Bolivia

Then came the Bolivian border. Everyone had to get out. The customs officials still seemed to be haunted by the ghost of Ernesto "Che" Guevara, who had been shot dead in the Bolivian jungle on October 9, 1967 - less than ten years earlier.

Rolf and I were allowed into the customs house. A supervisor looked at our passports and said in English: "Many trips... lots of money."

I replied kindly: "Yes, work a lot and then travel a lot." He grinned and gave us back our passports with the necessary stamp. He also asked: "Do you know anyone in La Paz?"

"Yes, a friend from Australia who studied there and is now back in Bolivia."

"Okay," said the customs officer and signaled to the driver that he could continue. I think even the simple publican has been given a little touch.

We had already been driving on the Altiplano for a few hours - practically flat, with high mountains in the distance. Then came the big surprise: the driver stopped so that we could see the town in the valley basin. Impressive. The journey continued downwards, deeper and deeper, until we reached the designated stop of the Collectivo. We were on the road for about seven hours.

The rucksacks were taken off the roof. The Indian women came immediately, unpacked the wool, counted the balls, one said "Gracias" and everyone grinned. We grinned back.

Now we were looking for a cheap hotel. According to the South American Handbook, that was no problem - cheap and not far from many street kitchens.

In Quito, after a long search, we decided to take the bus back to the center. On the footpath in a neighborhood with new small detached houses, I saw a man standing through a curtain holding a plate in his hand. I said to Rolf: "There he is - Eduardo!"

Rolf said: "I don't believe it."

"If we've been looking for so long, I'll go ring the bell now."

The door opened and the man dropped his plate on the floor in shock. His first question was: "How did you find me?" We explained briefly. He invited us in, poured us coffee and introduced us to his wife. He asked if we were looking for work - he had something on an oil rig, very well paid, he could get us the job. We asked for his phone number, said goodbye and said we would call in the next two days, yes or no.

As promised, we called him and told him that we didn't want to take the job. Our desire to work had not yet returned.

Arrival in La Paz and reunion with Gaston

In the evening, we got out the phone number of our friend Gaston Alcázar Ortiz and called him.

"Yes, where are you? The last time we said goodbye was in Panama City."

"Now we're in La Paz, in the hotel!"

"Okay, I'll come by tomorrow around noon and we'll grab a bite to eat."

"Yes, I'd love to - see you tomorrow, or rather: ¡Hasta mañana!"

Gaston came to the hotel the next day around midday. We went to a simple, typical restaurant. He invited us in. All sorts of things came up - including whether we had met the other Latinos from Ecuador. Yes, we had found them by chance in Quito. He had given us a somewhat imprecise address. Intentionally or not - doesn't matter here.

Meeting in La Paz

One day when we went to the Swiss embassy to pick up some mail for us, we found a European sitting on the big staircase at the entrance and it looked like he had a problem. We asked him, are you ill, he said no, can we help you, no he said, then what is your problem. He told us that he had been completely robbed at the bus station in La Paz on the way to his hotel. We asked did you get robbed, no, when I checked into the hotel, I noticed that the outside pocket of my backpack was slit open and I had cash, traveler's card, passport and vaccination card in there,

What happens to you now, I was at the embassy and I was supposed to get a passport and a return ticket to Switzerland in a short time. Then he asked us where we were going next and we told him. Our route takes us by boat across the Rio Beni to the Brazilian border, I have friends in Riberalta, opposite Guyara Mirim, to whom I should hand over a letter, can you do that for me, we can do it, but it will take a few days before we get there. No problem, so you can deliver the letter, he was looking for a letter with an address in Riberalta, the letter was taped shut.

Yes, who should we give the letter to, what is your name and where are you from in Switzerland, he told us his name, he was called Seiler and came from Zermatt.

Skiing in La Paz

A few days after our arrival in La Paz, Gaston invited us to go skiing on a snow-covered mountain. You could rent ski equipment, but the snow was really slushy so we didn't go.

On our way through South America, we had planned to build a raft and go down a tributary of the Amazon River. On the way we always tried to buy the necessary tools, axe, saw, nails, ropes, mostly we tried to make our purchases in larger cities, but unfortunately without success, what we found was simply too expensive. So we thought we would drive down the mountain from La Paz into the jungle and, with a bit of luck, maybe buy the tools we needed.

We said goodbye to Gaston, got on the bus and drove up, then the descent began until we reached the vegetation line again, the climate also changed, it got warmer and warmer, suddenly the bus stopped and the driver said this is the last stop, the bus doesn't go any further, the driver told us, if you want to go on, a truck with goods and people leaves twice a week in the evening to about Muyuri, where you can possibly continue by boat.

So we had about 2 days ahead of us, found a small hotel, got rooms, made ourselves comfortable on the terrace, until one evening, a big truck with high side boards, stopped, the young driver told us the fare, and the departure time would be at about 2200 hours and could take about 6-8 hours, depending on the road conditions, he recommended us to take water and something edible, so banana, we could not go around the next corner to the nearest bakery, and buy two Parisian loaves. All joking aside.

Night-time jungle ride in a truck

A third of the loading area was filled with all kinds of goods. Now the women were loaded up with children, luggage and small livestock. I observed an older, tall, athletic-looking European man standing next to the driver's cab. I could not refrain from asking the driver, who was collecting the fare, "Who is that man?"

The driver replied: "That's the owner of the truck. I'm just the driver."

I tried to get into conversation with this old man, his driver told me he would only talk to him and give instructions. What I heard in Spanish made me assume from his accent that he was German.

So off we went. The driver had instructed us all not to stand - it was dangerous because of the tree branches. So practically everyone had made a place for themselves. Off we went - pitch dark, sometimes fast, then slow again because of the holes. Was it a road or just a jungle track?

About halfway along the route, the driver stopped and told us that we could pee over the rear side of the vehicle. Some made use of this stop.

We arrived at this tiny harbor at around 5 o'clock in the morning. It consisted of a wooden shed, wooden benches and you could buy black, sugared coffee. It tasted very good. Unfortunately, my reserve of small Stalden tins of sweetened condensed milk had run out.

The truck owner sat alone in a corner and watched the goings-on. The driver was sitting near us and said: "The boat owners will be coming soon and you might be able to take a boat down the Río Beni a little way for a fee."

By boat on the Río Beni

My interest in the owner of the truck was piqued. I couldn't refrain from asking the driver more questions - including where the man was from. The driver said he had no idea. He only spoke the bare minimum to him. The man was paying him well as a driver - that was okay with him.

Not to forget: We were far away from any civilization.

Two long wooden boats were moored. Each was loaded with about 20 metal barrels, each holding about 200 liters. The boats were ready to go. We spoke to the boatman and agreed a price for the trip to Rurrenabaque. He told us that the trip would take two days, with a stopover in the jungle.

The boatman's assistant sat at the very front to draw attention to large trees or other obstacles. As both guide and helper were constantly smoking, I asked what was in the barrels. The guide replied: "That's fuel for helicopters."

I said: "Is it better not to smoke there?"

He just grinned and didn't answer.

There were also rapids to negotiate, as we discovered. The guide was an experienced boatman. There was a stop on the way and a small parcel was carried up the embankment to a family who had made themselves at home there.

The journey continued to the planned night-time stop. We were advised to crawl into our mosquito nets as soon as we docked. The guides used this stop regularly. There was a fire pit and a kind of raft a little higher up so that you didn't come into direct contact with the ground.

In daylight, we continued on to our destination of Rurrenabaque. There were significantly more rapids on this section than in the upper part. Nevertheless, the trip went well. Rolf and I always had our rucksacks with our belongings close at hand - just in case the boat tipped over.

On the way, we stopped again to deliver something to people who - similar to the previous ones - had built a roof in the middle of the jungle. Hammocks were hanging there, a large section had been cleared and one part looked like a garden with vegetables.

We arrived in Rurrenabaque around midday. The small harbor was bustling with activity. Some young men immediately came running to unload the barrels. We said goodbye to the boatmen.

An open field looked like a soccer field, and on it stood a Huey helicopter - the same aircraft that had been used in the Vietnam War.

We found accommodation at the edge of the field and moved into a room. It was a large building, all made of wood. The toilets and shower were in the corridor.

The helicopter

The helicopter had piqued our interest, so we walked the few meters to this aircraft. A man of European descent was carrying out maintenance work. We struck up a conversation with him and asked what his job was with this aircraft. He replied that he was flying over the oil wells that had already been found for an oil company and, together with engineers and workers, was checking that everything was in order.

The next question was: "Do you still have room on board? Can we come with you once?"

He said that this was strictly forbidden for insurance reasons. In the event of a claim, the insurance would only cover employees registered with the company. Too bad for us. He also told us that he was from the USA.

Now we also knew why the two boats had been carrying fuel for helicopters.

We then went to the harbor to see how we could get to Riberalta.

With the military boat on the Río Beni

We had the opportunity to travel on a military barque (approx. 4 m wide and 8 m long, made of wood). At the back was a kitchen where they cooked with wood, a toilet and a raised stand for the helmsman. The crew was accommodated in a room at the front. Goods and passengers were under one roof, open at the sides - all made of wood. The boat belonged to the Bolivian military, but had permission to carry passengers and goods.

A military man told us that they would be leaving the next afternoon and that the journey would take about 6-7 days. He also told us the fare. We told him that we would join them the next day. The sailor also explained that the price included a meal at lunchtime.

Water from the river for cooking

We arrived on time the next day. I saw the cook scooping a large bucket of water directly out of the Río Beni and thought: This is used for cooking. My immediate thought was: Am I going to do this to my stomach for several days? No, I had to find another solution.

By chance, an old man was standing in front of the ship with a large pile of grapefruits that he was selling. "Good man, how much should they cost?" He gave me a price. I unpacked my rain cover and filled it to the brim with these wonderful fruits. That way I had something to eat and something to drink at the same time. The rain cover served as my bag and was full to the top. The grapefruits reached right up to Riberalta - and they were excellent.

After we had boarded, we were allocated a place where we could attach our hammocks with mosquito nets. The journey began. The Río Beni is known for its countless bends and sandbanks. I thought to myself: this is not the first time the skipper has done this - I felt absolutely safe.

The barque always stopped at night. Anyone who missed the moment to immediately slip into the hammock with the net was literally sucked up. I have never seen mosquitoes like that again - large, silent and relentless.

So the days and nights went by. We had simple conversations with our fellow travelers, mostly along the same lines: where are you from, why are you doing this trip, etc. We were happy to provide information.

As far as I could see, all the passengers went to the cook at lunchtime with their gamelle and ate soup with meat. I was glad that I had filled my rain cover with grapefruits.

Several days passed before we finally docked in Riberalta. First the passengers disembarked, then the goods were unloaded. We said goodbye to the ship's crew and set off in search of a place to stay, which we quickly found. The roads were unpaved, just earth, not tarred.

After settling in, we took out the letter that a Swiss man called Seiler from Zermatt had given us in La Paz. We were to hand it to a gentleman in Riberalta personally. Our first impression of Riberalta was of a small village with many mud huts and a few brick houses.

We found the address on the letter and suddenly found ourselves standing in front of a large brick building with the sign "Consulado de Suiza". Being so far away from everything and standing opposite a Swiss consulate was quite surprising.

We entered. A receptionist asked what we wanted.

"We have a personal letter for Mr. ..."

"You can give it to me, I'll pass it on."

"The sender wants us to hand it over personally."

She fetched the gentleman. We gave him the letter. He thanked us briefly and said: "I would have liked to invite you, but I have a meeting over lunchtime and also in the evening. Please come by tomorrow around noon."

Rolf and I thought: With any luck, there'll be something to drink tomorrow, maybe even something to eat.

On leaving, you could take a look into a large warehouse. Countless people were busy splitting Brazil nuts with a small device.

According to the Lord's words, we went by the next day around noon. Lo and behold, the Lord had another meeting and was unfortunately unable to see us. Would we like to come by in the evening? We said goodbye and told him that we would now take the bus that would take us across the border to Brazil, to Guayaramerín.

So many meetings in such a sleepy place...?

Dear Lord ... just say: "I don't want to receive you." Ten times easier than making excuses.

We were still looking for tools to realize our raft project. No luck - we found nothing.

We boarded the bus that was heading towards Rio Mamoré with the final destination Guyara-Mirim, the said river was in flood, all passengers got off, the bus crossed the river on two pontoons, the passengers were taken across by motorboat.

Customs control, no problem, on to a cheap hotel, as we are used to.

Rolf and I had made it a bit of a habit to have a quick look at the room before checking in. Every now and then there were surprises. Not this time.

a deserted village with dusty roads and no tar. We went on an exploratory tour, but knew that we wouldn't be settling down here. Just looking around to see what it had, on our tour suddenly a downpour of rain, we discovered a small wooden house, we ran inside, and lo and behold there was a pool table, next to a tiny speakeasy, we played for a while and then sat down at the only table.