Farewell Bolivia

With no plans on our last day in Bolivia, we just took another stroll through the vast complex of markets to drink in its sights and smells one last time. Even having visited on several previous occasions, we managed this time to explore hitherto unseen corners, including one dedicated to ceremony and offerings to Pachamama, which seem to necessitate dried baby alpacas.

What did I do to deserve this?

On the way, we discovered the section of the market populated by milliners and tailors, where the cochabambinas outfit themselves with the quintessential Bolivian skirts, hats, and colourful fabric for use as a rucksack to carry children or other effects.

Preparing food and eating on the street is as popular here as we observed on Vietnam. In the marketplace, the pavements are lined with women in charge of catering-sized pots of food, wrapped in the distinctively patterned and ubiquitous cloth in order to keep the contents warm. It is not uncommon, especially sat breakfast and lunchtime, but also at any point of the day, to see them surrounded by a crowd of hungry diners, squat on little stools, eating from plastic plates, which are then washed and wiped clean for the next customer.

Our Spanish teacher in Chile highlighted such street food to us a difference between her country and Bolivia. While she enjoyed the sight on her visit to Bolivia, she wouldn't eat "en la calle", as it was just a little too much 'in the street' for her. We, however, sat down excitedly on Avenida República this morning, as we had finally discovered a naturally vegetarian dish called papas a la huancaina. As you might have guessed, this involves potatoes.

Papas con salsa de maní

Yes, more potatoes. Say what you will about the Bolivians' Olympic consumption of carbohydrates, they cook a mean potato. And these were perfectly tender, buttery yellow potatoes with salad, boiled egg, and cheese, covered in a mildly peppery peanut sauce. The addition of the rich peanut sauce lifted the dish beyond its humble ingredients and reminded us of the Indonesian dish, gado gado.

After returning home briefly to pack up our things, the eating continued at Hare Krishna restaurant, Gopals.  The lunchtime buffet was sadly depleted, as we arrived relatively late, but we scraped together a salad and a creamy soya meat and butter bean curry with the usual vegetable soup.

Vegan in the sun

The rest of the day went by uneventfully, as we crossed our fingers for tomorrow's convoluted journey by aeroplane to Peru.

The Case of the Missing Flight

We ambled around the collective Cochabamba markets again this morning, which really are the heart of the city. It is such a joy walking through the aisles, taking in the colour of the products as well as the people buying and selling, without being harassed (take note, SE Asia).

After seeing everyone tuck into bowls of soup and plates piled with freshly prepared food, we couldn't help but sit down to our own lunch on the comedor vegetariano, "El Maná".

Manna from heaven

The lunch was a simple three-course affair following a very similar mould to last week's offering: a salad, a soup of rice and potatoes, and a pasta dish. Whether breakfast, lunch, or dinner, the Bolivians love their carbohydrates. I once heard it helps with the altitude, but it's also more than likely because it makes for a cheap and filling meal.

With no postre to our almuerzo completo, we were glad to see a lady selling crunchy, chewy fried churros, filled with sweet dulce de leche.

Our day of gourmandising came to an abrupt end as we returned home and began to check on the preparations for moving on from Bolivia. Our next destination is Cusco in Peru. Rather than take a lengthy (and by many accounts risky) bus journey across the border, we decided instead to put our safety in the much more regulated South American airline industry. Amaszonas, to be precise.

We had booked ahead of time a flight from Cochabamba to Cusco, necessitating a change of planes at La Paz. However, warned by other travellers that Amaszonas has a tendency to alter flight times with little forewarning, we attempted to confirm the flight details by phone. It transpired that the route from Cochabamba to La Paz had been permanently suspended, and nobody from the airline had thought to inform us. Instead, we had been rebooked onto a flight leaving from Santa Cruz.

Nonplussed, I informed the airline that we should like to be transported from Cochabamba, as per the original booking. Fortunately, our very kind Bolivian host offered to act as a Spanish-speaking intermediary, which eased the negotiations somewhat. He managed to arrange for a three-leg journey - from Cochabamba to Santa Cruz, thence to La Paz, and finally to Cusco - leaving at 6:15 in the morning. This would involve an extra connection, with the attendant risk of missing it, or losing our baggage in the process, but it seemed the path of least resistance.

Later in the day, however, when no new itinerary arrived by email, I became suspicious. Calling Amaszonas revealed that while the first two flights, as far as La Paz, could be undertaken on the day of travel (1st July), the next connection to Peru had been booked for the following day. This would necessitate an overnight stay in La Paz, for which we neither have the budget nor inclination. I failed to get this resolved by phone and emails went unanswered. All in all, it was a frustrating afternoon and we went to bed uncertain of how or when we would arrive in Peru.

Las Heroínas

From our apartment window, we can see a small hill surmounted by a statue. This is la colina San Sebastián, and the monument was erected in honour of the brave cochabambinas who attempted to defend their home against a royalist invasion in Bolivia's War of Independence over two hundred years ago.

Heroic women (and Christ)

We took the short walk to the top of the hill, known as La Coronilla to get a closer look at the monument. Underneath the obligatory statue of Christ is a huddle of women and children. The central figure raises a walking stick in a posture of defiance. This is Mañuela Gandarillas, a blind lady who, on 27th May 1812, led the women of the town onto the streets, crying "Nuestro hogar es sagrado!" (Our home is sacred).

Emboldened by recent victories, Goyeneche led the royalist troops to quash rebels uprisings where he found them. Esteban Arze, to whom there is a monument at the foot of the hill on Avenida Aroma, led a guerrilla movement against Goyeneche, but had recently suffered defeat at Pocona. His forces were weakened and had little preparation for the attack on Cochabamba.

Therefore, the women took it upon themselves to defend their homes, digging in at San Sebastian hill. Sadly, Goyeneche and his men entered the city, captured those on the hill after only a two-hour battle, and executed the revolutionary leaders, thereby destroying the local resistance.

The women heroines are honoured with this monument and, since 1920, El Día de la Madre (Mother's Day) is celebrated each year on 27th May in commemoration.

Having returned from La Coronilla via the market, we prepared ourselves lunch at home in the Bolivian style. This meant salad, a soup, and a segundo, which was a tomato stuffed with quinoa and cheese.

Stuffed tomato

In town, a small stall had set up selling equally diminutive cakes. Like the flamboyant cakes available at the market, only on miniature, these were perfectly sized for one and I couldn't help buying one at only 8bs.

Cake!

Anything but More Damned Potatoes

It was an early morning today, as we had to catch the 6am Trans del Norte bus from Toro Toro. This was made all the more challenging by the fact that it was still dark at this time and we didn't have an alarm clock to rouse us. Nevertheless, we managed to come to with enough time to gather our stuff and leave.

We chose to take the full-sized bus back to Cochabamba, rather than the micro, as it promised to leave at 6am (rather than when it is full), to offer more legroom, and to be cheaper than its micro counterpart. Being so early, and having had to wait so long for the micro to fill up on the outward journey, I was surprised to see a throng of people (exclusively Bolivian) waiting for the bus in the dark.

We set off with only a small delay, but travelled more slowly than the nimble micro, as the bus had to haul its massive bulk along the windy cobbled road out of Toro Toro. Being a bus, it also stopped frequently to make additional pickups in the villages, until there was standing room only, and slowed for the various animals in the road, including dogs, a donkey, a bull, a hen and her chicks, a pig, and some sheep painted bright pink.

At around 8am, the coach pulled up in a small village and all passengers disgorged to sit down and tuck into breakfast. The options were pollo, pollo, or pollo. However, a few ladies were wandering about the road selling  bags of prepackaged meals, one of which turned out to be vegetarian, much to my surprise. Upon investigation its contents was revealed to be two soft-boiled eggs in their shells, chuño (freeze-dried potatoes), normal potato, and pasta.

There are a lot of potatoes in Bolivia

It was another carb-heavy feast that is light on anything green, but a welcome one. Spiced up with an additional bag of chilli sauce, one 5bs meal was enough for us both, although the Bolivians were each getting outside of a similarly sized plate to themselves. The chuño were shrunken, dark-brown potatoes that have had moisture removed from them by a process of freezing in the high-altitude Andean air, followed by drying by the hot sun. This results in a wonderfully chewy, nutty texture, and an almost mushroom-like flavour.

The roads leading back into Cochabamba were clogged with Saturday traffic, so that we didn't arrive until nearly midday, despite the early start. Sunday was not a day of rest in the marketplace, which bustled with activity as we tried to navigate our way home.

The morning's journey and meal-in-a-bag had just made us more hungry, so we dropped our bags, turned around and went straight back out to a vegetarian restaurant on Las Heroínas.

Rica comida at Ricocomida

Ricomida (from the Spanish 'rica comida', meaning delicious food) is a Cochabamba group created to empower Bolivian women and to allow them to earn their own money by owning and operating restaurants. With a common decor of green, there are many such restaurants. The one in the centre of town is vegetarian and today served us a buffet lunch, including a tasty lentil hamburger, a choice of salad and a soup. The best thing: no potatoes!

Further Adventures in Toro Toro: Bouldering and Caving

At 8am, we met the Bolivian couple from yesterday and were joined by a French couple to make a team of six for a second day adventuring in the national park of Toro Toro.

With a full day ahead of us, our itinerary was more ambitious than yesterday afternoon's and involved transport out to Yunguma and the "Ciudad de Itas" or "Ciudad de Piedres" (city of stones).

Transport

At 3,800m elevation, the 'city' is a collection of large rocks pushed up from beneath the Earth's surface by movement of tectonic plates.

Ciudad de Itas

The rocks have the appearance of a petrified lava flow, but there is no volcano in the vicinity. The rocks form a network of passageways, through which our guide led us expertly, and even created a vaulted natural 'cathedral', which was apparently used by the local people for weddings.

Navigating the labyrinthine 'city', we came across rocks in the form of rabbits, elephants and giant tortoises, as though these creatures were the ancient  inhabitants of the area and had been turned to stone where they stood.

Tortoise

We clambered up to stand atop the rocks at the same altitude as the soaring condors and experienced the same expansive vista as they do.

On top of the world

Sharing the sky

In the afternoon, we descended to explore a different kind of labyrinth - the underground cavern of Umajalanta. In the area around the caves are more of the famous dinosaur footprints, highlighted with red dust.

Las huellas

Again, led by our guide, who scampered around the twisty and narrow cave as though it were his natural home, we squeezed ourselves into claustrophobia-inducing gaps, crawled on our bellies, and lowered ourselves into the darkness, illuminated only by the lights on our helmets.

Mites grow up

The stalactite and stalagmite formations were impressive, at times joining the ceiling with the floor of the cavern. One in particular, named Mary and Child, revealed itself to have an eerily accurate features of a child's face, like those of a porcelain doll.

Spooky child's face

Emerging, blinking into the light at the end of the cave, we had come full circle and it was time to head back to the town.

We went straight to the mercado and reprised our dinner of yesterday - pasta and potato with a 'salad' of onion and tomato. Fine cuisine it may not have been, but it was welcome nourishment.

Given that an advertised "gran peña folklórica" (large folk festival) for this evening failed to materialise, Toro Toro offered little else by way of entertainment, so we took the opportunity for an early night, in anticipation of a 6am bus back to Cochabamba.

Toro Toro: Bolivia's Jurassic Park

First challenge of the day: getting to Toro Toro. While the town of Toro Toro is still within the department of Cochabamba, the national park which we hoped to explore actually belongs to Potosí. This means a 163km bus journey to the outer limits of the department. In fact, a several-hour micro journey along winding and hilly roads (are there any other kind in Bolivia?).

We woke early in order to get a taxi to the micro departure point in the south of town - a 'no go' area at the best of times and certainly to be avoided in the early hours of the morning. The bus apparently leaves at 6am, but in fact micros leave only when full, so we anticipated a long wait. Our host, Walter, had organised a taxi for us, driven by his friend, José. Unfortunately at 5:45 came a knock at the door as we were ready to leave. It was Walter, "José está enfermo". Sick? Never fear, Walter had rustled up another taxi and would accompany us to make sure we got there safely. And a good job too, as the new driver had no clue as to where he was going, but drove there at top speed anyway. After a few circuits.of the town, we eventually arrived at the departure point; only, there was nothing there. Walter wandered around scratching his head for a while and making enquiries. Leading us along the road, he eventually found the office, which had moved.

Having paid our 35bs per person, we sat in the darkened vehicle with a few other passengers waiting for that magical moment when the bus was deemed economically viable to run. That was an hour and twenty minutes away, by which time it had become light. The micro, as all of this type of van, had been fitted with seats so close together that our knees were up around our ears. A few stops along the journey allowed us brief respite as we stretched our legs and perused the offerings of the women selling food in the various neighbourhoods through which we passed. Unfortunately, only salchipapas - sausage (salchicha) and fried potatoes (papas) - augmented with Bolivia's favourite meat, pollo (chicken), was available.

The journey was remarkably quick in the micro, given the demanding terrain, taking just over four hours, and meaning that we arrived just before the national park office closed at midday. We registered and bought our entrance ticket, allowing us to book a (mandatory) guide at the oficina de guías. Sadly, this itself was closed until 1:30pm. We took the opportunity to search for lodgings and lunch.

Toro Toro is a small town and the park has only been open for a few years. There are about a dozen hostels and alojamientos, but little else in the way of tourist facilities. Many of the local people look a little baffled by the handfuls of foreigners wandering about their pueblo. However, most importantly in establishing the town as a tourist destination, there is a large statue of a dinosaur in the main square.

Money well spent

The T-Rex is surrounded by baby dinosaurs hatching from eggs and some customised 'dino' park benches. There has been effort made here.

We enquired at one hostel, balked at the price - which, to be fair, was reasonable but beyond our current budget - and went with Hostal Santiaguito, right next to the registration office, for half the price. It also doubles as the town police station, so at least it would be safe, we surmised.

Hostal Santiaguito

The next challenge was lunch, which proved rather more difficult. Consulting the town map, we tried to locate the mercado, presuming it would have food, or at least ingredients to assemble a basic meal. A guide loitering outside the closed office offered to show us the way, nodding and commenting on the "expensive" hostel we had narrowly avoided.

The market turned out to be less of a 'fruit and vegetable' market and more of an indoor food hall, surrounded on all sides by women with no apparent food available. Granted, there were a few shops outside selling, well... potatoes mostly, but nothing we could readily eat. We tried the most promising looking vendor in the food hall, whose board advertised "Tea, coffee, sandwiches (egg, ham, cheese)" and more. "¿Hay sandwiches?", we ventured. "No", came the response, while she rinsed out a large empty pot. In fact, there was no food at all in evidence at this or any other stand. Just a line of women tending empty counters of cruel hope.

We returned to the expensive hostel, which alongside its rooms also advertised a restaurant and - roaring out of the mouth of a ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex - "platos vegetarianos". We relented and sat down. The menu was, by Bolivian standards, expensively priced. We opted for the cheapest thing listed - an egg sandwich. For a tourist restaurant, I expected two limp pieces of bread and some mashed or sliced hardboiled egg. What arrived was a freshly prepared double fried egg sandwich and chips. After the rumbling journey from Cochabamba and our rumbling stomachs, this was manna indeed.

Double-egg sandwich

Having fallen guiltily and noisily on the sandwich, we took our full bellies to the now open guides' office. We met a Bolivian couple that had travelled on the same bus in the morning and teamed up. The price of the tours is per group, so splitting the cost four ways made it significantly cheaper. As time was marching on, and knowing that daylight would run out shortly after 6pm, I pushed for a short walk. The other couple perused the menu of available treks as though looking for a greater challenge, so we compromised on a slightly longer route to El Vergel - a waterfall inside a canyon.

The guide we met earlier turned out to be attached to us and led the four of us north out of Toro Toro on foot. It wasn't long before we saw what the area is famous for - las huellas de dinosaurios, dinosaur footprints.

Las huellas

Dinosaurs not to scale

In parallel were two sets of footprints - those of a lumbering four-legged vegetarian, and the three-toed prints of a smaller bipedal carnivore. It was disconcerting to see these ancient trails so clearly, when the landmass was probably in a different part of the globe entirely.

Continuing along the path following the river, we clambered over a few rocks and marvelled at the landscape as the river (Río Rodeo) cut ever deeper into the surrounding rock.

Our guide, Benedicto

The ravine next to us widened and deepened, until we were staring down the sides of a 250m-tall canyon. Next, our guide started to take us down the sides, along a rough path cutting into the rock face. We followed obediently, if a little nervously, as there was nothing between us and the drop to our left besides our assured footing. We zigged and zagged our way down, at times having to edge out way along narrow ledges, and at others lowering ourselves down the rocks.

Once at the base of the canyon, we started blinking up at the descent we had just made, and continued along downstream. Large rocks and boulders littered the floor of the canyon, presenting our guide plenty of opportunity to clamber up, over and through them. We followed on, like children adventuring without their parents, until we finally reached El Vergel.

El Vergel waterfall

Looking like something out of a shampoo advert, with a woman stationed under each stream of the cascade, El Vergel is picture perfect. We lay on the rocks and caught out breath before the return trip - up the cliff face.

Fortunately, we ascended via a handy set of stone steps embedded in the side of the rock. However, this was hard enough work and our guide seemed to impishly disappear around the corner, only to be found squatting, looking bored, as we dragged our sweating selves up to the next level. He professed to also feel tired, but looked nothing of the sort.

Having reached the top, we were rewarded with a panoramic view over the cavernous gorge courtesy of a semicircular bridge that was suspended tantalisingly out over the precipice. In the nooks of the canyon walls were roosting bright green parrots, which took off in a flock, squawking, every now and then.

Looking into the canyon

The return leg back to town was mercifully flat, as we walked over the layered stone, which had in one place created a natural amphitheatre of raked seating.

We raced the setting sun back, as our guide disappeared into the darkness and distance, and we eventually returned home after 6pm.

Having gathered ourselves, we set out for some evening sustenance, with which to replenish the energy expended in the afternoon. The egg sandwich was well and truly burned off. Returning hopefully to the marketplace, we saw it rather more populated than before - although this may have been attributable to the Bolivia - Peru match on the television (which Bolivia lost 1-3) than the food available.

Again, there was no food in evidence at the various stations, and yet people seemed to be eating from full plates. Enquiries revealed that the food was wrapped up in the distinctive colourful cloth that pervades Bolivia, in order to keep it warm - cheaper than keeping the fire lit. However, further enquiries revealed the options to be chicken or chicken. It seems that even in a competitive marketplace, the vendor without chicken is the loser.

We settled on a plate of agregados - the stuff that goes with the chicken - which was variously rice, pasta, and potato, or often all three at once. Nervous of a tri-carb plate, we just had pasta and an obligatory potato, which when doused in the available chilli sauce, was remarkably tasty and revived our weary bodies.

Carb loading

Back at the hostel, we collapsed into what must be the hardest bed in the world for an early night. We didn't care and fell asleep within minutes.

Beer from Stier

I spent this morning wandering  around La Cancha taking photos of the colourful and busy marketplace.

Arriving home, I prepared our own version of an almuerzo completo, comprising salad, a soup, and a slightly weird segundo of veggie meat, roast potatoes and green beans. I am far from being an expert in preparing fake meat and miss the tasty simulacra of SE Asia - what is their secret?

Colourful salad

Soup looks a bit grey

Faux meat fail

Of course, being in Bolivia, there had to be cake.

It didn't survive the journey home well

In the afternoon, we caught up with some friends from home via Skype and shared a virtual beer. Being in the UK, their variety and selection of craft beer caused great envy in us, but we did manage a reasonable range from local Cochabamba brewery, Stier.

Stier's beers

From strawberry to honey, via a wheat, an IPA, and a stout brewed with quinoa, the quality was good by Bolivian standards, but lacked the refinement of international beers available in North America, Europe, Australia or New Zealand.

Sipe Sipe / Incarakay

Feeling the need to get out of Cochabamba to see some of the natural environment, we set course today for the nearby town of Sipe Sipe. From there, a walk would take us to the site of Inkarakay - Inca ruins. To be honest, though, it was just an excuse for a long walk.

In Bolivia - well, Cochabamba, at least - there seems to be several ways of getting around: bus, trufi taxi, or micro. The local buses ply length and breadth of the town with the name of the streets they visit in the window. They are colourful blue, white and red Dodge vehicles emblazoned with encouraging slogans such as "Comfort, Elegance, Security".

Travelling in style

A trufi taxi is like a regular taxi cab, only it has an extra row of seats in the rear of the car, so as to fit more people in. Rather than taking a single ride to your destination, you get in and share the ride (and hence cost) with the other passengers, eventually ending up where you want to be after a circuitous fashion.

Trufi taxi

Micros are also collective transport. Comprising mostly Toyota minivans with as many seats in them that will possibly fit, micros journey between towns along known routes and can be hailed at any point along the way. Although small, there are many of these micros and it is not uncommon yo see a stream of three or four going the same way along our street.

Scooter and (behind) micro buses

In fact, conveniently the micro leaving for Quillacollo, the next town and launching point for Sipe Sipe, passes directly outside our door at all times of day. We hopped on this morning and got off at Plaza Bolívar, paying 2.40bs per person for the trip. The square was busy and jammed with micros heading in all directions. After much walking around and asking locals, we finally found one bound for Sipe Sipe and hopped on board.

At Sipe Sipe, we took the only road southwest out of town, which was the uncomplicated route up to the ruins. The road was cobbled with stones for much of its length and was also used by the odd truck. We saw no other walkers and simply followed the road as it steadily ascended from the town's 2600m, up to an elevation of 3260m.

View over Sipe Sipe

With the sun beating down, the 13km to the ruins was more of an endurance test that we had anticipated. The Inca ruins, once we were in sight of them, were rather an anticlimax, but the purpose was for the hike, not the destination.

Some very ruined ruins

The views were stunning overlooking the red rocks and the valley containing Sipe Sipe. We sat and ate our lunch gazing out into the distance before tackling the descent.

The return journey was far easier, but we were glad to let the micro take the strain after the 26km round trip. Our micro from Quillacollo seemed to be full to capacity, with 15 passengers plus two babies. Nevertheless, this didn't stop the driver screeching to a halt for more passengers, who flipped down hitherto unseen seats or simply crouched in the doorway ready to leap out with a cry of "voy a bajar" (I'm getting off).

There was only one dish that today's exertions called for: a large helping of rice with green beans, broccoli, and a fried egg.

Energy food

La Cancha

Having fully recovered from a 24-hour bug of some form over the weekend, I ventured out with K to La Cancha market this morning.

Shopping at La Cancha

The market is where we found the highest concentration of women in traditional dress. All seem to share the same style of pleated skirt and many favour the bowler hat, perched atop the plaited hair, which apparently became fashionable in the 1920s.

Typical Bolivian outfit

La Cancha and the neighbouring market that bleed into it are a mixture of crafts 'hecho a mano' clearly aimed at tourists, fresh produce, and more practical items for the locals, as well as lines of stalls serving up hot food. In addition to regular stalls, much of the produce is hawked from makeshift stands comprising a couple of stools, or simply from a rug spread on the side of the road, or by itinerant vendors that wander the market with their wares in hand.

Beans for sale

Street veg

Carrot juice: one of your five a day

If the items for sale are to voluminous or heavy to carry, and the vendor lacks a static pitch, you may find them wheeling them around in a wheelbarrow.

Err... pigs for sale

There are no shopping bags to be seen here, as everyone carries their purchases (or items for sale) in 'rucksacks' fashioned from a square of colourful cloth, slung over the shoulders and knotted simply at the front. Everyone seems to have the same or similar patterned cloth and many also double as a baby carrier.

Colourful cloth hides a tiny face...

...and strains under the weight of a not-so-tiny person

Most interesting was the food market, as this was still setting up for the day as we arrived. People (mostly women) were scrubbing and peeling vegetables, or tirelessly pounding potatoes, chillies, or tomatoes on a flat mortar. The market was a sensory explosion of boiling pots of soup, blenders juicing fresh fruit, and sellers yelling out the names of the dishes available. Already people lined the benches, tucking into soup and plates of corn and rice.

The hot food stalls serve only savoury meals, but the Bolivians have an incredible sweet tooth. Sugary snacks are much more prevalent than salty ones on every street corner, and grown adults think nothing of picking up a plastic cup filled with jelly and freshly whipped cream to spoon into their mouths on the way home.

Kids party food

Fortunately, the market has the sweet end of the spectrum covered too with an extensive display of cakes.

Cakes arriving

But where will we put them?

That should just about do it

We chose to eat at an unlikely vegetarian stall, which we had stumbled upon several days ago. At "El Maná" comedor vegetariano, we were offered almuerzo completo for a mere 12bs per person. This 'complete lunch' involved a simple salad (hooray, vegetables!), followed by a soup (potatoes, naturally), and a dish of rice and lentils. It was simple, honest food and filled us up for the rest of the day.

Salad

Potato soup

Lentils and rice

Except, of course, we had to try the local alfajores.

Alfajores de manjar blanco

Alfajores are made in many countries in Latin America, and generally comprise a filling of dulce de leche sandwiched between two biscuits. In Bolivia, however, the specialty seems to be a filling of manjar blanco - a blancmange-like vanilla custard that has been thickened so that it holds the incredibly crumbly biscuits to it either side.