The hellish road

From Santa Cruz to Sucre

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The truck overloaded with olive oil slips on the wet road.

Glide right to the outside of the turn. Sitting on the back berth, I cling to Sébastien's seat, who joined me for a month of travel. The ravine is JUST HERE. Sandro, the driver brakes, reverses. We wait twenty minutes for the earth to dry.

2nd attempt, 2nd skating, 2nd fright.

The 3rd time, we pass!

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At this point, it is only the beginning, I do not know yet that the ENTIRE dirt road is winding and that it will take us 24 hours to cover 300 kilometers!

 

The beauty of the landscapes compensates for the fears of the road.

Giant cacti, immense wild valleys without human life, blue-green-pink colors.

 

Sandro asks us a lot of questions about France: how are our roads? the landscapes, the climate, the food?

I ask him if there are often accidents.

- Do you see the San Pedro plaque there? It is a minibus that fell into the ravine while missing the turn not long ago.

-…

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The sun is setting and we stop to eat a chicken-rice-fries, the traditional Bolivian dish.

I am stressed about getting back on the road. But after some hesitation, we decide to stay with Sandro, a nice and good driver. It doesn't mean that we can easily find someone willing to take us tomorrow. And for free, because Bolivians very often ask for money for hitchhiking, which we refuse each time.

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Sandro greets the oldest truck driver from the window, he is 78 years old.

We meet a lot of trucks and buses at night. Approaching a bend, Sandro honks. The one who goes down stops to let the one who goes up. The only advantage of driving at night is that you cannot see the depth of the ravine. This time, the bus going down does not stop, it rushes forward and forces its way. We pass each other at the entrance to the bend, our tires pass flush with the void. At the end of the bend, our headlights illuminate a large metal cross and other smaller stones. Sandro makes his sign of the cross. He was afraid. Me too.

- It was the last dangerous corner, after that it will be better.

He wants to reassure me but after that it is not better.

 

Sandro is 35 years old, he earns 1,400 bolivianos per month (or 140 euros) by driving every day on a winding road dotted with crosses, the one he laughingly calls “the hellish road”.

He did pickings for a year in Spain but he didn't like it so he decided to come back to his country. His wife and granddaughter live in Sucre. They will see them tomorrow but there he will sleep five hours on the bunk of the truck.

 

Sébastien and I lie down under the kiosk in the village square, Bolivians are already resting there.

Awakening! Two hours drive to reach the next village. The walls are covered with ocher dust, released by the passage of vehicles. In the street, the mechanic and his wife replace two tires (so worn that you can see the wire) with "renovated tires", that is to say sealed with molten rubber. So smooth ...

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We buy mangoes and cookies from the grandmother sitting in front of her stall. In the small square, a board and trestles serve as a canteen for truckers. They have their breakfast: chicken-rice-fries.

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I enter the village bar and ask where the toilets are, I am shown the garden which serves as a waste reception center. Five old people, cup in hand, stare at me and ask if I want to drink their beverage. The slimy, whitish appearance of the pot at this early hour doesn't really make me want to. Sandro then explains to me that it is “chicha”, an alcoholic drink and that in these isolated villages, people drink in the morning and are all alcoholics. Maybe Sandro is exaggerating. But the rest of the trip will confirm to me that there is apparently a problem of alcoholism in Bolivia and we will meet a good number of tipsy people.

 

The landscapes are always so grandiose. Below, there is a wide valley where a river once flowed. The small pebbles remind us of it. Now there is just a stream.

 

Sébastien and I take turns sleeping in the back berth. Sandro remains vigilant but he is exhausted. He doesn't chew coca leaves to cope, he thinks it's bad for his health.

 

Another flat tire.

 

Another chicken-rice-fries.

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The road is now paved, it crosses the village of Chuqui-Chuqui, then Chaco. The villagers gather at the small stadium for the high school end-of-year show (here the school year ends in December). By the side of the road, I buy candy from a Bolivian woman. Like most women, she wears the traditional outfit: pleated knee-length skirt, blouse, bustier, two long black braids and a flat black hat.

 

We soon see the beautiful Sucre, perched at an altitude of 2800 meters.

A sculpted dinosaur guards the entrance to the city. The French have discovered here eggs and dinosaur footprints in the rock. About a hundred trucks are parked one behind the other at the entrance to the city. After 24 hours of travel, we salute the hero of the hellish road. Ciao, muchas gracias y suerte!

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In the top 5 of my most beautiful landscapes

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After having walked this road, I thought I had seen the most beautiful landscapes of my life. Then I discovered the southern Lipez region and the Uyuni Salar: pink-green-blue-brown lakes, flamingos, llamas, mud houses, hot springs, geysers, smoking volcano, turquoise blue lagoon, snow at an altitude of 5000 meters, salt desert, cemetery of old locomotives, red canyons ... Incredible.