13/5/2014 Bus trip
Concepción to Vallemi
Fine in the morning, showers latter
The alarm went off at 0500, a quick shower was had, thinking it may be the last hot one for awhile.
My tent bag had been packed last night, for this trip I am travelling light.
My bike will stay in the room here at the Estrella del Norte, Carolina is cool with this arrangement.
Walking in the dark, it soon became apparent I would be late for the bus, a guy on a moto was stopped and he gave me a ride, he was off to work in a panadería, hence the early start.
I gave him a few Guarani, walking into the terminal, the bus was just waiting to leave. Clambering aboard the well travelled rig, it was apparent that it was possible I maybe going to Vallemi in the standing position.
It was full and then some.
They were away as soon as I was onboard. As soon as we got going, the asphalt petered out and became an uneven dirt surface.
They let me sit on the engine compartment up with the driver and some other passengers.
More people were getting onboard as we stopped at small communities on the way.
So, from Concepción: this, the Aquidaban, the odd flight and the road in the dry season are the only ways to get north.
Rain had been forecast, and sure enough, an hour into the journey, down it came, not alot but enough to turn the road into a slimy hell for vehicles.
This is where the trip took on more of an extreme rallying experience in bus.
The driver, was brilliant to say the least. He was constantly on and off the accelerator to control the constant drifting of the rear end of the bus.
I was now seated in the rear, so on many occasions the road ahead could be seen squarely from my window.
It was classic stuff, everyone onboard stayed cool, obviously having “been here” before.
The gears were being changing rapidly at times to keep up momentum.
The road was flat and had sidewalls of dirt, without these we would have been in the shit. On many side way excursions the rear wheels slammed into these sidewalls.
Rolling was an issue at times as the road edges fell away towards the walls.
It had crossed my mind should we roll, I had a semi plan worked out. Being in thongs would make it hard work though.
Interestingly, a bus in Peru left the road last week and went over a hundred foot cliff. Only those with seat belts on at the time survived, 16 perished.
For my $15 ride this was a bonus, rallying in a fully loaded, very old but apparently reliable bus. With a bloody good driver at the wheel.
This road is being reconstructed so the loose dirt everywhere which was now mud of immeasurable proportions of slipperiness.
Soon we got to a new culvert, here there was a climb to get over it.
The driver made three runs, screaming the engine on each, it was unreal, we would back up and snake our towards the small rise at full throttle.
Half a dozen runs later, it was obvious we were not going to get over. So all the men, and a few girls got out of the rig.
Woman and children stayed aboard.
Suddenly, our clean feet were caked in this unbelievably sticky mud, many of us were suddenly wearing platform shoes such was its adherence properties.
The drivers’ assistant and a heap of young guys, cut long grass, putting it on the road to aid traction. They helped push as it neared the crest.
We would all hold our breathes as the old girl would come screaming up to the top and not quite get her weight over.
He would back up again, all the while people were still inside.
It would slam into the road edges on the run up being guided there in ruts within the mud .
About the fourth attempt, to lots of clapping, with the momentum he nosed her over the crest.
We all climbed onboard, bringing the weight of another child passenger of mud with us.
The vegetation around us was low trees, the ever present Wax palms and often there were hundreds of off white Brahman type cattle grazing the trees and grasses.
I was later told the natural vegetation in the Chaco and Pantanal is perfect fodder for cattle without too much improvement.
Just when we got used to the present conditions, they changed to this creamy white shallow slurry on a wide piece of track, I call it that, it is the first word that comes to mind.
This was where the drivers skills were tested, to the levels required by all professional rally bus drivers!
If they exist!!
The wide road was allowing for full on side way drifts, it was mayhem in the drivers seat with gears changing, though more importantly the constant acceleration and de acceleration to control my end of the bus.
Whooh!!, one moment a full view of the road the next the roads edge, all the while hanging on.
I had taken off my thongs, as grip on the floor for more support was impossible with their mud platform below.
Not to mention my seat was lessthan properly secured to the floor and the window alongside the seat ahead of me would not close properly.
Rain found itsway through the opening, a minor inconvenience in the big picture.
In one drift we got the rear wheels in a lower spot. So, we all had to get out again.
Now this mud was a different breed all together, comparing it to shit on a blanket would be like describing black paint as white.
It was difficult even walking in it, the frictionless surface was almost like that of an ice rink.
By now everyone starting to look like they had been to a very wet outdoor rock concert, No one gave a shit about their nice clean clothes any more.
We were so lucky there was a bunch of feisty young 20 year olds onboard. They provided the muscle that helped us on many occasions.
What we had to do, was push the side of the bus while the driver applied power, we had to try to get her facing up the track.
Fifteen of us applied what pressure we could transfer from the slippery ground to the side of the bus, not much.
With the help of the driver we got her facing in the desired direction .
The surface was solid, so in that respect all was good with the wheels spinning we did not dig in.
Once this situation was sorted we got aboard. The stairs into the bus were now four inches higher with mud. The older people found it hard to get aboard safely.
The mud between my toes was quite therapeutic, so there was an upside to all this.
They were helped.
The aisle to the seats was like walking along a muddy drain.
A few elderly and young mums had been understandably aboard the whole time.
Their clean shoes and pants were so conspicuous.
The rain started again now, things just got slimier.
Throughout all this everyone was just having a good time, lots of laughs.
Then again, we snaked into a low spot.
No amount of pushing would free the old girl.
The driver and his assistant bolted an old chain on the outside right tyre for traction, this worked for a few metres but it too succumbed to the slurry.
The driver was unrelenting in revving the engine to full power as we would rock the bus sideways.
This time we really were in the shit.
The odd light truck had passed us as we were stopped. The guys truly were good off road drivers.
Just when my thoughts were to those of missing the boat at Vallemi, a large 4x4 tractor from an estancia turned up.
Once hooked up with a cable they pulled us for some 7-10 km, till we got to a bridge construction site. Here we all got off, everyone this time because it was dangerous crossing the makeshift track.
People could have drowned should the bus slip off.
The driver got her across ok, things were getting a bit dodgey, it could be seen however that they all knew what was required. That we all got from the bus to cross this creek told me I was in good hands.
We all hung around while the bridge guys helped cut the chain from the wheel with an angle grinder powered by a mobile generator.
My feelings were with the driver and his assistant. I had seen them commence the day in good clean clothes and leather black shiny shoes. They had both been under the bus a couple of times and were now covered in mud from head to toe.
They maintained their dignity really well.
The young guys said to me, that this is their life in Alto Paraguay, how true it was.
This soil here in the Chaco is like this, with rain, life suddenly changes so dramatically.
From here the road improved somewhat, soon we got to Vallemi, nine hours later.
The first thing many of us did was go down to the river to wash days takings from our foot wear.
I found a hostal. The Hospedaje Vallemi. A cold shower was endured. The owner, a woman in her fifties, cooked me dinner.
I sat with her and her half drunk son, enjoying a mate, chatting before going to bed.
The room was all concrete and block, with a chair, a bed and a ceiling fan. This fan was all that would keep the mosquitos off me as I tried to sleep.
Getting on the bus, the assistant said he would give me my change from the 100,000 Guaraní note I had given him. This had been forgotten in the mayhem.
Thinking about this he had earned every bit of this.
Just being here was a miracle given the conditions. The drivers’ skills had provided an experience never before enjoyed.
The only time I felt a bit unsafe was when the rear wheels slammed into the piles of dirt at the tracks sides and we got jolted as the sideways movement was halted.
Rally driving in a fully loaded bus!
Welcome to the Chaco of North Eastern Paraguay!!
Concepción to Vallemi
Fine in the morning, showers latter
The alarm went off at 0500, a quick shower was had, thinking it may be the last hot one for awhile.
My tent bag had been packed last night, for this trip I am travelling light.
My bike will stay in the room here at the Estrella del Norte, Carolina is cool with this arrangement.
Walking in the dark, it soon became apparent I would be late for the bus, a guy on a moto was stopped and he gave me a ride, he was off to work in a panadería, hence the early start.
I gave him a few Guarani, walking into the terminal, the bus was just waiting to leave. Clambering aboard the well travelled rig, it was apparent that it was possible I maybe going to Vallemi in the standing position.
It was full and then some.
They were away as soon as I was onboard. As soon as we got going, the asphalt petered out and became an uneven dirt surface.
They let me sit on the engine compartment up with the driver and some other passengers.
More people were getting onboard as we stopped at small communities on the way.
So, from Concepción: this, the Aquidaban, the odd flight and the road in the dry season are the only ways to get north.
Rain had been forecast, and sure enough, an hour into the journey, down it came, not alot but enough to turn the road into a slimy hell for vehicles.
This is where the trip took on more of an extreme rallying experience in bus.
The driver, was brilliant to say the least. He was constantly on and off the accelerator to control the constant drifting of the rear end of the bus.
I was now seated in the rear, so on many occasions the road ahead could be seen squarely from my window.
It was classic stuff, everyone onboard stayed cool, obviously having “been here” before.
The gears were being changing rapidly at times to keep up momentum.
The road was flat and had sidewalls of dirt, without these we would have been in the shit. On many side way excursions the rear wheels slammed into these sidewalls.
Rolling was an issue at times as the road edges fell away towards the walls.
It had crossed my mind should we roll, I had a semi plan worked out. Being in thongs would make it hard work though.
Interestingly, a bus in Peru left the road last week and went over a hundred foot cliff. Only those with seat belts on at the time survived, 16 perished.
For my $15 ride this was a bonus, rallying in a fully loaded, very old but apparently reliable bus. With a bloody good driver at the wheel.
This road is being reconstructed so the loose dirt everywhere which was now mud of immeasurable proportions of slipperiness.
Soon we got to a new culvert, here there was a climb to get over it.
The driver made three runs, screaming the engine on each, it was unreal, we would back up and snake our towards the small rise at full throttle.
Half a dozen runs later, it was obvious we were not going to get over. So all the men, and a few girls got out of the rig.
Woman and children stayed aboard.
Suddenly, our clean feet were caked in this unbelievably sticky mud, many of us were suddenly wearing platform shoes such was its adherence properties.
The drivers’ assistant and a heap of young guys, cut long grass, putting it on the road to aid traction. They helped push as it neared the crest.
We would all hold our breathes as the old girl would come screaming up to the top and not quite get her weight over.
He would back up again, all the while people were still inside.
It would slam into the road edges on the run up being guided there in ruts within the mud .
About the fourth attempt, to lots of clapping, with the momentum he nosed her over the crest.
We all climbed onboard, bringing the weight of another child passenger of mud with us.
The vegetation around us was low trees, the ever present Wax palms and often there were hundreds of off white Brahman type cattle grazing the trees and grasses.
I was later told the natural vegetation in the Chaco and Pantanal is perfect fodder for cattle without too much improvement.
Just when we got used to the present conditions, they changed to this creamy white shallow slurry on a wide piece of track, I call it that, it is the first word that comes to mind.
This was where the drivers skills were tested, to the levels required by all professional rally bus drivers!
If they exist!!
The wide road was allowing for full on side way drifts, it was mayhem in the drivers seat with gears changing, though more importantly the constant acceleration and de acceleration to control my end of the bus.
Whooh!!, one moment a full view of the road the next the roads edge, all the while hanging on.
I had taken off my thongs, as grip on the floor for more support was impossible with their mud platform below.
Not to mention my seat was lessthan properly secured to the floor and the window alongside the seat ahead of me would not close properly.
Rain found itsway through the opening, a minor inconvenience in the big picture.
In one drift we got the rear wheels in a lower spot. So, we all had to get out again.
Now this mud was a different breed all together, comparing it to shit on a blanket would be like describing black paint as white.
It was difficult even walking in it, the frictionless surface was almost like that of an ice rink.
By now everyone starting to look like they had been to a very wet outdoor rock concert, No one gave a shit about their nice clean clothes any more.
We were so lucky there was a bunch of feisty young 20 year olds onboard. They provided the muscle that helped us on many occasions.
What we had to do, was push the side of the bus while the driver applied power, we had to try to get her facing up the track.
Fifteen of us applied what pressure we could transfer from the slippery ground to the side of the bus, not much.
With the help of the driver we got her facing in the desired direction .
The surface was solid, so in that respect all was good with the wheels spinning we did not dig in.
Once this situation was sorted we got aboard. The stairs into the bus were now four inches higher with mud. The older people found it hard to get aboard safely.
The mud between my toes was quite therapeutic, so there was an upside to all this.
They were helped.
The aisle to the seats was like walking along a muddy drain.
A few elderly and young mums had been understandably aboard the whole time.
Their clean shoes and pants were so conspicuous.
The rain started again now, things just got slimier.
Throughout all this everyone was just having a good time, lots of laughs.
Then again, we snaked into a low spot.
No amount of pushing would free the old girl.
The driver and his assistant bolted an old chain on the outside right tyre for traction, this worked for a few metres but it too succumbed to the slurry.
The driver was unrelenting in revving the engine to full power as we would rock the bus sideways.
This time we really were in the shit.
The odd light truck had passed us as we were stopped. The guys truly were good off road drivers.
Just when my thoughts were to those of missing the boat at Vallemi, a large 4x4 tractor from an estancia turned up.
Once hooked up with a cable they pulled us for some 7-10 km, till we got to a bridge construction site. Here we all got off, everyone this time because it was dangerous crossing the makeshift track.
People could have drowned should the bus slip off.
The driver got her across ok, things were getting a bit dodgey, it could be seen however that they all knew what was required. That we all got from the bus to cross this creek told me I was in good hands.
We all hung around while the bridge guys helped cut the chain from the wheel with an angle grinder powered by a mobile generator.
My feelings were with the driver and his assistant. I had seen them commence the day in good clean clothes and leather black shiny shoes. They had both been under the bus a couple of times and were now covered in mud from head to toe.
They maintained their dignity really well.
The young guys said to me, that this is their life in Alto Paraguay, how true it was.
This soil here in the Chaco is like this, with rain, life suddenly changes so dramatically.
From here the road improved somewhat, soon we got to Vallemi, nine hours later.
The first thing many of us did was go down to the river to wash days takings from our foot wear.
I found a hostal. The Hospedaje Vallemi. A cold shower was endured. The owner, a woman in her fifties, cooked me dinner.
I sat with her and her half drunk son, enjoying a mate, chatting before going to bed.
The room was all concrete and block, with a chair, a bed and a ceiling fan. This fan was all that would keep the mosquitos off me as I tried to sleep.
Getting on the bus, the assistant said he would give me my change from the 100,000 Guaraní note I had given him. This had been forgotten in the mayhem.
Thinking about this he had earned every bit of this.
Just being here was a miracle given the conditions. The drivers’ skills had provided an experience never before enjoyed.
The only time I felt a bit unsafe was when the rear wheels slammed into the piles of dirt at the tracks sides and we got jolted as the sideways movement was halted.
Rally driving in a fully loaded bus!
Welcome to the Chaco of North Eastern Paraguay!!
 Concepción, Virgen María Auxiliadora, Avenida Agustín Fernando de Pinedo
 Nearly there! At the culvert.
 At the bridge site, a second bus, much smaller was doing it a lot easier.
|
 If anything, the bus was reliable.
 Hey wait for us! Not an issue!!
 Help in the form of a tractor from an estancia.
|
Please wipe your feet before boarding!!
