Samiapata - a bohemian myth

We finally got out of Rurrenabaque, even though the weather remained dodgy with low cloud cover and were told when checking in they were uncertain as to whether the plane could land. An hour and a half later we landed in Santa Cruz and in no time we were in a taxi on our way to Expresso Samaipata – the shared taxis going to Samaipata. When I say shared, I mean shared. The taxi was a normal minivan and in our case had 8 passengers plus the driver. I guess you get what you pay for – 30 Boliveros per person ($6 for a 3 hour drive).

The road to Samaipata was pretty brutal, having to navigate multiple slips, huge trucks and loads of dogs. Turned out they had had an unusual amount of rain for the area over the previous and hence the number of slips. We arrived in Samiapata as the sun was setting but thankfully it was only a 10 minute walk to Casa Lynda. Lynda wasn’t home but she had emailed us instructions to find our room. A quick turnaround and we were back in the village square looking for a pub.

The town had a good vibe which was reinforced as we entered a pub called The Bohemian. Our host Lynda was sitting at the bar and introduced herself as we entered. She was from Toronto and had been traveling through the area 5 years ago with her son when she fell in love with the place and bought the house on her second day in Samaipata. She had been home once in the 5 years. I asked her whether her parents were still alive (we guessed her to be in her 60s) – she said that was a vey odd question, particularly since her mother had died on this day 23 years earlier. I told her my ancestors were witches. The pub was owned by 2 Aussie’s and was run by a Kiwi lad from Wellington. Certainly the number of expats in the bar far exceeded any indigenous folk. The prices may have something to do with it. It was our most expensive night in Bolivia so far – 4 pints of beer, 3 wines, 1 whiskey and 2 burger and chips came to a whopping 270 Bs ($54).

Samaipata is at the intersection of 3 cultures – Inca, Andes and Amazon. The statue in the main square said as much. The next morning we walked about 2 km on a gravel road to a small animal refuge, set up by a local family and helped by volunteers.

The entry fee was 20B and you get to walk around freely to see the different animals they have rescued from illegal trafficking, road accidents and some that were unauthorized pets. In some cases you can enter cages with the animals – the Toucan and Llama enclosure had a cool tree house we climbed. In addition to Toucans and Llamas we saw monkeys, tortoises and a variety of birds. On the way back to the village we stopped at a small cafe called la Vaca Loca, “the crazy cow” for delicious ice cream.

Prior to dinner we booked our trip to the Fern Forest at the local tourist office. In this case it was manned by a very young girl (11 or 12 was our guess) who needed to be schooled by Deryn that 2 x 175 = 350, not the 300 she first stated. Dinner and cards followed including a soup for me that reminded my very much of Aunty Divina’s famous pea soup. Any thoughts of getting up to mischief after dinner was dispelled by the vast number of kids running around the main square. The prior view that our stay in Bolivia would be wild has evolved into more of a family holiday. It’s not surprising when I found that 30% of the population are 14 and under.

After another dodgy night sleep (not a great bed and the odd rogue mossie), we rose relatively early for our excursion to the Fern Forest. We had to sit in the main square until 8 for a brekkie joint to open – the one that did though did a cracking, no pun intended, omelette. We were joined on our trip by 2 other couples (one couple older, the other about the same age). Our view of Samaipata is changing from the original bohemian to a bar-bell of young and old. Our planned 3 nights will be enough.

The drive to the start of our walk was on a very bad dirt road and we travelled mostly at walking pace. One couple was from Brazil, the other from France but they both knew Spanish so chatted the whole way. We arrived at the start of the walk and was given some background by our guide in Spanish first and then English on what to expect on the walk. Within 5 minutes of starting he stopped to talk about some of the plants. Nope, this was not going to work so Dits and I headed off on our own, stopping every now and then to let them catch up to make sure we were on the right path before heading off again. Walking through the giant ferns certainly made us feel like we were back in NZ – the main difference being that there were very few birds. The view from the top was pretty cool – a vast expanse of forested mountains and deep valleys.

When we arrived back at the van we decided to start walking down the road rather than wait for the others at the van. After 30 minutes of walking we waited at the entrance of the national park for another 15 minutes before the van caught up with us. Slow pokes. I was feeling a bit dodgy so it was an early dinner (vege burger and chips) over a couple of games of cribbage and then finish up our GoT binge.

I was still feeling a bit dodgy the next morning so was not sure about joining Deryn for the waterfall excursion. I was glad I was talked into it although only made it to the first of 3, before deciding to retire to finish off Dickens “A Christmas Carole”. How that is rated as Dickens best book beats the hell out of me. Deryn enjoyed the other 2 waterfalls and even got in a swim. Another early night althoughI spent the entire night scratching the slow release sand sly bites from the waterfall.

We arranged a shared taxi to pick us up at 930 and to drop us off directly at Santa Cruz airport. The drive back was easier than the drive down here as most of the slips had been fully cleared. Once again the Bolivian health and safety standards were on display – no seatbelts and the lady in the front seat holding an infant on her lap. No helmets and 4 on a motor bike is one thing, but unconstrained infants. Eek! It still took us over 3.5 hours to get the airport . We both agreed, on reflection, that Samaipata did not really live up to the time and effort of getting there. Once again our flight left 20 minutes early – we have noticed that in Bolivia with both busses and flights, once all the passengers are on board, they leave. It was a short 30 minute flight to Sucre Alcantari International airport – the landscape out of the plane window was once again incredibly hilly and dry. The airport was 22 km from Sucre. Both the airport and the road into Sucre looked new. Our hotel, Mi Pueblo Samary Hotrel Boutiquewas in Old Sucre, a world heritage listed area. Our hotel was stunning, built to resemble a village. It was previously the Brazilian embassy in Sucre. Felt good to be here.