A Tale of Six Vehicles

1. Beer, Snickers and a friendly Dane

About half an hour after the crash, dust on the horizon heralded the approach of help. Several vehicles pulled up, and Alice, Gaby and I were put into one to be taken onwards, after another half hour of frustrated waiting. Getting to the next refugio, I was sat in a room and left to stew on what they were possibly doing to get us to hospital. Will arrived, after their vehicle turned around upon news of us crashing, and helped gets things rolling.

It was a frustrating situation. The care and compassion shown by some of our fellow travellers was at times overwhelming in my teetering emotional state. In contrast, all the Bolivians seemed to do was give a shit about which tour company would lose the most money by going out of their way to help us. Perhaps my opinion of their willingness to help is jaded by my focus at the time, but it didn't seem too difficult a task to me, to get three injured people in one of dozens of 4WDs and get them to some medical attention. In hindsight, it was probably less an unwillingness to assist, and more their ineptitude at doing anything quickly and efficiently. Think, opposite to your stereotypical Swiss precision.

2. No quick way to labour

Will had come into his element though, and with the assistance of some of the afore-mentioned travellers, whipped the show into action. All six passengers involved in the crash, plus Will, were soon travelling towards help. The track was probably worse than anything we'd been on yet, and despite taking all care, our driver was constantly reminded to be careful. The first town we reached, Alota, didn't have any facilities other than a phone, and we were soon driving again.

By now we were on a dirt road, albeit not a very good one. Apart from the fear of crashing on the wet, slippery surface, the corrugations made it very uncomfortable for Gaby and her broken wrist. We fed her more painkillers, but they did didley squat, and the pain increased as we went. I've never seen someone in so much pain before, but she fought it all the way - I'm sure most people would've passed out. About all we could do was keep on telling her it was "just another ten minutes". Several ten minutes' later, we got to the hospital in San Cristobal, but it was a little-staffed skeleton facility. We were sat down, Gaby given oxygen, until the doctor arrived.

3. Reeaaw reeaaw

The sound of the siren as we were whisked away in the ambulance was like music to our ears. By a stroke of luck, there was a Canadian-owned mine nearby with decent medical facilities and staff, which we were promptly administered to. As they tended to my hand, I would look at the wound occasionally, but it wasn't a pretty sight and I familiarised myself with the ceiling instead. Gaby was relaying translations from her bed behind the screen - I was quickly versed in the Spanish word for 'pain'.

Once was all stitched and plastered up, I relaxed with a bottle of water and an excellent selection of biscuits. It was about 8pm. An hour later we were bundled back into the ambulance, and driven to Uyuni - about two uncomfortable hours away. We were met there by the uninjureds, who informed us that all the doctors in town were still drunk from Carnavale - which had happened a week prior. At the third hospital we stop at, we're accepted, and after a top up of painkillers and saline, I fall asleep for a few hours.

4. Cars don't swim

The little old lady in my room turned out to be the Pamela of Pamela Tours - they would help us get to the medical help we needed. I wanted to fly, but we couldn't. Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was the rain and snow they'd been having. Maybe it was just because it's Bolivia. So 9am sees Will and I getting into yet another 4WD and hitting the road.

We made it through about three or four creek crossings, but then took a nosedive into the next one. The front wheels were more or less submerged in the water. With my leg in plaster up to my knee, and an IV drip hanging off the handle into my hand, there was not much I could do other than watch the spectacle. Initial attempts to reverse the vehicle failed. In short order, three passenger buses turned up on the other bank. The women and children quickly found a place by the bank to dip their feet in - they looked accustomed to these situations. Even with all the hands lifting and pushing the vehicle though, it took diverting the stream by mud and shrub before it finally came free, pulled also by two vehicles behind us.

Any jubilation wasn't long lived - our vehicle's engine now refused to start. Will quickly recruited the help of one of the few English speakers there that happened to be going in our direction.

5. Growin' grain, chewin' leaves

It felt pretty good to be in, as Will put it, "the only vehicle in Bolivia to have ever seen an oil change". Swiss expat Pierre and his partner in coca-chewing were headed to the next biggest town, Oruru, and agreed to take us there. The roads were still terrible, but Pierre was the best driver we'd had yet. At a brief stop in the afternoon, we took the opportunity to administer some antibiotics and painkillers through my drip. Once we figured out how to get the stuff from the vessel into the needle, it went seamlessly...

We got to Oruru around 7pm, and though it was the biggest town yet, the medical facility we were taken to was the worst yet. I stayed just long enough to have my drip removed, then walked out. The bandage the 'nurse' put over my vein was of such high calibre that I was soon bleeding quite a lot, but Pierre helped me patch it up better before I got it all over his car. Will then came back from making a call and we headed to the bus terminal to find a way to La Paz.

6. Be thankful for the fader (a.k.a Bolivian pop music is an awful combination of Bollywood and bad)

I'd eaten nothing but dry biscuits for the previous 24 hours, so Will ran off to grab a bite to eat while Pierre helped us sort out a private taxi to La Paz. I assured our new driver that I wouldn't get any blood inside his vehicle, then took some pleasure in discreetly tearing his oh so clean friggin seat cover so that I could actually get to the seat belt. Yes! They do exist in some cars in Bolivia! Will came back with some cheese empanadas, which turned out to be solid bits of white bread, nigh on impossible to eat. Funnily enough, amongst all the shit that was going on, I remember this as one of my most distraught moments. It looked like there were hot, dirty meat stalls everywhere! I could've directed a lot of frustration towards Will right then, but it would have been completely ungranted - he was doing such a superhuman job of taking care of us, and was having just as hard a time as me, if not harder.

We left soon after for La Paz, and being finally on a sealed road, managed to get some sleep. It was a two hour journey, and we got there around 11pm. We descended into the valley that is La Paz, and found the hospital Arco Iris with only a few direction queries. The hospital had been recommended by my insurance company, and they were expecting me. It felt incredibly good to be put in a wheelchair and wheeled into the emergency department. It was about 36 hours since we'd crashed, and I finally felt that I could feel a little less responsible for my well being, and hand it over to the pro's.

The Crash

The journey from El Arbor de Piedra to the next refugio was a reasonably long one, and most of us are taking the opportunity to get some shut eye. I'm in the front passenger seat, relaxed; I never fall asleep as easily as some.

And so its with open eyes that I watch our path veer to the right, out of the wheel tracks, a lapse in concentration by our driver. Travelling at what I'd guess to be around 60km/hr, our wheels immediately dig into the much softer, desert sand, and the vehicle is pulled further off route. It's not long before the diverting paths of our momentum and our wheels reach an unsatisfactory separation, and the vehicle commences to roll to its left.

It's this first stage of the crash - the point at which its certainty is realised - that produces the strongest feeling in me. It's beyond my control, beyond anybodies control, now. It's like being on a roller coaster, about to loop the loop, then all of a sudden you know its going to go horribly wrong. It's awful. Not so much a feeling of fear, though. Fear-invoking activities can produce a certain thrill - when you're in control. This complete lack of control, stirs a type of sadness in me, knowing whats about to happen. I feel empty.

Initially I grab something and brace. We start rolling. The noise is loud, and unnatural. Somewhere in these early stages I realise my best bet is to completely relax. It's Bolivia - they don't know what seat belts are. It's going to be a rough ride. Relax. And, I'm surprised, it really works. Maybe the altitude and lack of sleep help - I don't know. My body goes limp.

A couple of rolls and we come to a rest on our roof. I'm the first one out, via my smashed window. There's blood on my left hand, and I grab a conveniently expelled beanie to put on it. I'm thinking worst-case-scenario and wondering how absolutely fucked some of the others could be. I try and help the others out, but its more of a token effort - Rafael & Gonzalo help the rest out. My leg hurts as well, I'm limping.

Everyone is conscious, out of the vehicle, and seemingly without critical injuries - it's amazing. Neither Rafael nor Gonzalo have major injuries, and they're doing a stellar effort assisting everyone. Gonzalo brings me a bottle of water and a clean white t-shirt. I dump the beanie and pour water over the back of my hand. I can see 3 white things running up to my fingers, in amongst all the red. I quickly wrap the t-shirt around it all as best I can, and try not to think about it.

Instead I think about what to do next. I give myself a secondary check for further injuries. I try and find out what injuries the others have, what we're dealing with. I ask Francisco if he's got a radio. Of course not. We were behind most of the other 4WDs, including those of our compatriots. And so from doing what I can, I go to realising there's nothing we can do. I make myself comfortable against my pack, and sling my passport around my shoulder so that whatever happens - I have my essentials. And I set to waiting, in the desert, for the next 4WD that happens to come our way...

Eduardo Avaroa Tyre Track Reserve

Will and I departed San Pedro with bated breath and a less than ordinary stomach condition. We didn't make it far - our first (incredibly long, as usual) stop being the border post on the outskirts of town to sign out of the country. At least its at a sensible altitude, though. A minibus ride brought us to the Bolivian border post, which somewhere above 4000m was cold, uncomfortable, and sans toilet facilities. I eventually paid an indeterminate amount of several currencies to the authorities - more I think a token gesture than an exact science. The Americans have to make the largest gesture (around US$150), probably thanks to a bunch of foreign policies that have nothing to do with the discerning traveller.

We were doing our Salar tour with Pamela Agency, who had three 4WDs of clients (18 all up) setting out this day, destined to travel the following 3 together. Team Red was promptly formed, consisting of Emma & Alice (UK), Gaby (Mexico), Rafael & Gonzalo (Chile) and myself - driven by the wise old Francisco Goldmouth. Morning stops included the park office (another overblown fee that reflects the number of tourist thoroughfare), Lago Blanco & Verde (flamingos - beautiful birds with dull personalities) & the 'Rocks of Dali' (who ever would have thought that nature could mimic an artist?)

After a good lunch of hot spring swim & sangers, we went to see some geysers (much better than the Tatio ones, apparently). On route Francisco doled out some coca leaves, which quite frankly taste like crap and didn't produce any noticeable effect on me even after persisting for an hour. Even if they are capable of producing the mild effects that they're claimed to, the disgusting lips, gums and teeth they're responsible for aren't worth it in my opinion.

Later in the afternoon we stopped at Laguna Colorada, an expansive lake that was an amazing mix of reds and whites. A bunch of llamas were milling around - intriguing that they can survive in such a barren landscape. It was a short drive to the collection of buildings that was to be our nights accommodation, where a bunch of the others went out for a stroll. Thanks to the altitude, all I could manage was to lay down and rest. I managed to get some soup and pasta down for dinner, but then had a horrible night ejecting every thing I could, every way I could, but it was the pounding headache that kept me awake for most of it.

The next morning we started behind most other cars (multiple agencies, multiple vehicles). First stop was the Arbol de Piedra, a funky piece of rock that has been sculptured over the ages by wind, sand and Dali. There were plenty of rock formations nearby, which we had a bit of fun scrambling around, before setting off again. Our trip took a wrong turn after this stop. What I'd seen thus far though were such incredible landscapes. The expanses of raw, earthy colours in such a dry environment, rising up in the distance to the odd snow-capped volcano, I found a very powerful place to be in.

Oasis amblings

As we walked to our 7am bus in the dawn of morning, a lot of people were still out and about. It has to be Latin America where people around at this time are probably finishing their night off, rather than starting their morning. The prostitute certainly was. The different times I just can't get used to in the limited time I have travelling - but will seeing a family with young kids out and about at 2am ever seem normal to me?

Despite wanting an overnight bus to save on accommodation prices and time, it was a good thing that we got a day time bus. The landscape became more stunning by the mile. Arid plains rose up to ridges and mountains featuring sheer walls of what appeared to be compacted mud with rocks scattered through them. A common feature in this soft ground were gunbarrel-like chutes carved into the exterior.

As we went over a pass at 4170m, the unthought of effects of altitude took their toll on Will, forcing him into the bus' toilet. It's where he stayed for much of the journey. We got some fresh air at the Argentinian border post, where (typically) we waited around for a bloody long time (in the sun, mind) to get processed. Will got a couple of minutes on the oxygen bottle, which at least came free, unlike some bar in La Paz (3660m) where you can pay to breathe pure oxygen for 10 minutes. Give me a drink any day.

In San Pedro de Atacama, Will was placed under the shade of a coolabah tree as I went and found some accommodation. The following afternoon, I set out on a tour to the Valle de la Luna. I'd never been in arid, desert environments like this before and the landscape continued to blow me away. At one of our stops in the valley, the ground was an intriguingly hard, bubbly surface, with traces of what appeared to be crystallised salt through it. It truly did remind me of being on the moon.

Rather than starting a tour to Bolivia via the Salar de Uyuni the following day, and going straight up to sleep above 4000m, Will set out to Geysers del Tatio for some acclimatisation. Meanwhile, I had an interesting morning in town, thanks to the ATM's (and my pocket) being devoid of money. A part of me enjoyed the logistics of currency conversions, wheelings and dealings I had to employ to pay for everything we needed to before skipping the country, but it was pretty frustrating at the same time. An oasis in one of the World's driest deserts, San Pedro thrives on tourism (though it certainly still has a local population). Prices are blown out of the sand, there is money everywhere - just not available for withdrawal!

Thanks to the goodwill and more complete pocket of Carmen though, I still managed to head out climbing that afternoon with her and our guide Pablo. We got a local bus to the little oasis town of Toconao, where a little gorge and stream ran through. The climbing was harder than what my unfamiliar body was ready for, but it was still great fun being back on the rock. The rock (Tova in Spanish) I'd not encountered before, it was like a heavily compacted mudstone - good friction and cool little pockets.

I was greeted back in town by Will, with the good news he'd come out one up against altitude, but the bad news our tour to Bolivia had been delayed a day. Later on though I jumped for joy when the ATM fulfilled my needs. And thus we spent another day and night in San Pedro. More time eating no meat - partly a meat hangover from the last steak, more so a precaution against a dodgy tummy at altitude. The hostel was nice - we had a great room on our last night that was accessed either through a pharmacy around the corner, or the girls toilets. San Pedro in general was a kind of cool, laid back place, but it's always hard to decipher between that and whether its touristy. It's touristy - but if you switch off your sensors, cook your own food and meet some good people it's pretty easy not to be disheartened.

[present] future flash

Well, I'm "en camino"; on my way home to Sydney. To explain why in under 10 words: 4WD crash Bolivian desert hospital operation business class home.

Until I post my monologue full of self-pity, I'll stick to chronological order, and attempt to catch up to the present.