Out of town and back on the dirt, we said a prayer for the down-but-not-out shock absorber, hoping it would hold out until we could next give it smooth surface, and headed towards Tarabuco. Reknowned for its weaving, and supposedly one of the best Bolivian villages to buy the same, we were disappointed to arrive during siesta and find nothing more than dusty streets and closed doors. Even the usual almuerzo wasn't on offer and we had to content ourselves with soup. Putting our (or my, I don't think Andy is as excited by the idea as I am) purchasing hopes on La Paz, we set off into the dust.
The road became increasingly feo (ugly), mal (bad) or rough (choose your term) as we headed towards villages with dots of diminishing size on our map. We were on our way to Samaipata, a village recommended by a number of people (and now well on the gringo trail), popular for its laid-back beauty and proximity to remarkable ruins and beautiful National Parks.
I might add, once a village is on the gringo trail, gringos move in, open cafes, hostels and tour agencies that charge twice as much as the local ones but provide things that keep the other gringos happy - like toilet paper and pancakes! The village gets in the holier-than-the-bible Lonely Planet, and the gringos just keep on coming. Samaipata is one of these - in our opinion, no prettier than the neighbouring villages ... but we were happy for the pancakes and toilet paper.
Anyway, to keep this story vaguely chronological, we are still on our way to Padilla, three days from the luxuries Samaipata has to offer. Hours after leaving Tarabuco we made it to Padilla, and as it was late afternoon opted not to visit the town, but headed straight on. Some time later (probably about an hour - we had made 25km), the road, already small, dwindled again, now down to soemthing that resembled a goat track. Not surprisingly, the next person we saw was a man taking his goat herd home. He gave is the bad news that Villa Serrano was not just round the corner (as we were hoping), but that we had taken the wrong turn back in Padilla. Hmmm. Not good news. It was getting dark.
Nothing else to do (we had no water for camping and anyway, fancied a bed with legs), we turned around (not actually that easy on a goat track on the top of a thin dusty ridgetop with almost no light) and headed back the way we had come. I guess Andy must have considered he knew the road by now - we made it back in just over half the time!
Padilla turned out to treat us well. Like many Bolivian villages, the dust stopped in the centre of town, giving way to cobblestones around a green and beautifully well-kept central square. We spied a residencial on the edge of the square, and soon they were moving furniture to make way for the bike. We have got used to driving it right in the front door.
This place was complete with everything (well, almost. We opted not to have showers under the frigid water). The lovely family provided us with beer, hamburguesas and a special treat. After dinner, the señor of the house and the kids led us up a treacherous set of concrete stairs to the roof of the building, which overlooked a brightly lit futsal (indoor soccer) ground. We were lucky enough to be there for the local tournament, and had our own private view, right on top of the court. The plague of mariposas (in this case, huge yellow moths) flapping around the lights directly above us only served to add to the atmosphere.
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