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Technically, we never saw La Paz, the capital of Bolivia. But we had to drive through El Alto, the sister city, twice. El Alto sucks. It is dusty and poor and has bad traffic. When we were finally clear of the city, we were happy to stretch the bikes' legs and get moving to our next stop.
First, we stopped and got gas. Getting gas in Bolivia is ridiculous. There are two prices: one for Bolivians, and one for anyone with foreign plates. Now, this is actually the law. The gas is subsidized and the government doesn't want to pay for foreigners' gas. Fair enough. But, the gas costs us twice as much as locals ($9.25 Bolivianos per liter, which is about $5.50 USD per gallon) and requires a complicated receipt process that many flatly refuse to issue. Technically, they cannot pump gas without giving a receipt. So, sometimes we are refused (they say they don't have gas generally). But, we found someone to sell us gas and got back on the road.
Sadly, we've decided that Bolivia gets the award for both worst drivers AND worst roads of the trip so far! The "1" highway exiting La Paz, one ofthe most major highways in the country, has ruts about a foot deep in places.The asphalt on either side of the ruts bulges and blisters in the sun, like so many angry volcanoes we must traverse to pass semi-trucks. The road is also under construction for much of its length, this changes the speed limit from 80kph (55mph) to 35kph (20mph) so often and so many times that you want to pull your hair out. And then, you crest a small hill and find that lo, the Bolivians have radar guns. We were pulled over going probably 8km (5mi) over the speed limit. No big deal, right? Wrong. If you have foreign plates (aka, a dollar sign on your forehead), you get pulled over whenever possible. The guys showed us that they have a radar gun, said we were going too fast, and said we would get a ticket. Ok. The ticket would need to be paid, they said, in La Paz, the opposite direction we were headed. The ticket must be paid today they said. We were going 80 MILES per hour they said. Oi. No, we said. Our bikes don't really go that fast. Also, we know what kilometers are. There was a truck just in front of us, we said. Perhaps your radar gun hit the truck not us? We can clear this up right now, they said. Only $50 per person (in USD). We laughed. We don't carry dollars. We haven't been in the states for months. I tryto laugh off the fact that they are crooks and offer to pay them in stickers. They lighten up a little but still are after cash. We have maybe $50 Bolivianos in total (about $7 USD), we say (which is what Derek is carrying in his dummy wallet). They scoff and ignore us for a while. After maybe ten minutes, they say we can go on our way for the $50 Bolivianos. OK. On we go.
Maybe a half hour later, we were pulled-over again. Yes, really. This time we were not speeding at all. Honest! We go through a couple minutes of the same rigmarole. Then a small U-Haul-type truck pulls up. For no apparent reason, four of the cops and the two original passengers are all sitting on the bench front seat. One of the other cops comes over and says we can continue on with just a warning. We don't argue. We take off. For the rest of the day, we go about 3mph under the speed limit.
Finally we arrive in Oruro. Try to say that name out loud. Did you sound like an injured puppy? If so, you probably said it right. Derek used divine intervention or something to bring us directly to a cheap hostel with parking on the very first try. Yesss. Points for Derek. As we pulled-up, a couple ladies and their two children became very interested in the motorcycles. The little boy, maybe three, walked right up to us and started asking questions. He was so excited about the bike, I asked him if he'd like to sit on it. A big smile and lots of nods answered in the affirmative. The ladies and baby gathered closer, deciding I was friendly. I lifted the boy up onto the seat; he grabbed out for my helmet and began making "vroom" noises. The ladies giggled and took pictures with their phones and gave us many wishes for a happy and safe journey. The little boy returned with two slices of the orange he was eating for us as a friendship offering. We gladly accepted.
High in elevation, this city is cold and has thin air. After throwing our mochillas (bags) in our room and taking a shower (that is warm AND has water pressure!!!) we sauntered around town. Derek cashed-in his points for a pizza with cured llama meat on it (pretty tasty). And we found some gas cans to strap to the bikes. We figured this would be a good idea since the ability to buy gas is unreliable in this country. Derek also found a lady selling freshly popped popcorn on the street. It was warm and just a little salty. Pretty tasty.
Back at out hotel, we hit the hay early and were happily surprised to find that although Bolivia is the only country we've been to that has almost no WiFi, it has HBO. We watched Game of Thrones (in English), a TV show we watched before beginning this trip. It made me feel oddly homey in the little room. It is very strange to think that our trip will be over in only about a month. I think I am both happy and sad about the prospect.
Our early morning start was softened by a Bolivian street specialty: the Saltena--a delicious, hot, golden-baked bread stuffed with chicken, potatoes, an olive, sauce, corn, and whatever else was around. Yeah, pretty much a hot pocket, but more delicious. Also, at about $.30 USD, it was a pretty economical breakfast.
PS - Sorry about the slow postings. As mentioned, Bolivia has very little internet and almost no WiFi. I promise, we have more pictures coming!