Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia’s largest and most modern city, sits low in the tropical plains of the eastern lowlands—a world apart from the chilly Andean altiplano most travellers picture when they think of Bolivia.
Founded by the Spanish in 1561 and later relocated to its current spot after repeated Indigenous resistance, Santa Cruz grew slowly for centuries until sudden oil, gas, and agricultural booms transformed it into the country’s economic powerhouse.
Today it’s a sprawling mix of leafy neighbourhoods, chaotic ring roads, and a lively historic centre built around a warm, red-brick plaza. The culture here feels distinctly different from the rest of Bolivia that we visited 25 years ago, more tropical, more outward-looking, shaped by Indigenous Chiquitano roots & European settlers. Modern cafés & boutiques sit beside old Jesuit-style buildings, where street food smells of maize and grilled meats in front of high end restaurants.
fuel shortages
Long before we reached each town, we could spot the fuel queues—endless lines of trucks, buses, and battered cars parked half on the road, half in the dust, engines off, drivers dozing. Some stretched for one or even two kilometres, a silent procession waiting for the next delivery of diesel or petrol. People had set up chairs, shared snacks, and leaned against their vehicles with the patience. We knew of the shortages and filled both tanks with 650L before entering into the country, calculating it should be enough to cover where we wanted to go. Knowing it would be very difficult for us to get fuel. It was still a striking sight, to see this unbelievably long line up of people waiting, often for days to refuel. But for locals it was just another day. I wonder if things will change with the new government recently elected.
city exploring
10-14th November. We’re camped 10 km north of the city on the property of a Dutch expat. He set out to travel the world in his twenties ending up here. Now retired, he lives a simple life alone and welcomes Overlanders to camp for $10 USD a night. We are able to park beneath his covered area to keep dry, although the rain did threaten to sweep Manual away.
Our plan was to spend just a few days looking around, meeting Carla’s mother, and waiting for the sensor parts to arrive.
To get into the city, we take the local “micros”—10-seat vans or 50-seat buses that look like they should have been scrapped a decade ago but somehow keep chugging along. For 10 cents a ride, we can’t complain. Passengers often chat with us; some speak English others just chat away. There are no official bus stops, we just walk out to the road and wave down a bus and call out when you want off.
In need of cash, we headed into the city to explore the historical centre and exchange USD for Bolivianos at the blue-dollar rate, which has been dropping since the new president was elected—the boliviano has gained a little strength. Last week it was 13:1 USD; now it’s 10:1.
While buying nuts from a street vendor, Tim managed to break a tooth. Shit. Suddenly we were no longer sightseeing but on the hunt for an English-speaking, reputable dentist. ChatGPT did the legwork for us and within two hours Tim was in the chair. X-rays confirmed the damage: he’d need a root canal and crown. He walked out with half a tooth in his mouth, the other half in his hand, and an appointment for 9 a.m. the next morning.
A broken tooth & root canal
Over the next five days Tim spent a total of six hours in the dentist’s chair. Every travellers nightmare, needing medical or dental care in a country that is on the poorer end of the scale. We were both anxious when he set off alone. Returning a couple of hours later happy, saying the root canal was the best he’s ever had—no pain and quick healing, that the specialist did a great job. The crown is still settling since it was fitted below the gum line. He also had several small fillings done. We’re now $2,500 CAD lighter, but money well spent, of course it had to happen one week after our travel insurance expired.
Family Ties in Bolivia
We arranged to meet Carla’s mother. Carla was our nanny for five years when the kids were little. We sponsored her to come to Canada, she’s now a citizen with no plans to move back. Her mother, Yolanda & brother Sebastián, met us at a café. We can see the family resemblance. While Carla is quiet and reserved, her mother is exuberant and warm. Talking an enthusiastically, she welcomed us with open arms, hugging and kissing the kids as if they were her own. We spent three wonderful hours chatting, frustratingly our Spanish not strong enough, we needed the aid of Google Translate—effective but frustrating. Our Spanish is progressing, though slowly. After three months of Portuguese, our brains are scrambled. We can communicate in simple sentences, but understanding long explanations or directions is still tough.
Yolanda insisted on paying for our lunch and showered us with gifts. We snapped photos and sent them to Carla.
Surprise for the kids
We planned to leave Friday, but first had one more visit. Skip, Tami, and the kids were in town, so we met at a trampoline park in a very nice shopping mall where the kids bounced themselves silly for 6 hours straight. We hadn’t told our two, and they were thrilled to see Koa & Ayla again. Jaxon went a little too hard and pulled a hamstring, plus tweaked his back—easy to do when flipping and spinning after a year with no trampoline time. Ouch.
adios Santa cruz
The final sensor was due to arrive Friday. It did—and the mechanics came to install it—but of course it wasn’t quite right. Not an ordering error, but a manufacturing default. So they took our damaged sensor, repaired it.
Returning Saturday afternoon they reinstalled it and, hey presto, it worked.
As soon as the rain stopped and the road dried enough for Manuel to ride, we pulled out. It still took a couple of hours to fight our way out of the city’s traffic tangle.
We camped that night on the edge of a small town beside a muddy brown river and slept peacefully.
1 Comment
Wow great trek continues–In La Paz Bolivia many years ago (6o. years) we met a chap
that left Australia in a rush with his daughter –abandoning his wife–even showed the Aussie
newspaper describing his disappearance. These days I’d likely report him to the Australian embassy
but back then we were living on the edge ourselves.