#58 Up Close and Personal with the Bolivian Police - Torotoro to Samaipata

We are not sure why Jesus is holding a baby
T-Rex as advertisement for the National Park....
A comment on creationism perhaps?

Not content with getting up close and personal with a puma our next stop was Torotoro National Park, home of the Tyranosaurus Rex. Well its footprints. In between our jurassic adventures we had been invited to the home of Kiwi-Bolivian family living in Cochabamba whom had read about us on the net. Cory and his family have recently returned to Bolivia to set up Bolivia Bound, which offers motorycyle and 4x4 tours of Bolivia www.boliviabound.net. In our days with them, we were treated to some kiwi hospitality, and had a ball playing with their adorable bilingual children, ages 4,5, and 6. It was to be our last taste of home comforts in a while, as the next few days proved challenging.

With our guide overlooking dinosaur footprints.

We arranged a guide to show us the sites which included treking through a canyon, inca paintings, and the grand finale - fossilised footprints of the great T-Rex. It was after paying for the guide, entrance to the park, water and snacks for the day that we realised we were running low on funds and had no access to a bank.

Fortunately there was the option of camping at our accomodation, so we moved from our comfortable double bed with private bathroom to our punctured air mats and pillows. It was Reece's birthday and to celebrate all we had for dinner was cereal with powdered milk :-(. We went to settle our bill that evening only to be told camping prices were per person not tent which amounted to more than other tourists were paying for a bed closer to town, not to mention we barely had the money.

We scraped what we had together and it left enough to cover the accomodation and for a can of beer each to go with our cereal - it was Reece's birthday after all. But I must have miscalculated as all that remained for water - the difference between dry cereal or not - was 5 Bolivianos, 1 Boliviano short! I couldn't return to Reece with beer but no water but by a stroke of luck there was one kiosk in town offering to change the American dollars I had received as a present before we left NZ and was keeping in case of an emergency. (Thanks Aunty Jenny!)

After even more scrapping over the bill ensued the following day we were well ready to see the back of Torotoro and pushed on to Incallatja, which had been described by Lonely Planet as Bolivia's Machu Pichu. This was clearly not a comparison to the tourist magnetism of Machu Pichu. There was only one accommodation option available in the nearby town and the proprietor was out for the afternoon. We had tracked down the operator of the local tourism office (if you could call it that) who said it would be no problem to drive our bike up through the entrance way. As is often the case the entrance was not level with the pavement so we had to prop it up with some bricks to get the bike up. Though this usually works we have had some issues (falling through an old-wooden door we were using as a a prop in Salta, Argentina and somehow cutting the hostelier's finger in the process comes to mind).

This time the problem was the bash-plate which was too low to get over the threshold. I said to Reece if we just gun it we should be able to clear the entrance without too much trouble. Not my best advice. The bash plate caused the cement to break away leaving a conspicuous absence. It was about this time proprietor pulled up in a car with a number of others and we didn't need a translator to tell the group was not happy. I approached the only male who was looking the most lightheaded about the situation. Turns out that was because he was the taxi driver. It was clear we would not be staying here the night. Worst of all as when later we walked the town in search of dinner we found out the only accommodation available was also the town's only restaurant. Luckily the pasta and can of tuna we carry around saved us from hunger that night.

The repair job.

The superintendant of the town, who had joined us when hearing the commotion, promised to repair the passageway that afternoon, and along with the tourism office worker, and now the taxi driver, stood around discussing what to do with us. It was suggested we could camp behind the police station. No one seemed too concerned about asking the police if this was alright. We weren't so sure he would be too keen to see us back after waking him up earlier from his afternoon snooze in search of the tourism office (you can imagine there is not a lot of crime going on in a town with one hotel and one restaurant!) But with the superintendent of the town asking he probably couldn't say no so despite there being no running water and the place smelling like a rubbish dump which attracted the local stray dogs it became our home for the evening.

Sleeping behind a police station.

We were out pretty quick smart the next morning to visit the ruins of course on the way passing an idyllic campspot adjacent to the river. There were no guides but we had a pamphlet to educate us on what's leftover of the complex, including its most prominent characteristic, the main temple. It may not have had Machu Pichu's grandeur but we had it all to ourselves - not a single tourist could say that about Machu Pichu! Perhaps our luck was about to change after all....

We arrived in Samaipata, a quaint village not far from the city of Santa Cruz, on the cusp of dusk after another long day of driving. After four days camping it was time for some luxury. One hour later we would have settled for a bed. Two hours later, a safe spot on the side of the road. We had forgotten it was Good Friday and turned up in Santa Cruz's number one weekend getaway spot.

Again we turned to the police force for help and the man in charge came through for us, phoning a hostel with a campground and even escorting us on his own bike. But not before joking with us that he would first have to put on his helmet and protective gear in reference to our safety clothing, not something Bolivian's bother with. So another night camping, another pissed-off proprietor, but this time with the police on our side he had little choice but to accept us. We would have to wait for a bed a little while longer.