Butch, Sundance & Cynthia

Beginning of day one of horse trek: Happy face. End of day two of horse trek: Sorry arse. This is the story of a silken-assed young city boy, the ghosts of some famous cowboys, and a feisty ride called Cynthia. (Sounds like a night in Coppers).

Sunday Business Post, September 23, 2007

There’s a certain comfort in some of life’s old reliables, the things you can count on staying the same when all else goes haywire. Yesterday will always be better value than today, and night will always follow day. In the travel world, backpackers will always blindly follow the highlights list in the front of guidebooks but claim they’re trailblazing pioneers.

Most of the trails in the world were well blazed long ago, of course, but a few still lie relatively unbeaten and not far from the main bottlenecks in South America’s backpacking logjam. Notorious highwaymen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hit them in the early 1900s when they hung up their outlaw spurs in search of an honest life. They didn’t want to settle somewhere well signposted, so they headed for the isolated plains of Bolivia.

Even today, you can still sneak away from the madding crowds and follow in Butch and Sundance’s hoofprints.

A jolting six hours beyond the last of Bolivia’s tarmac roads lies Tupiza, a dusty little outpost not far from the Argentina border. Butch and Sundance staked out the town’s bank for days back in 1908.The Kid had forced them to quit their new rural life of idyll, blowing their cover by drunkenly bragging of their felonious exploits in the US, and they were on the run again.

Southern Bolivia was once rich with gold and silver, and by holding up the right wagon, the pair could expect a haul that would tide them over for years.

Nowadays, the town lies just outside the range of most backpackers’ radar, east of a popular route for tours of the Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat, south of Potosi, the world’s highest city, and just a day and a half ’s hard hoofing from San Vicente, where the sheriff’s posse finally caught up with Butch and Sundance after they held up the wrong wagon.

Just as Sundance cased the bank, we swaggered into questions asked. Martyred revolutionary Che Guevara also met his grisly end here, so the land is stained with the blood of legends.

If I failed to absorb at least a hint of this country’s Latin machismo, I’d be an embarrassment to my gender. I had suffered enough emotional persecution at home for my inability to control horses, so this was a shot at some form of masculine redemption. Tomorrow, I would gallop.

We looked up the family run Hotel Mitru, among the best in town, which isn’t saying much. Double rooms near the pool start at around $12 a night, rising to a bank-breaking $30 if you want air conditioning and cable TV. Having stabled our rucksacks for the night, we struck a deal for two days on horseback, handing over US$20 each and receiving saddlebags into which we could cram a few necessities.

In true South American style, there was scant regard for safety when we mounted our noble steeds the next day. The stirrups could have been hacked from old pipes, rough steel hoops bound with rope. No helmets, no instructions, just a smile from our guide, and we were off down the train tracks and out of town. The red sandstone canyons around Tupiza are reminiscent of a mini Grand Canyon, guarded by cactuses and replete with wheeling hawks overhead, hummingbirds, lizards and even the odd ghost town to ride through.

The landmarks bear stout cowboy names such as Puerta del Diablo (Devil’s Door) and Canyon de los Machos (Canyon of the manly types, one assumes).

We started slowly, following the banks of the Rio San Juan de Oro, the escape route Butch and Sundance used after their botched heist. They were nabbed and died in a bloody shootout not far from where we set out.

Likewise, it wasn’t long before my quest for machismo took a mortal blow. My horse, my noble steed for the two days, was called Cynthia. The Lone Ranger had Silver, Gandalf had Shadowfax, I was lumbered with simpering Cynthia.

Cynthia, however, was a headstrong and frisky lass and, as we hit the gravel riverbeds of the river of gold, the horses belonging to my guide and girlfriend took off, and Cynthia was keen to give chase. With my heels down, arse up and hat flailing on the end of its neck-string, we hurtled up the gully, Cynthia thankfully in full control of the situation, and me as the passenger, clinging on with a wide grin.

The grin was partly out of enjoyment (about 30 per cent), but mostly because I could now tell the doubters I had galloped with the ghosts of real cowboys and lived. No posh saddles, just a few layers of blankets and leather strapped on a horse’s back, my drainpipe stirrups cutting into my feet and, before long, my jeans cutting into my backside.

That was fine, though, because this cosseted city boy could tick one more thing off the list of bloke-ish must-dos. Learn to ride a motorbike. Check. Get a tattoo. Check. Gallop a horse through a river. Ahhh. Check.

We stopped for lunch at a picnic spot, sitting in the shade of a tree on the river bank, with some cliched cowboy guitar music wafting out of a transistor radio. The afternoon brought more river crossings, more flat-out gallops and more blue skies. The $10 price tag didn’t buy much in the way of accommodation that night, and four of us shared a room in a local house with a cloud of ravenous flies.

It was a small price to pay – day two’s scenery excelled that of day one, and the gallops became easier and more enjoyable. Cynthia did all the legwork and, when we eventually sauntered along the train tracks into town, sunburnt, sweaty and saddlesore, we were ready for a shootout with the sheriff.

Or a dip in the Hotel Mitru pool.

Whichever was on offer.

Getting there

How to get there: Tupiza will not be your first stop in South America, and no travel agent will want to book you a direct flight to La Paz either, because Bolivia’s airlines are less than reliable. Plan a few days in Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires (Usit offers flights from €663 and €604 respectively) and book onward flights from there via Aerosur or TAM airlines.

Where to stay: We stayed in the twee Hotel Mitru, which also runs horseback tours and other excursions. www.tupizatours.com.

The currency: €1 = 11 bolivianos

What to bring: cream for the saddle sores. At least three litres of water per person per day on the trail. Some robust sunscreen and your own toilet paper. A guide book with a language section – English is some people’s third or fourth language in Bolivia.

Beware of: trail food. There are no Michelin stars on the cowboy trail, so it’s best to bring your own grub, and some for your guide. Try the saltenas when you get back to town – delicious local meat pasties.

Anything else in the area?

A salt-flat tour is on the must-do list for a reason. Four days of spectacular scenery, from blood-red lakes to white open flats. Tupiza Tours will also sort this out for you. b