can very much believe this as the whole thing has huge parallels with what happened in Hugo Chavez´ Venezuela just before the attempted coup there in 2002. Chavez has now also expelled the US ambassador in his country as an act of solidarity with Morales. It doesn´t look like anything will change now until the new US president is inaugurated in January.

Anyway, time to party in Rio.

Girish

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7609487.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7610915.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7611705.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/08/in_pictures_enl_1221139158/html/1.stm

Bolivian Riot Photos

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7609487.stm

Scroll down to the second image. Will write about it in another, longer, email.

Girish

Lake Titicaca, La Paz, Bolivian Jungle, Wetlands and Salt Flats

I wrote this yesterday but never got round to sending it. Today I was woken up by the sound of firecrackers going off outside the hostel. We ran out and saw the beginnings of a riot that would have taken over most of Santa Cruz´s government buildings by the end of the day. Got some awesome photos which I´ll attach some of in another email. But here´s what I had to say yesterday...

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Chilling out in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, at the moment. You may have seen some protests here and in other parts of Bolivia on the news. Not actually seen any but they´ve caused us no end of problems. We didn´t think we´d make it here as the place has been blocked off. Had to get off the bus at 3am today and walk the 4km through the roadblocks. They weren´t very exciting, no burning tyres or rubber bullets flying around but we got through okay and on the last leg of the trip. Flying to Rio on Wednesday from here.

Been a little while since my last email, discounting the prison, so there´s a lot to tell but hopefully I´ll have forgotten the boring bits that make these emails too long for some of you. If you can´t be bothered to read, there´s a fair few photos this time.

Lake Titicaca is huge. It took us over three hours to get from one island to another and we only touched a tiny fraction of it. However, being a big lake doesn't make it a good tourist attraction. I was in a cynical mood that day and had dismissed the floating islands (Uros) built up from vegetation as a bit of a tourist trap.

The visit and stay at the family´s house made the overnight trip worthwhile. We spent the evening with the family and other locals, had dinner with them, danced with them etc. I was no Bruce Parry but was still interesting.

Bus to La Paz, Bolivia´s capital. I finally had my chance to go to this prison I´d heard so much about. I won´t repeat what I said in the email about it. The two gringos who came in with me left soon after we got there and if it hadn´t been for the fact I bumped into a couple I´d been on the Maccu Picchu trip with, I´d have left too. Thankfully they were more keen to stay and spend time with Jacques all afternoon. Apologies for the crap photos. I went back the next day for them and they were all I could get without getting my camera taken off me.

Went out in La Paz that night with the couple from Maccu Picchu and the prison and a mate of theirs from their hostel. Next day was pretty much a write-off. All I did was write that prison email and go out again in the evening. Got a cab back from an underground coke den that night and I was certain that the taxi driver was gonna kill me rather than take me back to the hostel. The place was in the middle of nowhere and the cab driver was huge. His cab had holes all over it which I´ll presume were from stones rather than bullets.

One thing South America is notorious for also is that no one has change. They will rather not make the sale than go and find change for you. The cab driver did take me back okay but at half five in the morning, however, and without a cash machine, or anyone to help nearby, I wasn´t going to argue with this guy about change and gave him ten times his fair and wished him ´Feliz Cumpleaños, Happy Birthday.´

We booked our trips to the Bolivian jungle, pampas (wetland) and salt flats. The pampas trip was essentially a chilled out boat ride through the wetlands. You´re guaranteed to see crocs, caimans, birds, capybara (world´s largest rodent) and river dolphins which is pretty cool. It´s a very easy going trip which is great but I had hoped the jungle would be a bit more hardcore.

Jamie and Nick were especially excited about the jungle though I was less so as I´d done it in Guyana. And I think Guyana won out. The jungle I don´t think is about seeing animals, yet that is what those three days focused on. The jungle´s more about the atmosphere and nature that´s around you, and the inhospitability of the place. In Guyana we had a bit more of that as we cooked for ourselves etc. Also, I´d done jungle treks before so the novelty wasn´t there. Did see some pigs and a few monkeys though.

Went out in Rurrenbaque, the set off point for the jungle and pampas tours the night we got back with a couple who´d been with us in the jungle. Was a fun night. Ended strangely as some local decided to take me to some bar about ten minutes out of town which turned out to be a brothel. He clearly got some commission so I ran back in the pitch black and fell into a swamp.

The salt flats in Bolivia were formed when a huge lake dried up forty thousand years ago. Now it´s a tourist attraction due to its incredible landscape. Again, cynical, I thought three days seeing a dried up lake was a bit excessive but I was wrong. The place is a huge, inhospitable desert which we spent three days driving around. It´s a godsend for photographers as everything is white as far as the eye can see in some places, and if it´s not white, it´s backed by stunning mountains or endless desert. Lots of people buy a toy and use the blank canvas to play with perspective.

Left the salt flats for Sucre, Bolivia´s de facto (La Paz is where it´s at, however) capital. Spent a day there yesterday, like I said, and last night travelled over to here. I don´t talk about them much, as they´re not very exciting, but I´m pretty sure we´ve spent more nights sleeping on buses than in hostels since we´ve been out here.

Hope that was okay. Next stop Rio.

Girish

San Pedro Prison, La Paz, Bolivia

"Don´t worry. He´s not going to hurt you. He´s only a murderer," former drug-trafficker S told me as I peered into a punishment cell. I began to laugh but my face dropped as I realised the lack of sarcasm in what he had said.

I had voluntarily entered one of South America´s most notorious jails having heard rumours about it for the past few weeks of my trip. San Pedro is unique in that it is not the prison guards who are in charge but the prisoners themselves. As S later said, "This door," pointing at his cell door, "is not to keep me in, but to keep the guards out." Like every other prisoner, he held his own key.

Earlier that day, I had walked up to the gates of San Pedro and asked the guards if I could have a look around.

"Of course, come in," they said. Surely it´s not that easy. I hesitated.

"Do you want my passport, some money?" I asked.

"No, just carry on."

I had heard so many conflicting stories about the best method of entering this prison, probably in part due to the number of people I´d asked about it. They all gave a different reply.

"It´s easy, just walk in with your passport. You´ll be fine," was my favourite response, though I didn´t quite believe it would be that simple. The most elaborate response was a lady who gave me a long talk on getting past the guards using scams including naming a prisoner I wanted to visit (which she provided) to arriving with a bag full of childrens´ toys and claiming that I wanted to help out the orphans who lived there. I decided to play it by ear.

I had arrived in Plaza San Pedro and though unmarked, the prison building stands out a mile off. Taking up an entire side of the plaza, the muddy stone building has only two entrances. The main one, I later found out, was for Bolivians and South American visitors. It was guarded by at least half a dozen heavily armed guards. To the left, however, was a small side entrance. I chanced it with this one, mainly due to the lack of weaponry on display, and I struck lucky as this was the tourist entrance.

I carried on, towards the prison bars where I saw a small square with kiosks and Coca Cola logos in its corners. A man in a yellow t-shirt waved me over.

"Do you want a tour?" he asked in perfect English. His name was O, a Bolivian. He tried to persuade me that it was safe. He showed people around all the time, he claimed. I could see no other tourists, however.

I knew that the prison guards had, once, allowed tourists to wander around quite freely with prisoner guides (for a bribe, of course). After the publication of a book about the place, however, the government had cracked down (in the soft way that only the Bolivian government can) by putting up a sign proclaiming, "No Turistas." The tours had continued, however, as the guards were so eager to take bribes.

Still the only tourist, O began to persuade me that I´d be okay. The guards nodded in agreement. I asked if I could take my camera in. No. No way would I be allowed to do that. "Pagaré mas, I will pay more," I said. No, was still the reply. This made me more hesitant as I´d have to leave a few hundred pounds worth of photographic equipment with a corrupt Bolivian police force. I handed it over, half not expecting to see it again. It would be an interesting call to my insurance company.

Two gringos came over. They hadn´t bothered to try to hide their tourist status like I had, and they were welcomed as easily as I was. This was all I needed to reassure me, so visitor number one that day and the two gringos were escorted through the gates by the guards, and up to S´s ´cell´ by O.

S was a fast talking, foul mouthed South African with a huge head of hair and a beard to match. It would cost me 35 USD for as much time as I wanted to spend inside. This was dutifully collected by a lady called L, whose purpose seemed solely to be a verbal punch bag for S. The money would go straight to the guards, she claimed. They paid off nineteen officials (guards, the governor, the Minister of Prisons) with 900 USD every day. They later asked for donations to the section ´foundation´ which helped foreigners who had no money and helped maintain the area. Remember, prison officials did nothing to this end. I later learned that this ´foundation´ was most likely L and S´s pockets.

I was in the Posta section, reserved for foreigners and rich Bolivians. It had once been the sector for the richest of the rich including the continent´s most powerful drug barons and its highest ranking politicians who would have champagne breakfasts in the square I had seen earlier. J, who I would later meet, would revel in the fact that he had bought his cell—you buy your cell; you are not assigned one—from a prisoner who had dined regularly with Pablo Escobar, the Colombian drug lord immortalised in the Mark Bowden book and later film, ´Killing Pablo´.

The cells are not cells at all but rooms that are favourably comparable to those that many backpackers stay in in La Paz. S and L were watching wresting on their crystal clear cable TV connection. They claimed to have hot water twenty four hours a day. "Si, tenemos agua calliente," was a lie that many hostel staff would tell backpackers to entice their custom all over the continent. S even joked that here was the only place in South America that you could flush toilet paper down the toilet.

Whether true or not, this was no third world prison in the expected sense. I asked whether S considered San Pedro a punishment. "I spent three years on death row in Pakistan," he replied. "That was a punishment." He had been pardoned, he claimed, personally by President Musharraf when he wrote him a letter. Unfortunately for S, he had been caught again, trafficking 5 kg of cocaine on the Bolivian border.

He loved San Pedro though. He had prolonged his stay there by claiming not to speak English or Spanish, only Afrikaans. There was no way the Bolivian government were going to bother finding him a translator.

He explained that Posta was very different to the other sectors, which were for South American criminals. "What would happen if we went over there?" we asked. S pointed at the boys in the group and told us that we´d be knifed and then told a nervous girl that she´d be raped and her earrings ripped out.

This was collectively known as the Population section and was the subject of Rusty Young´s 2003 book Marching Powder which tells the story of a prisoner here. It has been banned by the Bolivian government, in an attempt to hide the corruption that is rife in this country but photocopies change hands for large amounts of money in hostels, restaurants and (in my case) buses frequented by tourists. It is rumoured that Brad Pitt will be starring in a film version of the book in the next couple of years, no doubt raising the prison´s profile.

Everything costs money in San Pedro. To this end, it has an economy that the prisoners claim is more efficient than the one outside. S loved to tell us that anything you could get on the outside, you could get inside—there were restaurants and shops. But the great thing about San Pedro was, according to S, that there was one thing that you couldn´t get outside that you could inside. And that was the world´s purest and most potent cocaine.

"Just on the other side of that wall," he told us as we walked around the square with him, "is where it is made." Raw ingredients were brought in and processed in the so-called laboratories that were overseen by men who knew exactly what they were doing, as they had done on the outside. Most criminals were inside for drug offences, a smaller minority for murder and rape etc.

There was a definite hierarchy, though S liked to claim every prisoner was equal, this was clearly not the case. Those with money had better rooms, better drugs and a better lifestyle than those without. Those who had a useful trade or skill would be able to make money from it, just as the protagonist in Marching Powder had done with his English language tours. That money would raise them up in the hierarchy. It would, of course, help if you were tough and could speak Spanish, or better were South American. Money on the outside was the ideal, and with their connections, many in the drug trade had access to this.

"This is where the best cocaine in the world is made," S continued as he directed us past the gym, the bar complete with pool table and kiosks selling food and drink, to his ´son´ J´s room. J was high. J was always high. The South African would sniff a huge amount of cocaine from his hand literally every few minutes for the five or so hours we were with him the rest of that afternoon.

He had been caught selling cocaine in a hotel in Bolivia. I asked why he had not offered a bribe to the police. He said that he had set himself up. He knew that he would end up in San Pedro and that was what he wanted.

J was agitated. He was talking rubbish and didn´t seem to hear many of our questions. We later discovered, while talking to him, that he had had a nail put through his ear drum the previous day as he had wandered into the other sections. I asked why. He laughed and told me that it was due to his lack of greed. People wanted him to care more about money and he just didn´t. This was confirmed to us as he dished out packet after packet of cocaine to his guests. He would drink only Sprite, likely needing the sugar to combat the effects of the cocaine. This was in stark contrast to S who necked about ten bottles of whisky every day but no cocaine.

J had also had an argument with his wife the previous day. As his wife was Bolivian, she was allowed to live inside the prison. Foreigners would not normally be allowed to spend the night, unless a large bribe was given. Although it was a men´s prison, women and children were a common site. It was genuinely believed that the economy inside was better than that outside so they preferred to live and work inside, with their husbands.

Nervous tourists kept flooding to the door of J´s room but were put off as we looked so comfortable and J wasn´t very welcoming as the day wore on and he became more agitated.

One reason for the attraction tourists have to the prison is that people like J can promise to deliver this high quality cocaine to anywhere in La Paz later that evening. We enquired. He spoke to the guy who had been delivering cocaine to his room and had generally been his dogsbody for the time we were there. He wanted those who wanted to buy cocaine later to see the person that they would be meeting later that night.

A nervous looking boy wearing a red tshirt came to the door. He was the dogsbody´s son and would be in charge of the delivery. Not more than ten years old, he was nervous but he knew what he was doing. He had done it a million times before. ´City of God´ came to mind and the immorality of the jail and its business hit home.

We left. I had been the first person in and was the last to sign out that day. I asked for my camera. After some initial trouble, I got it back. That daily bribe to the guards given by the prisoners obviously worked well.

I looked back to see J clutching the bars. He looked more agitated. Was it the nail through the ear? Was it the girlfriend? Was it too much cocaine? Or was it because as much as he claimed to love the prison, he saw us walking out and wished that he could do the same.

Machu Picchu

Didn´t get to see that shaman in Ecuador so might be waiting until Bolivia´s jungle. More exciting about Bolivia is San Pedro prison (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/shared/spl/hi/picture_gallery/06/americas_inside_a_bolivian_jail/html/1.stm). It´s been mentioned a few times by people we´ve met but no one seemed to know a lot about it and there seems to be more rumours about it than fact. It´s not in any guide books either.

From what I gather, it´s a very corrupt prison which the inmates run themselves. The officers´ only job is to keep the inmates in. Law, housing, food, business (restaurants etc!) are all worked out by the prisoners. Cells are bought rather than assigned by staff so the richer you are, the more powerful you are. The poor prisoners sleep on the ´streets´. It´s also, apparently, the biggest cocaine producer on the continent outside Colombia. The staff allow ´tourists´ in (visitors; you have to know the name of a prisoner to get in) in the hope that they buy cocaine which the staff take a cut of.

This is from what I´ve heard from people and read online. Not sure how much or what exactly is true but am keen to find out. Anyway, that´s about a week away.

Since my last email, went surfing on the flat waters of Mankora (north Peru), to an awful Museum of the Spanish Inquisition in Lima (capital of Peru) and done a hardcore four day hike to Machu Picchu. The others didn´t fancy it (they preferred a shorter bike ride and walk) so decided to go on my own.

Won´t go into too much detail but the hike was awesome. It´s nothing like walking in Wales or England. The altitude kills you for a start; unlike at home, you can´t get your breath back after a two minute break. The views on the walk were pretty awesome and ticked a few different boxes. We walked high up in the Andes (very cold) down to the forests below (very hot) over the four days.

Fifth day we got up at four and (some of us) walked the 1700 steps up to MP. We decided not to bother with the walk up Waynu Picchu (the mountain you see in all the pictures) which is restricted to the first four hundred people there, even though we were in the first ten or so as it´d be better to just chill out on the site for the first few hours and watch the sun rise through the mist that shrouds the city. For someone who struggles to appreciate the ornate architecture of old buildings and churches especially, MP is incredible. It´s a city built by the Incas for those who were keen to learn and take over the leadership of the empire that stretched from Ecuador down to Chile.

Spent today wandering around Cusco, though realised later on that it´s much cooler at night than during the day so gonna enjoy it properly as soon as the others get back.

Attached a few random photos of the walk, MP itself (with a llama) and a photo of the moon.

Girish

More Ecuador and Some Photos

Since last time... Got my hair cut for 75p. Went to this nature reserve and a guide showed us this tree which is where you get ayahuasca from. It´s a hallucinogenic that shamans use. We asked where we could get some and were pointed towards a market and bought it from what can only be described as a witch. Still not used it as I am trying to persuade Jamie and Nick that since we´re in South America, we´re better off doing it, if not with a shaman in the jungle, then at least with some local influence. Lonely Planet says that Peruvian people visit shamans to do it and other ´medicines´ for about 60 USD. It´s a 10 hour trip and a horse into the depths of the jungle so pretty intense. Will look into it. Others not so keen.

Went out in Tena (Ecuador) that night. Was very much local places we visited and the club at the end was essentialy a largeish hut on the river bank. And very much full of locals. We could tell this cos we were by far the tallest people in the place and, judging by their reaction, the most attractive.

White water rafting the next was ace. Though the rafting itself was a little tame I thought, it was the guides that made it an awesome day. Jumping out of the boat and swimming through the rapids is much more fun than paddling through. Decided to stay in Tena that night as we liked it so much.

Next day got a bus to Baños again. Went on an awful organised trip to that volcano I got photos of erupting last week. Was at night so you couldn´t see anything.

Charlie got here Tuesday night, with my new card. Her baggage didn´t arrive til the next evening. Was very frustrating though she didn´t seem to mind as much as I would. I´m sure I´d have been shouting at someone, most likely insurance company.

Since she got here we´ve been in Quito. Like I said before, its new town is very tacky and a night out there was not even comparable to that in Tena. Went to some springs which were okay but I´m not so keen on that sort of thing. Had met a couple of girls from Manchester the day before that were mates with Sophie, one of my housemates.

Got a nightbus last night to here, Cuenca, which is just museums and churches so nothing exciting but tomorrow bus to Peru´s apparently amazing beaches and surf and that meeting with a shaman.

Attached a few photos. One´s a typical security guard here with a ridiculously disproportionate weapon who was very pleased with himself when I asked for a photo. Another is a woman selling empeñadas which is what I eat when I´m hungry and no one else is. The view from our hostel in Tena. Quito by night and that volcano.

Girish

Ecuador

In Tena, Ecuador right now. There´s paragraphs but don´t expect too much!

So. since my last email...

Had a chill out day on the beach in Puerto Colombia before an early start the next day (29th July) to find our way from there to Caracas and the flight onto Quito. Caracas airport is so inefficient. Got there with more than two hours before take off and ended up running to the gate (with a quick food stop, throwing money on the counter type thing, for me) after having to queue and deal with lots of miserable Venezuelans. Not the nicest note to leave the country on.

Arrived in Quito via Bogota, Colombia, late that night. Quito has an old and new town. The old town is pretty quaint and houses government buildings, museums, theatres etc. The new town is designed to cater solely for tourists. There´s a square and strip of restaurants, clubs and bars that style themselves on those in Europe and the US. Didn´t really get a chance to take advantage but we´re back there on Tuesday so will fork out the 1 USD club entry prices then I´m sure.

Decided to stay in the old town. Spent the day wandering about, popping into the odd building or church (of which there are loads). Met a guy protesting outside the presidential palace because his son-in-law had been killed unlawfully by the Ecuadorian police.

Quito is very high up so it´s a bit colder than Venezuela (though is just below the equator) and is very mountainous. We took a cable car up to the top of one of these mountains and got a fairly good view of the city. It´s also very cheap in Ecuador, so that night we ate at what has got to be one of its most fancy restaurants, overlooking the presidential palace.

Next day (31st July) realised early on, with a call to NatWest, that my debit card had been cloned in Caracas. The bank told me that the card had been tried long after I´d left Venezuela, in Venezuela. Cancelled it. Not gonna moan too much about it, but the insurance company were incredibly difficult to get hold of, and when I did finally, they refused to help. Hoping that my new card gets to Charlie in time for her flight out here on Tuesday.

The front page of all of Ecuador´s papers around that time was a picture of a volcano which had erupted somewhere outside Quito. Would have been great to go see it but no one seemed to know where it was. Actually, got lots of conflicting information about where it was.

Headed to Baños instead which is famous for its hot springs and another volcano. The springs were pretty poor. More like an outside swimming pool with a good view. Met a guy in there though who recommended we get a cab to see the volcano. Jamie and Nick had read earlier that it was rumbling and the Foreign Office had advised against all but essential ravel to Baños. Got up there and as soon as we got our cameras out to take photos, the thing started smoking.

Jamie was really keen for this train ride at the Devil´s Nose. The Devil´s Nose is a mountain with a train track winding up it, built in the last century with quite a large loss of life apparently. So, that evening (31st July still) left Baños for Riobamba. Not much there except the train station. Views from the train were pretty impressive. Got to sit on top too. It´s cool but very much a tourist attration. It´s called Devil´s Nose incidentally because the church didn´t want a train link across the Andes and described it as the devil´s work.

Got the worst of the buses yesterday to Tena, which is where I am now. I really like it here. Reminds me a lot of Bartica, in Guyana, as it has the same authentic atmosphere. It´s not full of tourist places trying to sell you stuff but more bars full of locals playing pool and drinking Pilsener (a huge bottle for 1 USD). Saying that though, it´s world famous, apparently, for its white water rafting. So we´re giving that a go (for 40 USD, our accommodation is just 5 for a night!) tomorow.

Have just gone the south american way by getting my bag repaired rather than buying a new one so will go and collect that and dazzle the man con mi español.

Tried to add some photos but it´s taking forever so next time...

Girish

Venezuela

We´ve finally got a day with nowhere to go and nothing to do exceptlie in the unbearable heat on the beach at Puerto Colombia, nearCaracas. Have done a lot since we arrived in Venezuela on Tuesday.Decided not to stay at the expensive hotel we´d booked for our firstnight in Caracas and instead got a nightbus over to Ciudad Bolivarwhich is really a stepping stone for tourists going to the Guayanajungle. Nightbus arrived early Wednesday. Got a tiny local bus tothe square and found a posada (hostel) and would be sleeping inhammocks that night. Dumped our stuff and got to know the city, andJamie and Nick spent the day trying to get cash (Nationwide not asgood as they make out for travellers, NatWest easy). Also found andbartered for a trip to Angel Falls which ended up costing 220 GBP,cheaper than most but not at all cheap. Arrived to leave for Canaimaon Thursday morning but we turned out to be half an hour early. Wefound out later that Hugo Chavez changed the time zone of the countrya while ago (much like BST) so that kids performed better in school.The trouble is that some people go by the new time and some by theold! Chavez has also confused us by lowering the value of thecurrency by a factor of a thousand in January to make the economy seemstronger than it actually is. I quite like the story about himoffering cheap oil for heating to poor New Yorkers a few years ago,mainly I imagine to stick two fingers up to the US. Anyway, left forCanaima (a long drive and short flight over the jungle in a Cessna),the main camp for people going to the falls. It´s pretty lush, moreso than you´d hope with its souvenir shops but it´s also a long wayfrom the falls themselves. Met a couple of English girls there.Walked behind a waterfall which is pretty awesome. Friday was the dayof Angel Falls itself. A four hour boat trip took us to the falls´base camp. This was more basic. I´m glad Angel Falls is so isolatedand hard to get to as otherwise I´m sure its base camp would be likeCanaima. Falls were pretty awesome. Attached a photo, not the bestbut not gonna look through them all now. Saturday we left Canaima(again drive, Cessna) for Ciudad Bolivar. Got a taxi to the busstation. I think I broke the guy´s boot so we had to drive with itopen. Also smashed a bulb in the boot when I slammed it down when wegot to the bus station. He didn´t notice. Bus station was stressful. Michel Thomas has done wonders for my spanish but nowhere near enoughfor that situation. Is coming along nicely though. Used the futuretense for the first time yesterday when I told the woman here we´d becoming back tomorrow. Got to Marakai (just west of Caracas) onanother nightbus. Then yesterday morning got a very cool bus here tothe beach town of Puerto Colombia. Bus was awesome. It was just abit bigger than a minibus, colourfully painted and with better musicfor a party than Manchester´s Sankey´s disco bus. The drive was upand down the mountainous road through a national park so the view waspretty decent too. Was nice yesterday and today to finally chill outand have a bed that wasn´t a bus seat or a hammock and a floor that wecould empty our rucksacks onto. Spent last night looking at (a lotof) stars on the beach. Today on the beach again. Is way too hot andthe sea´s too salty. But I shouldn´t complain! Tomorrow we find ourway back to Caracas and fly to Quito, the capital of Ecuador.

Apologies for the lack of decent writing or paragraphing but I can´treally be bothered. Sorry. Hope it´s an OK read. Will be in touchagain soon.

Hope everyone´s well.

Girish