So today I discovered the real wild west. The place Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were gunned down, a land of steep canyons, cacti, fast horses, a hot sun in a clear blue sky, and the sort of eerie stillness you expect at the ok-corral just before midday. Turns out that the real America is in Sothern Bolivia.
I stumbled off the overnight train and arrived tiered confused and utterly unable to form a coherent Spanish sentence at my hostel/booking agent. There i met my twin saviours, speaking flawless (from my point of view anyway) Spanish they had just negotiated a 5 hr horse ride with guide, and invited me along. At Bolivian 10:00am (11 something) our own little Sundance kid guided our posse though the impressive formations, gullies and ravines of tupiza.
The special riding hat turned out , unsurprisingly, to be a cowboy style ‘sombrero’. My horse, let’s call him black thunder (because ross was boring name for a horse), was lively but obedient (mostly) stallion who loved to lead and loved to canter, easily outpacing the kid’s mare. So yeah, Turns out cilantro means walk not cantor, woops!
See you cowboys....
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