Inca Kola versus Irn Bru

Ingredients
Irn Bru: Carbonated Water, Sugar, Citric Acid, Flavourings, Preservative (E 211), Caffeine, Colours (E110, E124), Ammonium Ferric Citrate (0.002%).
Inca Kola: Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, citric acid, sodium benzoate, caffeine, artificial and natural flavors.

Look pretty similar don't they? And they look similar. Irn-bru is a garish orange and Inca Kola a golden yellow. Their tastes are not a world apart either, both falling into the same category: grim sugary gunk. Inca kola wins hands down but soley on price.

Inca Kola is the best-selling soft drink in Peru. So, Coca-cola were naturally cheesed off at not having the top spot and bought 50% of the company. It was invented by José R. Lindley, from an English family, and was based on an ancestral Lemon Verbena drink.

Only one other country does not have Coke at the "Top of the Pops". Scotland, of course. Irn-bru was origionaly called Strachan's Brew until, in 1946, they were told it couldn't be called "brew" becasue it wasn't brewed. So they misspelt the name. The "Irn" bit come from the fact that the stuff was given away to Glasgow's iron and steelworkers by the gallon. Prior to this deal the steelworkers drank so much beer, because of the heat in the steelworks, that they were killing themselves off with alcohol poisoning. Recently, E110 and E124 have been banned in the UK, so Irn Bru are looking to find a way of getting the same insane colour another way.

The exact recipe of Irn Bru is, yawn, a closely guarded secret. In a bank vault in Switzerland. Only two people know it. Robin Barr, who mixes the syrup in a sealed room in Cumbernauld once a month, and another unknown other person. They are not allowed to fly on the same plane together.


Slogans
Inca KolaEl Sabor del Perú. (The flavour of Perú.)Inca Kola sólo hay una y no se parece a ninguna. (There is only one Inca Kola and it is like no other.)
Irn Bru
Scotland's other National Drink.
Bru'd in Scotland from girders.


Nutritional Information
Irn Bru
Calories: 100
Sodium: 10mg
Sugars: 25g
Inca KolaCalories: 96
Sodium: 31mg
Sugars: 26g

I wrote this post during my bike trip in South America in 2010.

I now offer guided walks and walking holidays in the UK in Northumberland, the Pennines, the Lake District, Scotland and further afield.

I'm always keen for outdoor adventures to help people learn the skills to explore! My particular focus is mountain skills such as navigating with a map and compass and wild camping for expeditions.

Find out more

La Paz to Juliaca: Into Perú...

It was fantastic to get out of La Paz and back on the road. Although, climbing back up to El Alto was knackering. Think the city-headonism took a bit of the umph out of my legs. Next problem was finding my way throught the honking minivans and crowded streets to find the right direction to Copacabana. After a while I gave up and had lunch at a roadside cafe. Even on my second go it took another hour or so to finaly get out of the sprawling mass.

Once I was through that it was back to the typical altiplano scenery. Flat farmland, the cordillera blanca in the distance and the ocassional woman in tradditional dress walking past with some bulls. Sometime in the afternoon I had my first glimpse of Lago Titicaca. It's nice.

After a pleasant campsite near a mobile phone mast, I hit a hilly section, a bit like the Scottish Borders. Then arrived at Tiquina where I had to take a barge across a bit of the lake. First I got a big lunch. The barge I was on appeared to have been knocked together by a deranged, coffin maker, with no sense of aesthetics, on a friday afternoon just before he clocked off. Somehow it stayed afloat, and I even saw buses on these things. The ten-year-old driving, very nonchalently, with the toe of his flip-flop, got us to the otherside and I was glad to be back on solid ground. Again I was reminded of Scotland as this part of the lake looks very much like the Isle of Jura.

I stopped for the night in Copacabana and stayed in a hotel. My first time doing so. Very plush it was too. Cheaper than the hostal in La Paz too. What the hell?

In the morning, onwards. It was a very smooth border crossing because I arrived in the nick of time. Just before a bus load turned up and the queues rolled out the door. I wasted no time in scooting on to Pomata for lunch: fresh fried trout. I'm guessing not long out of the lake. Delicioso. I passed through Juli only briefly. It is supposed to be a mini Rome but looked pretty average to me. Then again, I'm not a massive fan of Rome itself.

With the light fading I had to accept that I wouldn't make it to Puno and looked for a campspot. Acora turned up first with a real cheap dive of a Alojamiento. Ah, thats better! Three course dinner was a cyclist-friendly carbo-fest: pasta soup followed by a pasta and potato stew with rice accompanied by a bread roll. Then a mug of something hot and sweet and I was off to bed.

Today I nailed it to Puno and hung around a bit, got some lunch and then continued to Juliaca. Pleanty of daylight left but I decided to stay here for a good reason. The streets are frantic. More insane than La Paz. There'll be lots of street food, weird things going on and people shouting "Gringo!" at me. Perfect!

You Know You've Been on a Bike Too Long When...

A while ago, I visited Chaiten and the town had quite an impact on me. Bootsnall.com have been kind enough to publish an article I wrote about my experiences there.

Also, the next edition of the fantastic Adventure Travel magazine, out next week, includes an interview with yours truly. But in the meantime have a look at my article for their website. You know you've been on a bike too long when...

The World's Most Dangerous Road

But, erm, well it's a matter of debate if it is anymore. But it is terrific fun and very beautiful. Here's a quick timeline.
-It was built by Paraguyan prisoners in the 1930s. I would imagine a fair few copped it.
-In 1983, 100 people were killed in one go when a bus slid off the edge.
-Back in the mid-nineties, 200-300 people were killed each year.
-By 2006 an alternative route had been modernised to the extent that the North Yungas Road gets very little traffic now. Except from bikes.
-A few years ago 12 Israili cyclists, a whole tour group, were killed. A bus slid and forced all of them over the edge.
-Two weeks ago a girl on a bike was killed. She slid over the edge. Her boyfriend, who had decided not to do the tour, was waiting for her in La Paz. Dorothee had served her breakfast that morning.

The road, known variously as "The Death Road", "Grove's Road", "Coroico Road", "Camino de las Yungas", "El Camino de la Muerte", "Road of Death" or "Death Road", sees around 150 cyclists tackle the 1200m decsent daily. Mostly they sign up with a tour operator for between $30 and $80. For that they get a 20-something guide a pair of brightly coloured overalls and an all-singing-all-dancing mountain bike.

Dot and I took the thing on in a slightly different way.

Yesterday morning I got up early. I had agreed to meet up with Dot, in the quirky cafe where she stays and is working, at 6am. My alarm beeped at 5.50am. I'd packed my bags by 5.57am. I got everything down to the front door by 5.58am. All I needed to do was get my bike from the locked diposito and get out the, locked, front door. I found the nightwatchman. He was passed out on the sofa. Vommit covered his shirt, the table and the floor. Porn blared from the TV. My attempts to wake him failed. Even violent shaking and loud shouting produced no results. He rolled over on to his back and I saw that he had the keys clipped to his belt. I took them and got on fetching my bike and opening the door. I switched off the telly and put some newspapers over the worst of his vom. Then, when I heard him retching, I went back and put him in the recovery position, so he doesn't choke on his own sick. He might loose his job but hopefully not his life. I got to the cafe and ate a good breakfast while Dot served a bunch of guys headed for the Death Road.

We took our touring bikes and cycled up to Villa Fatima where we caught a bus for La Cumbre. This is the high point of the road from La Paz to Coroico. We jumped off the bus and headed down "The Ghost Road" a scenic, exciting and equally well named precursor to "The Death Road". With a yell of "Whahoo", Dorothee scooted down a pile of land-slide gravel. We popped out on the asphalt and found an old lady selling choripan.

Later, we turned off on to the Death Road proper. Imediately it was obvious what the fuss is about. The drops are sheer and deep. There would be no coming back from a slip.

"I think I will stick to the right-hand-side," said Dorothee. Think I will too, I thought.

But the danger only requires that you are not complacent. Otherwise you are left to enjoy a relaxing trip on a reasonable quality dirt road. In spectacular forested-mountain scenery. We took photos on the most photogenic bends, zoomed through waterfalls that fell in the road and splashed through streams.

Eventually we go to the bottom, Yolosa. This is where the tour companies would scoop you up into a minivan and drive you up to Coroico. But not us hard-as-nails cycle tourists. No. We cycled all the way up ourselves. Why? Because we are mugs.

I thought the uncomfortable uphill ride on punishing cobble stones would never end. We were rewarded by arriving in a delightful small town which provided me with pizza and beer. Two components of a chemical formula that results in a Happy Pete.

Today we returned in a hot sweaty minivan on the new road up to La Cumbre and quickly whizzed down to a checkpoint for pollo y papas and then, minutes later, the crazy traffic of La Paz.

Guess for another road like this I will have to visit China's Guoliang Tunnel.

I wrote this post during my bike trip in South America in 2010.

I now offer guided walks and walking holidays in the UK in Northumberland, the Pennines, the Lake District, Scotland and further afield.

I'm always keen for outdoor adventures to help people learn the skills to explore! My particular focus is mountain skills such as navigating with a map and compass and wild camping for expeditions.

Find out more

Modes of Transport (Part I)

I like being a cycle tourist. Its the right way around, I'm a tourist who happens to get about on a bike. There are many great reasons to travel by bike but perhaps it would be of more use to examine the "competition".

Motorbikers

I guess you could think we're pretty similar. We're all bikers, right? We can both squeeze between the lines of cars stuck in traffic.But adding the engine seems to change things a bit. Firstly, lets face it, a motorbiker has a certain cool. If Peter Fonda had been riding a ten-speed in Easy Rider it would have been like replacing the rock music soundtrack with something by Hans Zimmer. As well, the Hell's Angels have done wonders for lending an edge of danger and rebellion to this method of transport. I doubt they'd of been so scary on beach cruisers. I think motorbikes are probably more efficient than cars and buses. Plus, bikers have their own pubs and their magazines have semi-clad women on the covers.

On the otherside, of course, the vibration from the Captain America bike was so bad Mr Fonda could only sit on it for half an hour at a time. Even in the hottest weather, bikers have to wear heavy leathers and a helmet. Frankly, its lazier than cycling. And surgeons are famous for waiting for rainy days so that they will have some dead bikers come in to use for donated organs. But for me all these drawbacks would be ok if it wasn't for one other thing that makes motorbiking just seem wet and dull. And that other thing is Ewan McGregor.

Backpackers

Let's get this straight. I'm not talking about long-distance hikers. They are a kind of backpacker I have pleanty of respect for. I'm talking about the traveller who gets about largely by bus, train or a well directed thumb. They are easily spotted carrying an enormous rucksack which they only ever carry around the corner from the bus terminal to their hostal. I have a certain respect for this type of traveller. Indeed, I have travelled like this before myself. At one stage I was carrying around 30 short sleeved shirts, a pair of morrocan bongos, a 3 man tent, a Greek hammock with huge wooden spreaders and a guitar in a hardcase. But in hindsight I can look back and see how much of a burden that lot was.

The downsides of backpacking vs biking are numerous and have been well described by another cyclist called Tom. See here.

Huge Vehicles

The classic Volkswagen camper van is a decidedly cool thing. Sadly, they are super unreliable these days because they are just too old. Other vehicles designed for living and travelling in just seem to have got a bit out of hand. Especially out on the dirt roads, the "adventuous" petrol-head seems to choose something resembling a small lorry to live in. Goodness knows how much deisel these monstrosities burn through. Some even hoist a quad bike on the back so they can nip around in town while their house-sized car waits for them wherever they managed to park it. How garish to travel in something so overtly costly (especially if you ship it overseas), large enough to carry 50 passengers but just used for one middle-aged couple. It smacks of being unwilling to compromise on loosing even the smallest luxury. This mode of transport, I suspect, leads to the type of tourist who is rather inward looking and lacking in empathy.

Huayna Potosí

April's mountain was the highest yet at 6088m. I went with a tour group and, luckily, they were a good bunch. 2 Brits, an Aussie, a French couple and a Canadian couple. One of the best aspects for me, at least initially, was all the terrific food they plied us with.


The organisation of the trip was slick. We left the refugio, after a good lunch, and had a short but steep afternoon walk. We followed a rocky trail, with heavy packs, up to the high camp. Then we ate more and did our best to sleep at 5pm. At midnight we woke up and headed for the top. By headtorch, a string of climbers tramped upwards in the snow. Nick, the Aussie, and the two Brits, both called Sam, provided good banter and pretty soon we reached the summit snow slope. This required a good amount of puffing and panting but the reward was well worth it. Just before dawn we topped out. The lights of El Alto and La Paz looked incredible in the distance. We sat, getting cold rear ends, and watched the sunrise. Looking out over the clouds sitting in the valley, we could see Lago Titicaca and many of the other peaks in the Cordillera Blanca.

The descent, in daylight, was along a narrow snowy ridge and then down another steep slope. We passed fantastic grottos of icicles and plodded back to the high camp where we picked up our stuff and trudged back to the refugio. The next group of eager beavers were ready to go and we slumped, semi-comatosed, to eat lunch.

That Old Chestnut

Its been a while since I just wrote some utter guff so I thought I'd make amends. I've always been fond of sayings, phrases, idioms, expressions and proverbs. What's your favourite?

Ok the BS is about to hit the fan...

Fortune favours the bold. Similarly, the motto of the SAS and Dell-boy: "He who dares wins."
Well, yes, but he probably also gets diarrhoea, gets run over by a truck and has well slapped cheeks. I remember being told by a Scottish rock climber, "there are bold climbers and old climbers but no old and bold climbers". Perhaps it was his accent but it made no sense to me at the time. I had missheard "bold" as "bald". The man in question was, in fact, old, bald and a climber. You can appreciate my confussion.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.
Once the stone becomes stationary, on the otherhand, it does. Suprisingly quickly. To avoid this moss-gathering one should never go anywhere with shops. Some moss, I think, is to be encouraged as useful padding. The problem is deciding which, or how much, moss to jetison. At the moment I am considering dumping my rucksack in favour my newly purchased charango.

The best things in life are free.
I guess we're aiming at things such as love, friendship, inspiring conversations, babies, wild camping, blackberries, laughter, swings-and-slides in the park, buskers (hee hee) and sunsets. Lovely. However, to my mind, many of the worst things in life are exactly the same price. For example, using a public toilet without taking your own loo-paper and discovering, too late, that there is none there. Also, on my "bugger-all" menu, you can have; illness, missing loved ones, poverty, having the song "Umbrella" stuck in your head, breaking up with a girlfriend (but you have to pay for divorce!), death and of course whatever it is that "happens at sea". So, the best and worst things in life are free, and so are a good deal of other, middle-of-the-road, things. Perhaps the saying should be: "In life, there are lots of freebies." Good job too, it is my favourite price.

Also, I have found it to be a helpful exersize to try and learn some spanish expressions. Here are some I have gathered:-
Boca cerrada no entran moscas.
If your mouth is shut flies don't go in. I think this means if you don't say anything you can't "put your foot in it".
Paciencia es la madre de toda las ciencias.
Patience is the mother of all the sciences. Any ideas what this means? I'm stumped.
El que no lava platos, no rompe platos.
He that does not do the washing up does not break plates. Well, I like the litteral meaning. Perhaps it means that laziness has it's upsides and from time to time it is better to rest?
Vale más pan con amor, que gallina con dolor.
Its better to have bread with love that chicken with pain. You can be happy and poor?
Beber y comer, son cosas que hay que hacer.
Eating and drinking are things to do. Enjoy eating and drinking. Or, perhaps even, enjoy all life's necessaries.
A buen hambre no hace falta condimento.
A good hunger doesn't need condiments. If you are really hungry then things taste good, with or without salt and pepper? Maybe this is a "beggars can't be choosers" or "any port in a storm" type saying.
No hay dos sin tres.
There isn't two without three. Seriously weird. Clearly there is.

La Paz: A slightly inappropriate name?

Considering that "peace" is the last thing you are likely to encounter here!! Bustling markets, lively folklorico in crowded peñas and insane traffic, with Nissan mini-vans in their thousands, are the order of the day here. My ride from Oruro was a straightforward enough affair and I managed several long days with a great little campsite beside a dried-up river inbetween.

I arrived in La Paz from above. Firstly, I dropped down into the sprawling, shacks and poorly built houses on the outskirts of El Alto. Then, after an enternity cycling through the rain and being sprayed with mud by buses, I was rewarded with a spectacular view of La Paz, a city laid like a cloth on a deep valley. On all sides dramatic snowcapped mountains.

I screeched down a winding hill into the town at dusk, found a hostel, and tired as a dog hit the sack without dinner.

Next day, walking up and down steep narrow cobble streets in flip-flops, I discovered an awesome Museo del Instrumentos Musicales, where I spent a few hours looking at the weird and wonderful instruments of the region. Inspiration hit home and I later in the day I found myself the proud owner of a charango.

Today I had a lesson on said instrument and I think I am beginning to get the hang of it. Will be fun to while away the hours practising in my tent in the evenings!! After my lesson I had an afternoon to peruse the markets some more and figure out how to use the post. I had two quite sucessful conversations en Español. Firstly with the postmistress and then later with the tour operator for a trip to climb Huayna Potosí which I have booked myself on.

Potosí to Oruro: Uncle Pete Rides On!

I'm very much enjoying getting out into rural Bolivia. Things are a bit on the rustic side in the many little villages. Many of them are sparsely inhabited or deserted. Usually there is one tap for the village (which you have to go searching for) but sometimes just a hand pump or a bucket and a well. My daily shopping list looks a bit like this:
6 bread rolls - 20p
2 packets of biscuits -20p
3 bananas -10p
It is often a case of looking for a woman with a wheel-barrow full of fruit. Eating out is cheap too, a 3 course Almuerzo for 80p and in the cities there are heaps of chicken and chips joints. You get half a chicken, rice, chips and a drink for about a pound...

Every afternoon there tends to be a thunderstorm.

I have got the hang of putting on my raincoat when the wind picks up. On the way in to Challapata I passed a nice lake with some mountains behind and then hit a huge open plain. The land seems fertile here and it is the first place where I have seen much arable farming. Lots of llama farming in the hills. Usually being looked after by old women. The crops seem to be grown in very small amounts. The size of a back garden. I saw a few people harvesting wheat, by hand, with small sickle. Just done a few sums, with the help of Google, and I reckon if it is a 10m x 10m plot you'd get about 50 loaves of bread. sell each one for 50p and you've made yourself 25 quid. Not bad for a years work.

The level of education here seems to me low. It is better among younger people which is encouraging. I think most people out in the sticks are illiterate and innumerate (better watch my spelling!). There are lots of young kids working in shops, cafes, looking after llamas etc. They generally do the adding up for their elders. Wikipedia says kids get about 4.2 years in school on average in the countryside. Old people seem to have difficulty understanding my Spanish (possibly as it is a second language for them too) whereas I can usually make out the jist of what they say to me. Sometimes a kid will come and translate which is fun! I have seen old people being treated badly, or at least with very limited patience, on several ocassions. Once in a cafe, an old lady, near deaf and shortsighted, who had clearly lost her marbles, got a good shouting at because she wanted paper money rather than coins, then got manhandled out of the place.

Right I am off for chicken and chips!

Bob Dylan lyrics that stick in my head...

My Dad listened to a lot of Dylan. Accordingly, I have a collection of his lyrics lurking in the back of my mind (Dylan's not my Dad's!). Occassionally a few surface and seem to have some relevance.

I have a head full of ideas and they are driving me insane


I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail


I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,


Oh, I wish I was on some
Australian mountain range.
I got no reason to be there, but I
Imagine it would be some kind of change.

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone

Uyuni to Potosí

My ride here to Potosí has included some of the worst roads I have ridden on yet. So, I was plesantly suprised to follow a brand new asfalted road from Agua Castilla to Potosí. Beautiful scenery too. On the first night out of Uyuni I camped beside the road on a llama track.

I cooked my dinner with the tent flap open and with the stars out. Dinner consisted of pasta, tin of peas, stock cube and, at the last minute, some instant mash. Oh, and some raw rice. For some reason it was in the smash container and made the entire dish nearly inedibly crunchy. I managed half of it. Such a waste of the peas (they're a bit of a treat).

Potosí is an interesting place. You don't realise you have reached a city until you are 500m away from it. It is hidden away in a complex network of mountains. The road weaves its way in with pleanty of climbs and drops. It is (claimed to be) the highest city on earth at 4090m. The city is built on the side of a hill in rather an inconvenient way. There is a mountain that looms behind, Cerro de Potosí (4824m). This is the key to the existance of the place: a silver mine. The story goes that some dude was wandering about and pulled out a bush from the ground and saw some silvery bits attatched to the roots. By 1745 the spaniards were digging the stuff out like there was no tomorrow. It became the main source of silver for the Spanish empire.

In other news... I am an Uncle!!! Caroline and Alejandro have a little girl called Emilia Mar.

Salar de Uyuni: Cycling on 10 billion tonnes of salt

I set off out of Uyuni and after 20kms found myself on the edge of the world's largest salt flat: Salar de Uyuni. Here there are heaps of people scooping up heaps of salt. A bit further you come across the Salt Hotel which is a building made out of salt. If you happen to be a 4-wheel-drive car enthusiast this is surely the place for you.

Other than that the view is just of flat white salt. Five hours later I arrived at the Isla Inca Huasi, the island in the middle, where I camped for the night. Then in the morning I did it all in reverse back to Uyuni. This time with the wind behind me. It is an incredible place. Wierd really. I got a sunburnt face despite a ton of sun cream. After the first few hours the novelty factor wore off a little for me and I got my book out and read it as I was cycling along.

I attempted to take some interesting perspective photos but really you need at least 3 people to effect that "through the legs" shot, or the "racing car shoe". I tried a little me stood on the saddle but it didn't work!!