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December 15, 2008

Water

Smug chuckles rumble around the Coca-Cola boardroom. The latest global sales figures for Dasani bottled tapwater have just come in. "I still can't believe our stupid customers actually buy this stuff." "We should get a box of donuts sent down to those geniuses in marketing." "And while we're at it, I think we execs deserve another payrise and performance bonuses all-round."

How irratonal it is that so much effort and investment in [so-called] developed countries has gone into providing a potable domestic water supply, only for 99% of it to be used for flushing toilets, watering the lawn etc. And then people still go out and buy bottled drinking water, most of which is just packaged tapwater anyway. (Ok, maybe the bottled variety doesn't have the chlorine, but it's no big deal to let tapwater stand in the fridge overnight and let the chlorine escape.)

Imagine the feelings of a Zimbabwean family who'd just lost two children to cholera because the only water available to them is contaminated with sewage, if they were to see someone hosing their driveway with pure, clear, drinkable tapwater whilst swigging from a bottle of Dasani that would have cost them half a day's pay.


The way we in Western countires take potable tapwater for granted has really come home to me on my travels through Latin America, where millions of people are not so fortunate. I've met other cylists who drink the tapwater wherever they are, though I have not been quite so cavalier, tending the follow the example of the locals - if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me, although I may get sick occassionally as I don't have their level of resistance to any bugs that may be present. As I can get through 8 litres of water day, this approach has saved a lot of money and plastic waste.

Colombia
Here the tapwater in towns and cities is generally fine, despite what the guidebooks say (they're covering their backs, I suppose). I say fine because I never got sick, although it's quite possible that it contains heavy metals, pesticides and other organic chemicals that may pose a longer-term health risk. Certainly there appeared to be a lot of cultivation and development in cathcment areas, and a lot of untreated industrial and mining waste and sewage is dumped into rivers. I'm not sure how effective the water treatment facilities are in dealing with these contaminants. Water quality monitoring data is not readily available to the public.

In more rural areas, the domestic water supply often comes from a communal tank supplied by a creek or somesuch. The water is not treated, so typically a family will boil up a few litres of agua panela (water with unrefined sugarcane) every morning in a large pot and this will be used throughout the day as a drink on its own and as a base for the ubiquitous tinto (black coffee) or chocolate.

Standalone properties sometimes have their own tank. Otherwise water is collected in buckets from a nearby source. I'm surprised that there are so few rainwater tanks, as there is plenty of rainfall throughout the region.

Ecaudor
The water quality here is not always so good. In many of the mountain towns and cities, including popular tourist destinations such as Quito, Cuenca and Otavalo, the tap water exceeeds international standards (according to the WHO). But then there are places like Ibarra which has good catchment protection and water treatment facilities, but the reticulation and sewerage systems are so antiquated and badly maintained that cross-containation occurs, and local advice is to boil first.

In El Angél, a village high up in the northern highlands, I asked my new friend Balmer if the water was ok, and his answer was that it was 70% ok and that, while everyone in the village drank it straight form the tap, I probably shouldn't. But later he introduced me to his father who was the healthiest 96-year old I have ever met and who had lived in El Angél all his life, so I figured the water couldn't be that bad.

A couple of weeks later I was in Papallacta, a mountain village surrounded by national park and numerous natural springs. I assumed the water would be ok but, to be on the safe side, asked a restarant owner my usual question, "El agua aquí es potable?" (Is the water here potable?). She said that it was, but on further discussion it turned out that it had to be boiled. I guess the word 'potable' has a dfferent meaning to someone who's probably never been able to drink water straight from the tap. From then on, I modified my question to be, "Se puede tomar el agua aquí, sin hervirla?" (Can you drink the water here, without boiling it?).

In the coastal and and jungle regions, the water is best avoided. In Guayaquil, Ecuador's largest city, there had been such underinvestment in water infrastructure over the years that disease outbreaks were common. When the Inter–American Development Bank offered to lend thew government money to improve the city’s water service, they accepted (no doubt persuaded by generous 'campaign contributions'). Of course, the loans came with the condition that Guayaquil hand over the control of its water to an international corporation - the infamous Bechtel. It is no surprise to learn that, while Bechtel has been earning about $300 million a year from the deal, there has been little improvement and, under the the private system, households who can't afford to pay for bills have had their supply cut off. (See http://www.foodandwaterwatch.org/world/latin-america/water-privatization/ecuador/bechtel-in-guayaquil-ecuador.)

Peru
Here the water is generally not too good. In the few places where I've been told it's ok, it's tasted pretty bad. Then I picked up giardia somewhere along the way, which has disrupted my trip a fair bit. So from now on I'll be boiling or filtering all water, or buying bottles of San Luis (Coca-Cola's local brand of bottled tapwater).

December 06, 2008

Daylight

5.45pm. The Sun has dropped behind the mountains to the West and there are maybe 30 minutes of light left in which to find a campsite.

I am riding through a corner of Sumaco National Park, descending through cloud forest on my way to the selba (jungle) in Eastern Ecuador, and had been enjoying the rugged forested terrain so much that I'd lost all track of time.

The road (such as it is) is cut into the side of a steep valley and so there is no flat ground either side on which to set up a tent. It is so rough and rocky that I won't be able to ride with just torchlight - it's tricky enough in daylight. I haven't seen a truck or bus for hours so probably no chance of hitching a ride. Camping on the road itself is out of the question in case any vehicles do come along. I should have stopped at the summit half an hour before, where there was a small flat that would have been ideal.

Mild panic starting to set in.

The Sun sets and it seems to be getting darker with every second. Just as I'm beginning to despair, I see a small flat on my left, overlooking the valley to the East, by now just a canvas of obscure shapes and ridgelines - I can make out the sillhouette of a large volcano in the distance. It is pretty close to the road and more conspicuous than I'd like, but it will have do in the circumstances.

I pitch the tent in the darkness. I have performed this task so many times that I could do it blindfolded. Similarly, I manage to get my dinner prepared and cooking away without the aid artificial light - it's amazing how much you can see in the darkness once your eyes are accustomed to it.

Eventually I switch on my headtorch, and see straght away that I'm not alone. There is a large spider apparently enjoying the warmth next to the stove, many small beetles are busily going about their business, and swarms of colourful moths are flitting around my head - a couple have already boiled themselves in my soup.

After dinner my thoughts turn to water. I should have enough, but it's always nice to have some in reserve. I prick my ears, and hear the faint sound of running water coming from the other side of the road. On going to investigate, I discover a small trickle of water flowing down the mountainside. Should be ok to drink. This is turning out to be a pretty good campsite after all.

Though I am still concerned that the tent is visible from the road. I doubt that there will be any ignoble persons passing by, but to be on the safe side I remove the reflective guy-lines and hope they won't be needed later in the night.

5am. Suffocating heat. The equatorial Sun has risen and is now cooking me alive inside my warm sleeping bag. Half-asleep, I quickly fumble around to unzip myself and get outside, where I am greeted by the sight of the sun rising above the volcano, and the mist clearing to reveal an immense expanse of forest descending toward the selba in the distance. I can't find any shade from the intense Sun so, after a quick breakfast and a wash from the trickle of water across the road, I am on my way again.

Twelve hours of daylight left in which to find my next resting place.

December 03, 2008

Back in Peru

Lucho's Casa de Ciclistas in Trujillo. There were 5 other riders staying at the same time as me so space was a bit tight but it was nice to meet some fellow tourers and exchange stories and advice.


Limatambo



Moments after this photo was taken, he answered a call on his mobile phone.
Inca baths at Tambomachay.Cristo Blanco, who looks down over Cusco.


The Sacred Valley, seen from the Ollantaytambo citadel.

There were many school groups visiting Cusco at the same time as me, and for some reason they all wanted a photo taken with me. I should have charged 1 Sol a picture like the locals do.
The summit of Huaynu Picchu.
The same place 7 years earlier.