Leaving behind Argentina and Iguazu falls (an uber cool spectacular waterfall system), we stumbled rather more blindly than usual into or next country; Paraguay. More blindly than usual, due to the lack of info available. Internet, guidebooks, and fellow travelers were a wonderful void of advice on what to do in Paraguay. Nevertheless we optimistically packed our bags and begun the long journey through Paraguay to Bolivia!
The fist notion that fun and games would begin was the actual crossing into Paraguay from Argentina. We turned up bright and early at the port (or shack at the side of a river) where we had been assured a ferry would happily meet us and take us across. However the ferry was parked in the middle of the river and el captain was very much on land. In very broken Spanish and lots of made up sign language we determined that there was probably no boat today, possibly one tomorrow and certainly one sometime towards the end of the week. Great! A trek back to town and bus via Brazil it would be.
Said bus actually turned out to be a cheap and simple solution. In fact it took us all the way through Brazil, and to the main bus station in Ciudad del Este (Paraguay’s border city). Awesome stuff, except that it had driven straight through border immigration without stopping. Again; great! So another bus trip; back to the border, more broken Spanish, lots of asking if we were Americans (who have to pay crazy amounts of cash to enter), and hey presto we were officially in Paraguay. We thus celebrated by jumping on yet another bus, this time to the capital Asuncion, cracking open a new country beer and admiring what looked suspiciously like bullet holes in our room.
After spending a few days relaxing and basking in the 43 degree heat of Asuncion we continued north and one step closer to Bolivia. Now the north of Paraguay is actually an almost uninhabited savannah about the size of Spain. It’s known as the Chaco – or land of cactuses, pumas and not much else. We decided (rather stupidly as it would turn out) to break up our journey and stop for a night in Filadelfia, a strangely American sounding place half way to the border. I’m still not quite sure what anyone actually does in Filadelfia, and we did devote a fair amount of people watching time in an effort to find out. In fact the locals were doing pretty much exactly the same as us; sitting outside a shop, sipping something cold, playing chess, wiping dust out of their eyes, and generally just trying not to melt. The highlight of the day was most defiantly watching the odd tumbleweed roll past. And so here we waited… for a whole 24hours and the next bus the hell outa there!
So I guess this brings me to Filadelfia´s slightly bizarre German influence. We couldn’t help but notice that most streets had somewhat German sounding names (i.e. Hindenberg street), and there was also a very out of place efficiently run supermarket with lots of German signage. However the real confirmation came when we visited the towns’ bank; everyone looked a little like, and spoke much more than a little like what I deemed to be German. Even with our somewhat limited powers of deduction we were able to deduce that this town was full of Germans... Now I could be barking up the wrong tree here; but didn’t some friends of a ´tash proud Austrian come to hide in South America around the mid 1940´s?
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As it turned out, getting ourselves stamped out of Paraguay was likely to be as tricky as getting stamped in. Mariscal Estigarribia is the place to do the stamping, but that is still hours from the Bolivian border. To achieve a successful evacuation of Paraguay we had to get the 8pm bus to the stamping shack (“shack” being very very generous), and wait outside until 4am when the border bus passed by. At least we had plenty of mosquitos for company, and even the odd motorbike every few hours.
But 4am did eventually come, and it meant success and a change of fortunes… 7hrs and many more cactuses later, a bunch of jolly Bolivians welcomed us into their country! We took our chances and jumped off the bus at the pretty but remote oil town of Camiri, hoping to find something or someone heading in the direction of our intended target; Sucre. Sure enough a bus left the next day! So after a much needed pit stop of sleep/food and beer, another dirt (but mountainous road), and yet another night on a bus we eventually reached Sucre from where I write this.
In an unplanned change we have been studying Spanish here for the last week, meaning we can now have broken conversations with the locals. Still a fair bit of sign language is involved but we are getting there! I think Andy has learnt more in a week than 5 years studying back at school. Next we head to the highest city in the world, Potosi, before exploring the highly rated salt desert of Salar de Uyuni.
Hasta Luego Mi Amigos,
Daves xx
