A land of contrasts

We’re now just a few days away from coming home. Sadly, we haven’t been able to write a blog since our laptop died a sudden (but not unexpected) death in Miami. Since then, six weeks in the USA have sped past. We’ve covered something like 4,000 miles, flying to New Orleans from Miami, then following the path of the Mississippi river as we drove the Blues Delta Highway to Memphis. We continued across country, heading East to Nashville, through the Great Smoky Mountains and along the entire length of the 450 mile Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive to Washington DC. After dropping off our Dodge Avenger, we bussed to Philadelphia, on to New York City, Boston, Rhode Island and Provincetown. It’s been an incredible introduction to such an eclectic country, and we’ve certainly met some fascinating people along the way.

But for all our travelling, we’re still no nearer to understanding America. We arrived with some preconceptions borne out of news coverage in the British media, as well as the opinions of those Americans we’d met during our year travelling. However, the most poignant opinion was from our British American friend, now living in Washington DC. When we were finding things slightly tricky, she reminded that US culture is both diverse and fascinating, and that those who simply deride it are fools. And how right she is.

It’s well versed that the British don’t understand three things about American culture: guns, god and government. From our experience not only do we agree, but we can’t believe how present these three things are in every day life. While we can’t (and wouldn’t try) to sum up the incredible breadth of American culture in in one short blog, it’s interesting to compare the good and bad we’ve seen of these three things during our short time here.


Guns

The first issue, which we’ve encountered time and time again, is guns. The Colorado cinema shooting occurred while we were staying in the small town of Clarksdale in rural Mississippi. Grabbing breakfast in a local diner on the edge of the highway the following morning, the flat screen TV unsurprisingly belched out hysterical reports from Fox News with the latest profile of the shooter and salacious interviews with the victims. But it wasn’t the news report that shocked us. It was the locals eating breakfast on the next table. The general consensus was that changes to the Conceal and Carry law needed to be made: if only every grown man and woman in the cinema had been carrying a concealed weapon, they would have been able to defend themselves. Not only does this view ignore the fact that the shooter had been wearing a bullet proof vest, these diners genuinely thought that a hundred or so people in a dark theatre shooting in all directions would have been a good idea.

On the other side of the coin, having visited quite a few museums here, it’s obvious why some Americans feel that the right to arm themselves is inalienable. The country’s fragile formation and volatile beginning was made possible by the revolutionary spirit of its founding fathers and thousands of colonial settlers who risked their lives for independence. And it is clear that a fervent belief of every man having the right to protect himself remains today in communities across the States. Our only hope is that in the coming years, the people in those communities will see the urgency of reviewing the ease with which extreme weaponry can be obtained and used by those intent on harming others. There is undoubtedly something special about the revolutionary American spirit. But it isn’t 1776, it’s 2012. And while it would be interesting to hear Jefferson’s opinion on buying an assault rifle that fires hundreds of bullets per minute in peace time, he’s long dead and the document he wrote is from three centuries ago.


God

The dividing nature of religion in modern America has been both an interesting and confusing topic. While signs that promote Jesus as the only lawyer and physician you can trust are novel to us, they are taken seriously in a way that we cannot understand. From American Olympians thanking God on live TV for their success, to shop keepers promising to pray for us as a way to thank us for our custom, religion is everywhere. The only time we’ve noticed as much focus on religion was in East Africa, where somehow it felt more inclusive. Faith was a comforting constant at the centre of people’s lives as they experienced death, disease and poverty every day. But here, the mixture of aggressive religion and a competitive and wealth driven society all seems to put it in a different context. So much debate seems to centre on excluding those who aren’t devout enough, or to be about whose religion is more demonized. It appears, from the outside, like a pawn to be fought over and defended, or something to cause and take offence from, rather than an inclusive and uplifting force to bring communities together.

And that’s a shame, because we have seen small glimpses of the community building potential that religion can have. A few weeks ago, we visited a gospel church in a poor area of Memphis where Al Green is the bishop. The tourists were plentiful at the beginning, but when the announcement came that Al was away that particular week, the crowd thinned. Thankfully, we stayed to watch some of the best music we’ve seen in America. The technical ability of the musicians and singers inside the church was remarkable – it was like being treated to a free funk and soul concert! The kindness and generosity with which we were greeted was also fantastic. We were made to feel comfortable and even asked to join the congregation for hotdogs outside the church after the service. It felt like a genuinely friendly and inclusive community space where people met and shared their lives with their neighbours and visitors in a non-judgmental way. Granted, this was a very light touch encounter with Christianity, but all the same it was a positive one which reminded us of what was good about our experience of religion in Tanzania and Kenya.

Government

A few days ago we went to the cinema to see The Campaign, a new comedy that focuses on two congressional candidates as they run for election. The opening scene of the film shows a quotation which reads: “War has rules, mud wrestling has rules, politics has no rules.” And while it is obviously a caricatured jibe at the American policital system, it does echo certain truths that we’ve become familiar with during the run up to the presidential election this November.

For example, attack adverts on TV are not things we’re familiar with in the UK. They’re common here, whether in state-wide or national elections, and they’re bizarre. Often set to scary background music with sound effects and dark graphics, they inflict fear into the viewer, basically telling them that if they vote for the other guy they’re ruining their own lives. They’re completely cynical, and are not actually made to win votes for the candidate they favour. They’re designed to stop you voting for the other guy. What an excellent demonstration of democracy – put enough attack ads out that you demoralize voters enough that they don’t go to the polls.

The other thing we’ve found difficult to fathom in this election campaign is the refusal to talk about policy issues. We’ve been here for six weeks now and although I’ve seen at least a hundred attack ads and talked to lots of normal people about healthcare, jobs, the economy, and foreign aid, I haven’t heard or seen anything which tells me about either presidential candidate’s plan for the next four years. The biggest news item seems to be Mitt Romney’s refusal to release his tax returns, sandwiched between Michelle Obama releasing her new healthy eating book on morning TV and Ann Romney giving an emotional interview about her illness on an afternoon show. While it is extremely worrying that the next potential leader of the USA won’t reveal how much tax he has or hasn’t paid for the last ten years, wouldn’t it be better if voters made their choices on what each candidate plans to do in office for the next term?

All of this makes America the fascinating country that it is today. I think yesterday sums it up nicely. We’re in Provincetown at the moment and went to their annual carnival. The theme this year was alien invasion, so naturally drag queens dressed up as jabba the hut, gay and straight couples alike painted their bodies and wore outlandish costumes, and everyone had fun. And while we stared at a man dressed as a martian in a tight fitting pair of assless chaps, I couldn’t help thinking that the Provincetown carnival embodied what is most brilliant about America. The day itself was so unashamedly welcoming to everyone, whether you were a drag queen in a bodice, an old gay couple walking hand in hand and enjoying the celebrations, or a married couple with kids on the coast for a holiday.

Nobody was hiding what or who they were, which was entirely refreshing. And at the same time, people from Provincetown who knew it was carnival day, where the population swells from three thousand to at least ten times that number, insisted on driving their cars and bicycles down the tiny back street. The mentality that ‘no-one can tell me what to do’ is alive and kicking. And while it means people do stupid things and cause problems because they can, it also allows people the freedom to be who they are and fosters the creativity which makes America special.     

     

 

      

An eye-wateringly expensive case of conjunctivitis

We've been in New Orleans for a few days now. The city is thick with music, food, humidity and fantastic character. It's like no place we've been before and I have a feeling like no place we'll visit again (until we come back one day). However, for all the cheer and spirit of the people in this city, one issue that has come up again and again when we've spoken to locals is the state of healthcare in the US. Once people hear our British accents, conversations often lean towards education and health, because these are the things that local people seem eager to compare notes on.

Two days ago, after visiting a wonderful exhibition at the Old US Mint on Preservation Hall at 50, we ambled into the gift shop. A rotund old guy called Reginald, working behind the counter, said a friendly hello. Upon hearing our accents we started chatting and before long were talking about the education and healthcare systems in our respective home countries. Reggie told us about how, as a sixty four year old man with five degree level qualifications as well as a legal background, he was looking at another ten years at work in order to cover his, and his family's, medical expenses and put his son through university. While there have been huge and damaging changes to the system of university tuition in the UK over the last five years, it was still shocking to us that in order to go to a local state university, yearly tuition alone (not including living expenses) costs around $12,000. And if Reggie's son's choice hadn't been constrained by his parents' financial situation, a year's worth of tuition at a top US university would cost around $100,000: an utterly unobtainable notion to most young Americans. But even more shocking was the fact that this normal, hardworking, sixty four year old man (i) had recently been charged $180,000 for life saving non-elective heart surgery, (ii) paid a monthly fee of $600 for basic medical insurance, and (iii) paid another $400 per month for drugs that keep him alive following his heart operation. It's no wonder Reggie has friends who break pills in half against doctors' advice in an effort to eek out their supply.

Little did we know that following our conversation we would experience the US healthcare 'system' sooner than expected. Yesterday, Jess' right eye flared up and we realised instantly that she had contracted conjunctivitis. In the UK, this would be easily resolved. You'd nip to the chemist and buy some drops over the counter, and if none were available, go to the GP free of charge and get a prescription for said drops. Either way, the total cost would be the equivalent of $5-10. Not here. Upon arrival at the local pharmacy in New Orleans we were told that drops to treat conjunctivitis are prescription only, and that in order to get that prescription, you need to visit a doctor. The only way to get that prescription was to visit a local health clinic, where they charge a staggering $207 for a basic ten minute consultation. By the way, any extra things you may need like blood samples, tests or other medical attention attract an extra fee. Completely stunned, we returned to the pharmacy. Luckily, the sympathetic doctor at the clinic had given Jess a voucher to buy the drops she needed for a mere $20. If she hadn't had the voucher (which most people don't) the tiny bottle of drops, available for around $5 in the UK, would have cost a whopping $100. That's a total of $307 for a bottle of drops to treat a bout of conjunctivitis. What an utterly shameful system.

For us, this was just an annoying experience. But I can't imagine living here with the constant fear of life without health insurance. In the UK it's bad enough to lose your job, but here in the US that also means losing the safety net of basic care for yourself and your family, which is desperate. And as we learned from Reggie, even if you have health insurance, you might be covered for basic consultations and even some medication, but you still worry about getting ill because of the financial burden that anything not covered by your policy might put on your family. And as for those people with no health insurance at all (the figure is estimated at a staggering 49.9 million and climbing) you literally cannot afford to get ill. How terrifying to be an unemployed parent of young children in America knowing that if your child becomes ill, even with something as treatable as conjunctivitis, you're going to be hit with a bill of over $300 just to see a doctor.

The subject of healthcare reform in America is one we've been talking about a lot recently. We were lucky enough to have a long conversation with a lovely couple from Detroit about healthcare during our time in Peru. The woman was a recently qualified doctor, and her partner sold pharmaceuticals. The fascinating thing was that they had heard horror stories about the NHS. "Don't people die waiting for surgery on a regular basis?" and "Surely the system is overloaded with people clammering for free medication?". When we told them about our positive experiences, they were surprised. However, although they were apprehensive about a British style of healthcare they still harboured real fears for the American system. The new doctor told us about the daily misuse of casualty wards in US hospitals. Because so many people don't have access to health insurance and it's so expensive to go and see a doctor, they simply call an ambulance. The ambulance picks them up and takes them to casualty, where the doctors are legally obliged to give them a consultation free of charge. Any American who's worried about the cost of an NHS style healthcare system should think about how much taxpayer money is being wasted every day by casualty wards in US hospitals dealing with people who should be able to see a GP for a check up, but can't afford it. It's no surprise then, that the doctor and her husband strongly supported Obama's healthcare plan, which was recently ratified by the US Supreme Court.

Talking to people here (and we've got a lot of talking left to do) it seems that one of the biggest fears people have about universal healthcare is the tax rise it could cause. I don't think that's good enough. When I get back to London I'll be paying a tax at the higher rate of 40% and I'm OK with that, because as a young lawyer earning a good salary I should be taxed more. The contribution I make will go towards funding a healthcare system that is free at the point of delivery. The way that the system in the US works is individualistic in a way that we, as Brits, find difficult to comprehend. How the most powerful country in the world, a country which aims to spread 'democracy' to countries around the globe, look at itself in the mirror when it's own citizens are dieing because they can't afford to see a doctor? I just don't see how anyone can be against making affordable healthcare available to everyone, regardless of whether that increases taxes slightly (or, perish the thought, insurance premiums for wealthy Americans).

Whatever happened to your famous 'one nation' mentality America?

Welcome to Miami

Last Saturday morning we got on onto our flight in Lima and, while Ben couldn't contain his excitement (and sang Will Smith for the entire length of our six hour, very turbulent, very cramped American Airlines flight. Thanks for that.) I wasn't sure what to expect. Yes, we were about to meet up with our much missed friends and their gorgeous eight month old twins, but we were also on our way to - apparently - one of the vainest cities in the world. Having spent five weeks in countries grappling with considerable poverty and deprivation with a smile, I wasn't sure that I would embrace the perfectly white, pristine and perhaps slightly artificial smiles of Florida. But from the moment we collected our bags and were hit by the waves of chattering Spanish, Latino beats and serious heat, I realised that this city was different to every preconception that I had harboured. And this place was not going to disappoint.

Shiny happy people

Miami is a melting pot of people and cultures. In fact, as I went to buy our morning tea (so English) from the local store, I could easily still have been in Peru. "Two teas please" I asked the smiling girl behind the counter. "Dos?" she replied. "Con leche?". Totally thrown, I nodded and asked - still in English - for one tea to have sugar as well. She happily made me the tea, passed them over and told me the price in Spanish. I walked out of the store a little bemused. Had it been in my head that she was speaking in Spanish? Everyone else seemed to act like this was totally normal. Had my brain got stuck in Spanish mode after all that pigeon Spanish in Bolivia?

But I soon I began to understand that everyone was acting like this was normal exactly because it was normal. In Miami, Cubans, Haitians, Puerto Ricans, Colombians, Argentinians, Americans and all the glorious nationalities in between have merged to make the Miamian: someone who flits between English and Spanish, not always conscious of which language their speaking. And these Miamians have style. Granted, after two months backpacking around South America we didn't immediately fit in with the beautiful, smiling, shiny and tanned people walking sexily around us. But after a frozen daiquiri and a few mojitos, we forgot our over-long, straggly hair and feet covered in blisters from trekking. By day we pulled on our swimsuits and got our untoned bodies onto the white sand beaches. By night we attempted to dance along with (then quickly gave up and just watched) the spontaneous salsa that would erupt around us without warning. And while our bemused expressions may have made us stand out a bit, we never felt excluded from the party happening around us as people of every shape, size and colour (as well as a few of the thin and rich stereotypes) shook their stuff knowing that, in Miami of all places, it's having fun and celebrating yourself that makes you sexy. Once again, this was a million miles away from the Will Smith-generated image I had of the city.

Despite all this, the best thing about Miami was that we got to meet Ben's beautiful goddaughter and her handsome brother. These amazing babies were having the time of their lives experiencing their first Miami summer surrounded by adoring friends and family. It was such a pleasure to get to spend some time with them, and to meet their parents' wonderful welcoming families as well. After so long away from home, to be in a family setting and surrounded by friends was a treat, and one that has made us look forward even more to coming home in August.

Lola: the leading lady

But before then, we have five weeks of fun as we travel up by car from New Orleans to Washington DC through the Mississippi Delta. And after Miami, these places have an awful lot to live up to.

Things we’ve learned in South America

• It doesn’t matter how bad your Spanish is. You will be able to have a conversation with almost any taxi driver on the continent. A number of topics ensure you can start the conversation with one word and then don’t have to say much else. Examples include: (1) “El Presidente – bien?” (2) “Transporte de Publico – bien?” (3) “Futbol en [insert country] – bien?”

 

• Llamas and alpacas are incredibly useful (when they’re not attacking you while you’re carrying a 20kg backpack). Whether as tourist attractions, knitwear, delicious food, or sacrifices, these multipurpose creatures have been a constant feature of our trip. And just so you know, you can outrun a charging alpaca with said backpack if you really need to. 

• South American politics isn’t as crazy as it may appear in the European and US press. It’s true that we have seen quite a few protests, and things like the cultivation of coca remain controversial. But once you see the context and scratch below the surface, grievances start to make sense and you can start to understand the completely different political and social landscapes. And no, American tourist (who shall remain unnamed), Evo Morales is not “the kooky one who likes cocaine”. 

• Not everyone believes that England is a country. English is a language, but it’s a language that Americans or perhaps Canadians speak. Therefore, we must be American and definitely not from Europe (wherever that is). 

• Toilets are one hundred times nicer if toilet paper can be flushed away rather than left to fester in an overflowing bin, next to the toilet, in hot sunshine. That is all. 

 

• Chilean food is rubbish (and we’ve blogged about this nation that wraps everything in pastry before). However, Peruvian food is some of the best we’ve eaten this year. Even in local cafes the cerviche is fresh, the beer and chicha is ice cold and the cumbia is blasting out from the stereo. Forget the stereotype of guinea pig, Peruvian food is far more exciting than that.

 

• Some things are worth paying for. For example, buses. There are some tourists who think they are amazing because they sat next to a cow on a bus that nearly rolled over the edge of a cliff. Newsflash: these people are idiots. There are some countries that we’ve been to where you (and the people who live there) don’t have a choice about how they get around. So, if you have the luxury of choice and the means to be able to make that choice, then don’t risk your life to give yourself a ‘story’ and then scare other tourists with it. Every country we’ve visited in South America has good bus companies, so use them. 

 

• If a very determined drug dealer approaches you and doggedly tries to sell you cocaine, just tell him in a very polite British accent that you are very happy with your evening as it has unfolded. He will take this to mean that you have already purchased from one of his colleagues (which of course, you haven’t) and proceed to fist pump and hug you. Problem solved. 

 

• On the whole, tourism is being done well here. We’re going to blog more about our positive encounters with ethical tourism in South America at a later date. But one thing we’ve enjoyed during the last two months is the way people treat tourists here, probably because they and their communities are benefiting in a meaningful way and money is being ploughed back into villages. The most extreme example of the copious friendliness that we’ve encountered was our non-English speaking hotel owner in Putre. Having realised that we wanted to go walking in the National Park the next day, she instructed us to visit a certain tour operator in the village. When we came back and told her the place was closed, she phoned every friend in her phone book, and even marched us into the village (with a French couple who could speak Spanish, allowing Jess to translate the French into English). After hours of complicated and frustrating trilingual discussions and phone calls, she made sure we met with an agent, and our tour the next day was one of the highlights of Chile. Thanks, nice Chilean lady. 

• Ben does get motion sickness in the right circumstances. Despite crossing the dangerously choppy Zanzibar strait eating Pringles while everyone puked around him, as well as whizzing around hairpin bends on coaches in India eating chocolate bars, our flight in a tiny four seater by-plane over the Nazca lines defeated him. As we looped around the ‘hummingbird’ for the fifth time at ninety degrees before turning one hundred and eighty degrees to see it from the other side of the plane, even Ben was reaching for the little plastic sick bag and looking forward to landing. By this point Jess was of course beyond green, but for once, a little sympathy (rather than the offer of a Pringle) from Ben was in order. 

 

• Home improvement warehouses are fun, wherever you are in the world. Our day in Ica was not spent engaging in extreme tourist activities, but in a shopping mall stocking up on supplies. In an annoying turn of events, the heel on Ben’s shoe had broken. But luckily, like B&Q in England and Home Depot in America, Sodimac provided Peru’s answer. A friendly young man in a purple apron approached and asked in Spanish how he could help us. After showing him said shoe, he took us dutifully to the wood glue section and chattered away in Spanish about the merits of Sodimac’s home brand. Feeling slightly emotional, we thanked the young man and made our way to the checkout. God bless home improvement stores (apart from Homebase, the posh wankers).  

 

• There are loads of lovely travellers out there. We’d not met many other like minded travellers during the course of our travels: in India they were too busy finding themselves with the hugging mother, and in Africa they were too busy competing over who was having the most ‘genuine’ African experience. But in South America, we’ve been fortunate to meet some fantastic people who’ve made our journey all the more memorable. Paren, P, Miss B, Suzie, Rob, Leanne, Fionna, Tom, Eline, and of course, Sam and Andres. Thanks guys – we can’t wait to catch up with you all when we’re home.  

 

Feliz Año Neuvo!

Although we were staying with one of the kindest, nicest families that we have ever had the fortune of meeting, New Year’s Eve 2011 in Tiwi was a bit of a let down. Maybe it was because Kenya had a total fireworks ban due to the nationwide Al-Shabab threat, meaning that the annual beach fireworks display was cancelled. Perhaps it was because we couldn’t find an alcoholic drink for love nor money in Tiwi village and so ended up toasting 2012 with half a bottle of flat, two day old Sprite. Either way, despite hugs at midnight from Rama and Alice Mwarome (who had stayed up especially to see in the New Year with us) the celebrations weren’t what I had envisaged when we set off for our year around the world.

It was because of this unusual start to 2012 that I was so excited when I found out that we were going to get a second go at celebrating the New Year this year. Except this time, we would be welcoming in the year 5520 (according to the Aymara calendar).

All of our worldy belongings are inside this

We decided to travel to the Isla del Sol, right in the middle of Lake Titicaca, for the celebrations as we had heard that this lake – the birthplace of the sun in Aymara legend – would be the centre of it all. The journey from La Paz wasn’t quite as easy as our hostel had led us to expect. First a coach, which took over two hours to get out of the sprawling suburbs of the city. Then, after three hours, we all got off the bus and onto a series of tiny boats to cross the Tiquina straits, watching anxiously as the fourty-seater coach laden with our luggage was precariously rolled onto a small flat raft and towed across the water. On the other side we jumped back on the bus and spent an hour clutching our seatbelt-less seats as we hurtled round hair pin bends before finally reaching Copacabana. There we boarded a small, smelly, rickety vessel which would take us across the lake for two vomit inducing hours to the island. Once on dry land we naively breathed a sigh of relief – we’d made it! But wasn’t it strange, we thought, that none of the other visitors to the island had any luggage. We quickly realised why as we met the smiling girl from our hostel who proceeded to lead us on an hour’s trek up an ancient and almost vertical Inca staircase towards the summit of the island, taking us to 4200m above sea level, where the village and our accommodation was based. Our luggage of two large backpacks weighing a total of 40kg, two smaller day packs, a handbag and a large woven ‘overspill’ bag containing trinkets (sorry Ben) did not help us during our painful ascent at altitude.

Having made it to our hostel, we got an early night knowing that we wanted to get up at 5am to watch the New Year’s sunrise. Given that it was about -5°C in our room, it felt pretty hideous when our alarm clock went off this morning. But we were glad we made the eerie uphill trek through fields and across streams and rocks in the freezing pitch black with just our head torches to the highest point on the island, because what greeted us there was one of the best experiences of our whole year travelling. A hundred people, locals and tourists alike, gathered around a huge fire on the edge of a cliff overlooking the massive expanse of Lake Titicaca as the village shaman led a service summoning the sun to rise. And when it did, things really kicked off. Drums, chanting, dancing and fireworks, with everyone ready to party on through the day.

Catching the first rays of the New Year

Despite being thousands of miles from home and immersed in an entirely different culture, we were amazed at the similarities between our New Year’s celebrations. When the sun finally rose, everyone hugged, shook hands and greeted each other, just as we do at midnight at home. Most people also relished the excuse to have a good drink as they celebrated. OK, so we tend to do this in the evening at home and on the island everyone was wopping back hot moonshine at 7am to welcome the sun, but given that it was still below freezing and we had all been up for hours, hot alcohol did seem like a pretty good idea. And as everyone held hands, danced around and sang as bands played the panpipes, I was definitely reminded of bobbing about to Auld Lang Syne.

But there were some elements of the ceremony that bore no resemblance whatsoever to a British New Year. At no time at home have I ever seen ten elderly women dressed in fuchsia pink skirts and shawls with black bowler hats run around wildly after a llama at New Year (or at any other time for that matter). I have never seen a hundred people fall completely silent with their hands outstretched, waiting to catch the first rays of the new sun on their palms and so catch good fortune to last them the whole year. And however much Jools Holland’s hootenanny may strive for viewing figures, they’ve never gone to the extreme of cutting off a live llama’s head at midnight. Despite Ben’s earlier foreboding at spotting the llama looking sheepish in a corner, we weren’t entirely expecting this gory turn of events. But when Pachamama’s hungry, I suppose she has to be fed.

Aymara New Year - "Chasing the Llama" from Ben Bradburn on Vimeo.

I don’t know where we will be this time next year, or even for New Year’s Eve 2012, but I know that the next celebration that we attend will have a lot to live up to.

The Hunchback of South America

We’ve been in Bolivia for two weeks now, and we’re quite sad that in a few days time we’ll be crossing the border into Peru. It’s not that we aren’t excited about the adventures to come, but just that the country we’re in is one of the most underrated we’ve visited.

Ever since we started our journey through Northern Chile, other travellers have been warning us of the dangers of Bolivia. Things like the buses are death traps, everyone is out to rob you, taxi drivers murder tourists, the cities are run down and stink, you won’t get anywhere because of roadblocks, the poverty is overwhelming and, our favourite, you don’t need more than a day in La Paz. When we arrived late one evening with these warnings ringing in our ears, we clicked into ready alert and became wary of everything and everyone around us. However, during the last two weeks we’ve decided that the ‘advice’ we received is, frankly, utter rubbish.

La Paz's Murillo Square

Yes, tourists have to be careful and we have met people who’ve had things stolen. But the buses are fine as long as you research reputable companies and prepare yourself for a bumpy ride, as some of the roads aren’t paved. And anyone who thinks the cities are all run down and smelly obviously hasn’t travelled very much, because, while La Paz can be a bit whiffy, the pristine buildings we’ve seen in Sucre, Potosi and parts of La Paz itself have been incredibly beautiful and not in the least bit run down. And while there is poverty on the streets, it doesn’t feel desperate or threatening. In fact, Bolivia has the feel of a country on the up.

In terms of infrastructure, key roads are being paved and public funds are clearly being ploughed into improving the country’s transport network. This is great news for people making long and arduous journeys across the uncompromising landscape of Bolivia’s highlands. It’s great for the economy, for distribution networks, local people and tourism. However, along with this fantastic investment, there may need to be an overhaul in the level of proficiency required to hold a driving licence. Taxi drivers reading books while accelerating (on lovely new roads) at about 80mph along sheer cliff edges just won’t cut it. 

Food is also something that we’ve become quite good at reviewing, and the fare in Bolivia is surprisingly much better than Chile's. Not every kind of meat you buy is wrapped in pastry here, there is less fetishism about biscuits, and you can actually have vegetables or salad with your meal! But the best thing about Bolivian food is that we’ve been able to find places where we can sit down with local people to enjoy it. Thanks to a tip off in Uyuni we managed to find a restaurant that a local family had set up in their front room. While dad barbequed huge racks of llama ribs and chunky chorizo style sausages outside, mom served the hungry locals waiting in the freezing dining room. And while the Argentinian version of Jerry Springer belted out from the tiny television in the corner of the room, we ate the best meat we’ve had since leaving Australia. But unlike Oz, the whole meal came to a total of £3.50 for a completely delicious feast.

Rosita shows us how it's done

Another thing that we’ve been enjoying about South America in general is the equal position of women in society. We didn’t expect gender to be a huge issue in Chile given that it’s such a rich and educated country, but we were pleasantly surprised when we arrived in Bolivia to see that the position of women here is far better than any other ‘poor’ country  we’ve visited this year. Apart from seeing this in every day life, it’s also apparent on Sunday afternoons in the outskirts of La Paz in a community sports hall. This is where Cholita’s Wrestling takes place, and has become a craze attracting locals and tourists alike. The format is basically that women in traditional Aymara dress (bowler hats, long pigtails, multicoloured shawls and huge petticoats) beat the crap out of Mexican style villains, jumping from the corners of the ring, throwing them over their shoulders, smashing chairs and wooden planks over them and generally giving them an arse kicking as the crowd cheers the women on. It was probably one of our more bizarre Sunday evening activities, but in terms of gender roles, it’s hard to think of more publicly empowered ladies.

We’d also been warned before we arrived in Bolivia that every tour company in every town would be looking to rip us off. Having made the most of every opportunity to take tours and experience the country’s incredible landscape, we haven’t found this to be true at all. From Rodrigo, our politically astute civil engineer quadbiking instructor, to Carlos, our gold toothed and culturally passionate tour guide in Uyuni, we’ve met nothing but professionalism, pride and skill during our excursions. In fact, although we’ve been limited by our poor Spanish, we’ve really appreciated meeting and engaging with such interesting, multi-lingual and insightful Bolivians who have been happy to share their knowledge and passions, as well as organising great days out.

What has come back to us time and again in the past few weeks is the cultural pride Bolivians obviously feel and express frequently. We’ve been lucky enough to stumble across parades, fiestas and marches in every town we’ve visited. From celebrating diverse cultural roots and military triumphs to promoting workers rights, we’ve seen Bolivians celebrating their history and working proudly for a better future for their country. The figurehead at the centre of this change is undoubtedly Evo Morales. We know that Bolivia’s first indigenous president isn’t universally popular across the nation (particularly in cosmopolitan Santa Cruz), but the areas we’ve travelled through clearly see him as a hero. Morales is not an internationally popular figure either, partly due to his stance on the cultivation of coca leaves. But, having visited the instructive Coca Museum and witnessed the centrality of this controversial leaf to Andean society and culture, you have to respect a man who is striving to protect indigenous culture in a country where it has been marginalised for five hundred years.

Sculpture of Evo Morales in Uyuni train yard

Morales is driving the development infrastructure, reinvigorating indigenous communities, promoting sustainable Bolivian industry and injecting confidence into a country with so much underdeveloped potential. One of the most mineral rich countries in the world, pillaged for so long by colonial powers, is picking itself up under a charismatic indigenous leader with the support of the people. We both look forward to coming back and seeing how his plans for Bolivia come to fruition.

This week I have been mostly….

Looking into the centre of the galaxy

Earlier this week Jess and I were fortunate enough to miss the three days either side of the full moon and spend a spectacular evening out in the desert watching the stars. Although we stood in temperatures a couple of degrees below freezing for about three hours, we were treated to the clearest night sky I have ever seen. We learned about constellations, looked at planets and star clusters through huge telescopes, and most of the time just gawped upwards. It really was magical and a fantastic way to put things into perspective.

2. Listening to phone alarms

To get to San Pedro de Atacama, we embarked on a sixteen hour bus journey from La Serena about a week ago. Comfy seats, films playing on screens above our heads, air conditioning, blankets and pillows. We were in for a treat! That was until, at three in the morning, an ear splitting alarm sounded from the phone of the man sitting in front of us. Surely the alarm would do what it was designed to and wake him up, inevitably leading him to switch the thing off? No, he continued to snore and the alarm continued to sound at five minute intervals for about an hour before it gave up.

3. Watching active volcanoes spew out smoke

I’ve never seen an active volcano before. This week has been incredible if only for the fact that we’ve seen active volcanoes all around us with peaks of up to 8,000m. I was a little bit anxious when I was told that they were emitting smoke within view and quite close to the town we were staying in (and also that the last eruption was in 2010). The sheer size of the surrounding scenery in San Pedro was intimidating, but even so, waking up surrounded by huge snow capped mountains and volcanoes was incredible.

4. Avoiding being run over on the dog super-highway

Like Santiago, San Pedro de Atacama seems to house a community of stray dogs. The only difference is that here all of the dogs are massive. I’m talking the size of small horses. And as our hostel is a little walk from the centre of town, we’ve noticed that these dogs use one of the main roads as a sort of motorway, bombing up and down. Usually around town the street dogs try and get some attention by sniffing your leg, begging for food or jumping up. But no, when the dogs are on the super highway, they’ve got blinkers on. Weird.

5. Swimming in geothermal pools at sunrise

I admit it. I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of waking up at 3.30am for a two hour bus ride through steep Altiplano roads in the pitch black. Added into the mix was that it would be almost -10°C inside the bus. But, after watching my lovely girlfriend put on every piece of clothing in her rucksack, we set off for the Geiser del Tatio. And it was worth every shiver. After arriving to watch the huge geisers blowing up 10m high bursts of boiling water at an altitude of 4,200m (14,000ft) with the backdrop of huge snowy mountains, we headed for the ‘killer geiser’ which is so named as four tourists fell in a while ago and boiled to death. With this cheery thought in mind, we stripped off and lowered ourselves into the slightly more temperate geothermic pool nearby and thawed out our bodies as we watched the sun rise over the mountains. And after four hours, that was when Jess finally stopped moaning about the cold (at least until we had to get out of the pool!).

6. Battling with San Pedro’s cash machines

So it turns out we made a typical traveller mistake and forgot to get cash from an ATM before we got to San Pedro. Big deal, you may say. Well yes, but as it turns out the town only has two cash points, one of which doesn’t accept foreign cards. And as San Pedro is a main stop on the gringo trail, the other ATM gets quite well used, as we found out when we tried to withdraw cash and there was no money left. After speaking to locals, this happens quite regularly and people are often stranded in the town for days while they search for cash or desperately try to borrow from fellow travellers. The amazing thing was that, after telling us about how the cash situation in San Pedro is incredibly stupid and disorganised, our tour agency told us that they don’t accept card payments. Oh dear.

7. Watching the sun set over the mountains

On Tuesday afternoon we set off to visit the Valle de la Luna, not knowing quite what to expect. Our tour guide started the day by introducing himself as ‘Pedro the professional photographer’ which I thought was odd being as he was driving the bus. Anyhow, after two stops, Pedro became the highlight of the tour – taking us to a fantastic view point at the top of Death Valley and then guiding us expertly around the National Park in which the Valle lies. After a couple of hours we were feeling pretty pleased, having walked around scenery which looked like outer space and completely surreal. A great afternoon was capped off by trekking up one of a number of large dunes and sitting on the top as we watched the sun set over the vast landscape. The mountain backdrop turned pink, a volcano smoked silently and it seemed as though we had the best, highest viewpoint to watch it all unfold. 

8. Finding new ways to get Jess’ ears to pop

After two mornings going up to over 4,000m above sea level and then back down again to 2,500m in San Pedro, Jess began to have problems getting her ears to adjust. As she was obviously suffering in the back of our tour van, our fellow Brazilian, German, French and Spanish tourists all gave handy tips on the best ways of making ears pop. Holding the nose and blowing out, yawning, drinking water, drinking water whilst leaning back, swallowing hard and wiggling the jaw about furiously were all tried without success. I found this hilarious, and just when we thought nothing would work the ear popped of its own accord to Jess’ great discomfort and the relief of the tour bus.

9. Being offered a job

I have been in negotiations for a coupe of months, in the hope of becoming an employment lawyer when we return to the UK in September. Yesterday, at 5am, whilst on a night bus in the middle of the desert, the news came through that I’d been offered a job, and even though I annoyed every Chilean on the top deck with my loud chatter, I couldn’t be more pleased! I’m really excited at the prospect of returning to London with a fresh perspective and chuffed to bits that I will finally be a fully functioning lawyer after seven years of study and on-the-job training.

10. Visiting to one of the biggest salt flats on earth

On Thursday we were lucky enough to visit the Salar de Atacama, one of the largest salt flats on the planet. The vast amount of space filled with sparkling salt crystals and a flat bed of water dotted with pink flamingos and the Andes mountains providing a backdrop, was stunning. I think it was possibly one of the most tranquil and beautiful places I’ve ever seen, apart from the moment when a text came through from Jess’ dad sadly announcing that Paul Lambert had left Norwich City and was on his way to my team, Aston Villa (sorry Chris!). I could have taken a lot more pictures, but thankfully for everyone I held back and took just a hundred or so to remind us of a fantastic afternoon in the desert.

11. Drinking proper coca leaf tea

We arrived in the small town of Putre yesterday and, after two sleepless overnight buses, were immediately struck by a bad bout of altitude sickness. After managing to find our lodge on the edge of the mountains and run past three charging alpacas that didn’t take a shine to us, we checked in and felt very odd. Luckily, we found a brilliant little place to eat in the centre of the small town and the kind man who served us immediately brought us a bowl of dried coca leaves and some boiling water. After leaving it to brew for two minutes as instructed we sipped it and felt instantly better. We’ve drunk the stuff in teabags before as a bit of a novelty, but when we actually needed something to stop us feeling so weird, it really worked and we were incredibly grateful! Still, I don’t think I’ll try to take any through customs to make a cup back in the UK.