Santa Cruz ... So what?

Santa Cruz de la Sierra, the largest city and the business capital of Bolivia, was our next destination. We had been warned about the roads from Sucre to Santa Cruz and so we opted to fly instead of taking the thirteen-and-a-half hour bus ride. But when Ricky got to the airport and saw the size of the plane, he had second thoughts. After paying our airport tax to access the runway, we boarded the matchbox-sized flying machine. Ricky had to check that there was a pilot flying the plane and it wasn't being operated by remote control. The 38-seater plane was so small that Ricky almost needed to crawl down the aisle to get to his seat. Luckily the plane was only ten metres long. Gripping his seat, Ricky held on for dear life as we took off into the sky. The plane manoeuvred like a rollercoaster ride as it ascended into the sky, leaving our stomachs at a much lower altitude. During the safety presentation, the lonely airline hostess had to juggle between the demonstration and holding onto the phone, swapping between the two, whilst trying to keep her balance. Fortunately the flight was only 45 minutes, which was just enough time for a cup of coffee to be served.

We arrived in one piece and almost immediately Jason took a disliking to the city. Ricky had thought he had been possessed by Donald Trump for a moment. Almost every second word and sentence was punctuated with the word “shithole”. And truth be told there isn't much in the city for tourists. Even the locals, when asked for recommendations replied that there wasn't a lot and that Santa Cruz was mainly a business city. Apparently the wealth of the city has been made from the production of cocaine, and the prices of commodities at the “American-style malls” reflected a much wealthier city.

When we arrive in a new city, our usual routine is to stock up on supplies and to explore the neighbourhood. We ventured down to a nearby park to observe the locals in their natural habitat. Kids were skating, dancing and running about. As we came closer to a musical fountain, a teenage girl approached Ricky and asked if she could have a photo with him. At first Ricky was a bit reluctant. There are stories of pickpockets stealing from tourists while they are distracted (eg. being photographed). But with all valuables concealed, we posed for a photo in front of the fountain. This started an onslaught of kids and soccer mums mobbing us, asking for photos. Anyone would have thought that we were celebrities. One mother kept asking for photos with all of her children, and there were so many that we lost count. Eventually the storm calmed and we returned to being mere gringos. Jason surmised that having their photo with tall gringos would bring them luck for the year. Certainly gringos were a rare sight in the city.

We had been told by many Bolivians that Santa Cruz was not like other Bolivian cities. And this was very true in many respects. On our second day, we explored the local markets, situated about six blocks from our accommodation. Unlike the centre of the city, with a few colonial-style buildings, the local markets felt as if we had been transported to South-east Asia. Street stalls with their brightly coloured tarps lined the streets like an never-ending sea. We wandered almost aimlessly soaking up the smells and sounds of the market. Inside the maze of stalls, it was easy to get lost, although amongst the chaos there seemed to be some order. There was shoe street, meat street and fruit and vegetable street among others. At one point, we stumbled upon a local food court, buzzing with people munching on all kinds of delicacies. When we spotted a quinoa lasagne, we thought we had to try it and add it to the long list of dishes made with quinoa. We sat, snuggling up with the locals, as we ate our two course meal – two gringos amongst the Bolivians.

On our third day, we went in search of sloths in the Santa Cruz botanical gardens. We jumped in a taxi to take us to the gardens but we were prevented from taking the short route because we had found ourselves in the middle of a street protest that had blocked off some of the major roads (once again). Eventually, we made it to our destination to find that half of the gardens was inaccessible due to flooding. But we were determined to catch sight of a sloth in the wild. We went in search of a way to cross the overflowing creek but to no avail. It only ended in Jason getting his shoes wet. We had to be contented with seeing two monkeys, two lizards, four tortoises (two of which we interrupted mating – coitus interruptus) and two butterflies. It was a veritable Noah's ark.

Later, we found out that the Estonian couple, Kadi-Riin and Magnus, who we met in Sucre were also at the gardens but we didn't cross paths. They didn't see any sloths either. We eventually met up with them at one of the large malls, called Ventura Mall. It's a sad indication when a mall is high on the list of things to do on TripAdvisor. But it was good to catch-up with our newly found friends and pass the time away together. Later in the evening, we all met up to watch the pre-carnaval parade in the city centre, which has to be the highlight of our stay.

The day prior to pre-carnaval, the city went on strike in protest against the proposed new penal code. The whole city shut-down for the day and nothing was opened, as many of the locals took to the streets to voice their dissatisfaction. It was clear that the majority of people were not in favour of the laws and were extremely dissatisfied with the government's response to the outcomes of the referendum, which took place on the 21st of February 2016. We spent the day glued to the TV as we watched events unfold.

On our final day in Santa Cruz, the heavens opened-up and torrential rain fall on the city. This curbed Ricky's plan to go in search of Mennonites. Mennonites, similar to the Amish but distinct (same-same but different), live 25 kilometres outside of Santa Cruz in colonies, with an estimated population of 70,000. The men wear overalls and a hat, while the women wear long dresses and a bonnet. At first, we thought it was some crazy fashion trend in Santa Cruz until we became more enlightened. The Mennonites had originally come from the Flemish region before migrating to Canada and the USA, via Poland and Russia. Many had settled in Paraguay before moving to Bolivia in the 1950s because of the promise of religion freedom and exemption from compulsory military service. Just like the sloths, none could be found in the wild on this particular day.

After seven long days in Santa Cruz, it was definitely time to move onto other pastures. We had grazed our way through Santa Cruz but there are only so many milanesas, lomitos, chicken and chips or hamburgers that we could handle.

Next stop: La Paz.Read more