La Paz (27.07.08 - 29.07.08)

We arrived in La Paz (elevation 3660m) at 5.30am. Once again our 13 hour bus trip was completed in record time – 9.5 hours. They really drive like maniacs here. Since we arrived so early we were forced to shiver away at the bus stop until 7am when we thought it might be likely that hotel receptions would be open. We ended up staying at a place near the hotel we were trying to get a room at (it wasn’t open yet). We didn’t care; all we wanted was a hot shower and a heated place to crash. They could have said it was $200 a night and we wouldn’t have hesitated in saying – thank you we will take it. Thankfully it wasn’t.

We really haven’t done anything much here except shower ten times a day (slight exaggeration), surf the net and catch the elevator downstairs to drop off another bag of laundry. We have wandered down the main tourist strips and passed numerous stalls (the witch market) selling lama foetuses, stuffed toads and armadillos, as well as little packs of Catholic charms. An odd combination of stuff. There are numerous shops selling alpaca and lama beanies, scarves, ponchos, gloves – you name it and they have woven it. There is also silver jewellery galore and silver antique odds and ends (if you can believe they really are antiques and are silver. There seems to be an unlimited supply of them).

Yesterday we passed by a Catholic parade. Apparently the Virgin of Copacabana is visiting La Paz this week before she goes back for the festival there on the 5th of August (unfortunately we will have just passed through there before it starts). There were dancing people dressed in costumes, and a marching band, following a taxi around town which the virgin was mounted on. Fascinating and colourful stuff. We also visited the Museo San Francisco – the 460 year old Cathedral that is the city’s landmark. A rich Potosi miner called Diego Baena y Antipara donated 6000 pesos in 1743 which made it possible to rebuild the cathedral after it had fallen down a few hundred years before in a snow storm. We got to climb up on the roof for some pretty cool views - La Paz’s buildings cling to the side of a canyon and in the distance you can sometimes see snowy Mt Illamani (6402m) in the background. In the evening we dropped by the Coca museum to learn about the sacred leaf. It was really interesting except I don’t remember any of it!

Today we went to the Parque Mirador Laikakota (a very strange, half constructed park with good views of La Paz) to check out the view of Mt Illamani. We could just see it behind the clouds. All in all, I think La Paz is a visually amazing and very ugly city at the same time. I am not sure how else to explain it. At lunch we met a retired, chain smoking, Bolivian civil engineer (Spanish origin) who proceeded to tell us how he lived in Tasmania and worked on the Hydro Electric scheme and also worked in South Africa (he loved the black women), and numerous other places by the sounds of it. He seemed quite dismissive towards the Indians here, saying they should be knocked off the road if they can’t avoid your car. During the La Paz floods last year he happily watched fat Indian women float down the road and he believes that the crocodiles in Australia should be better utilised to control the Aboriginal population in the NT!

Tomorrow we are off to Copacabana and Lake Titicaca.

Salar De Uyuni (24.07.08 - 26.07.08)

We set off for our three day tour of Uyuni’s great salt lake on Thursday morning. Our travel buddies were Emanuel (a Swede) and Clara (from Germany): a young couple who had recently hooked up, Andrew (a US teacher – fluent in Spanish and French) and Will (an 18 year old Bolivian/ German/ American who had a thing for group photos. His family lost everything in Hurricane Katrina). Altogether an enjoyable bunch of people to hang out with over the next couple of days. We all fitted snugly into the four wheel drive (this was good as it was freezing) along with our driver Chriso and his girlfriend Maria, our cook.

Our first stop was the rubbish strewn Cemeterio de Trenes (a graveyard for rusting locomotives 3km out of town). We then crossed over the dazzling white salt plains (they cover an area of approximately 12,000Km squared and used to be an ocean once upon a time) where we saw locals at work digging up the salt and visited a small salt factory. Thankfully everyone in our group understood Spanish and could explain things to us (ignorant Australians who only speak one language) as the tour guide spoke no English. I believe the people here sell about 50kg of salt for $1US – back breaking work. At this place there was a spitting Alpaca who got an Asian girl right in the eye – unfortunately I missed the spectacle. Afterwards we headed over to the salt hotel. When this place was in operation it cost $50US to spend a night in a freezing building where everything except the dunnies was constructed from salt.

Lunch was at Fish Island (supposedly it looks like a fish), an outcrop of land covered in cactuses. It really was beautiful and I can see why it was sacred to the Incas. Following this we stopped at the Devil’s Cave/ Galaxy Cavern – a cave discovered by a local in 2003 that has petrified algae in it. It looks to me like an enterprising Bolivian went crazy with plaster in the cave and constructed it themselves in order to get a few tourist dollars. The cavern next door was the cemetery of the Chullpas (a group of people who existed at some stage in the past) and you could see their remains, including some skulls. An interesting thing about this island was the petrified cactuses. I can’t work them out.

In the evening we stayed in San Pedro which is a small collection of abodes and a dirt soccer field. Our shack was apparently rated four stars. I have no idea how or why. It consisted of a collection of rooms with metal doors containing beds with inadequate blankets. The toilet was outside and there was no heating and no hot water and the power went out at 10pm. I am not sure why someone hasn’t actually built a nice resort with central heating, open fireplaces, and a bar out here. I think a lot of people would pay extra to stay there. At dinner we were harassed by some local kids who played the worst music I have ever heard (I am not sure the noise warrants being called music). I don’t think they actually knew how to play their instruments. We paid them to go away. That night I froze.

Day two, we stopped to take photos of the Volcano Ollague. Our guide said it was ´no activo´ but I saw smoke coming out the top. It was a pretty spectacular view, especially with the moon setting behind it. We then moved on to Cañapa Lagoon. Jon and I went crazy with the photos as this was the first time we saw flamingos. There were only a couple on this lake and no one informed us that at the next lagoon we would see hundreds of them. So all up I think we took a few thousand pics of pink birds. We also saw a family of vicuñas (look like alpacas and lamas) drinking at the waters edge.

All the scenery here is stunning. The mountains (mostly extinct volcanoes) are multi coloured, some with snow on top, and the lakes are partially frozen and reflect amazing colours. When there aren’t salt plains, there are desert sands and rocky outcrops. It looks like the land time forgot. Sometimes you think you are on the moon and other times you expect to see dinosaurs wandering about.

That night we stayed near the Red Lagoon (absolutely breathtakingly beautiful with even more flamingos) in two star accommodation (although it looked no worse than the last place). Everyone we met prior to the tour who had been this way, told us the place was bloody freezing and that they were still cold despite wearing all their clothes and sleeping in a sleeping bag under the blankets provided. Apparently it gets to -20 degrees here. With this prior knowledge Jon and I had stocked up on extra thermals, knee high socks, leg warmers, multiple beanies and thick gloves. I felt I was prepared for the worst and was glad that I had been lugging Emily’s sleeping bag around the world for this moment. I think I am one of the only people that overheated in this place. I woke up at 2am thinking I was going to die of heat stroke. I should have worn all my layers the night before, I might have slept. The young couple in our group made their own heat. There was a bit of doona dancing and heavy breathing happening in the corner of our room throughout the night. Bring on private rooms please!

The following day, we were up at 5.30am and out the door at 6am in order to see the sunrise (I think I nodded off during that period). I opted to stay under the blankets in the car when we drove past the geysers. I did however brave the cold to get changed into bathers and jump into the hot springs. I am glad I did as it was deliciously warm and I could finally feel my toes after two days of numbness. Jon’s hair got icicles in it as he sat defrosting in the pool. Getting out was a different matter – very painful and totally awkward trying to stay modest whilst changing at the edge of a pool full of tourists. However, there was no way I was going to run all the way to the toilets. I think a few people got a nice view of Jon’s lilly white butt.

After our first bath in a couple of days, we set off to the Green Lagoon. It wasn’t as green as it sometimes is due to the lack of wind. Must say, I wasn’t upset it wasn’t windy. Here we posed for our last group shot (one of many due to Will’s strange obsession for group pics). We then drove to the Chile border where Andrew departed us and headed onwards to San Pedro. The rest of us made our way back to the Red Lagoon for lunch. We were joined by a herd of lamas at the water’s edge. After this, it was a 5 hour drive back to Uyuni so we could jump on the 8pm bus to La Paz.
On our return we took some bumpy back roads across the mountain passes. At one point we were forced to stop due to two stationary cars in front of us. Jon used this opportunity as a toilet break. I thought, oh no they are broken down and we are now going to miss our bus as we can’t get around them. Thankfully the cars started. They honked angrily at us to move out of their way, so we reversed to let them pass. As they drove by they gave us some very dirty looks. Turns out they were well known, armed drug runners making a shipment of cocaine to the Chile border. I was very glad when Jon got out of the car he didn’t start taking photos of them. It could have been a different story.

We made it back in time for our bus. All in all it was an amazing trip - such spectacular scenery and such a harsh environment. I don’t want to ever be that cold again. I am definitely not cut out to live in Europe or anywhere it snows or gets below 0 degrees.

Uyuni - The Arse End of the Earth (23.07.08)

Not much to report here. Uyuni was about a 6.5 hour bumpy, dusty bus trip south of Potosi. Thankfully we didn’t break down. However, we were hungry as we only had one packet of crackers to sustain us. This little old lady who was sitting next to us in the aisle (one of the many locals we picked up along the way and shoved in between the seats) looked eagerly at us as we ate our crackers so we offered her some. Instead of taking a couple she had devoured the whole packet in a blink of an eye. I guess she needed them more than us. Jon was toying with the idea of offering her his seat but I refused to sit next to her as she smelt like she hadn’t bathed this year. I argued she was used to the floor and was quite comfortable on her pile of blankets. I am not sure how serious Jon was but I came off looking like the bad person and Jon the chivalrous one. Although, I think Jon was secretly banking on the fact that I would refuse.

Uyuni (elevation 3675m) is the pits. It is barren, dirty and freezing. The only reason you would come here is to get on a tour to the Salar de Uyuni (salt plains) and Lagunas (lakes) and perhaps for Minute Man Pizza (run by an American who for the sake of love lives here. I wouldn’t) – the best pizza in South America.

We met some people on the bus so we joined with them to find a tour (you supposedly get better deals if you form a group first). They wanted to stay in a cheaper hostel so we ended up at the HI hostel which might as well have been a freezer. For just over $10 (expensive for Bolivia), Jon and I lay awake on saggy beds in rooms kept at a refreshing 2 degrees. The one toilet for the whole floor didn’t flush. In the morning we were allowed our one shower (the lady refused to let us have a shower the night before) – eight seconds of lukewarm water. The price didn’t even include breakfast. However, this place was not so bad compared to what was to come or at least it prepared us for the two nights ahead of us.

Going Underground - Cerro Rico Silver Mines (22.07.08)

Jon chewing coca leaves.

They worship the devil underground and Mary aboveground.

Karyn´s almost had enough.

A miner at work - these were not tourist mines.

Boms Away! Burning wick with gelignite and ammonium nitrate - an explosive bang!

Potosi was founded in 1545 following the discovery of Silver deposits in the mountains surrounding Potosi proving to be the world most lucrative. In the early days the ore was reportedly 85% pure silver compared to current 15%. Millions of indigenous people and imported African slaves were conscripted to work in the mines in appalling conditions. Today there is about 15000 Bolivian miners each of whom operates as a cooperative - self employed and selling their ore to the government who sells it on mass to Chile.

Our mine-tour started at the ‘miner’s market’. We donned miner’s-wear (not that most of them wear it) and bought gifts for the miners at hyper-inflated prices (gifts included gelignite, ammonium nitrate, a detonator, wick, coca leaves and soft-drink). There is no restriction on who can buy explosives; as long as you have $4 (per set), you can buy as much as you like. Our tour guide (can't remember his name so I'll call him 'TG') told us that prior to him turning 13 (and being old enough to work in the mines) it was his job to buy the explosives every day and run it up to his father.

From the miner’s market we went to the back-yard silver-ore refining shed. There the silver-ore is crushed and mixed with a toxic soup of copper-nitrate, calcium and arsenic, increasing purity to 85%. From the refining shed we droved further up the mountain (to about 4600m) to the entrance of the mine. TG told us there were 3 levels to the mine; the entrance level and two levels below that. About 75 meters into the mountain we stopped at the ‘miner’s-tea-room’ and ‘devil’s chapel’. Typically the devil is worshipped underground and Catholicism practiced (Mary worshipped) above ground. The silver and the mountain is believed to belong to the devil, hence the miner’s make offerings to the devil (similar to the Pachamama – ie. the shit at the devil’s feet in the pic) in exchange for mining his ore.

From the devil’s tea room we trudged deeper into the mountain reaching the top of the descent to the 2nd level. At this point the four girls in our group were keenly reminded of their mortality (Karyn thought she was going to die and one other girl burst into floods of tears) and wisely decided to turn back leaving the three boys to test fate further. We slid on our bums down a dusty shoot to the 2nd level passing some miners shovelling freshly exploded rock into big leather carry bags (the bags then winched up a shaft to the top level where they were loaded into rail-carts). From there we crawled on hands and knees down to the 3rd level where TG told us we had to descend further to the 4th level (there’s a 4th level?!?). Entrance to the 4th level was via a makeshift timber ladder descending about 15-20meters down a narrow (back scraping on rock-wall) shaft. At the bottom was a lone miner working with a mallet and iron rod, carving a hole in which to lodge his stick of gelignite. We gave him a few sticks of explosives (asking that he not use them until we had well and truly left), each had a sip of his corn-whiskey and posed for a photo pretending to work. Then we started our crawl back to the 1st level fighting choking dust, claustrophobia and altitude related breathlessness.

On escaping the mines TG took great delight in the gelignite demonstration. Despite the protestations of our group he lit the wicks and insisted we each have a photo while holding the burning dynamite. After 45 long seconds of photographs TG took both sticks and ‘ran like hell’ planting the sticks about 100m away then sprinting on further. He looked like Coyote from Roadrunner as he sprinted as fast as his short Indian legs could carry him before the thunderous bang of exploding dynamite.

TG gave us the morbid casualty stats after the tour (he had declined to provide this info before the tour as requested by Karyn).

1. About 40 miner’s die per year in Potosi mines (about 15000 men and children working in mines at any time).

2. Life expectancy of miner’s is about 30-40 years post starting work in mines. Hence average life span is about 50-years (most miners start work 10-15 yrs of age). Most miners die from breathing problems.

3. Miner’s make 2000 bv (AU$300) in a good month and 1000bv in a bad month.

4. TG wants to break centuries of family tradition and not take his son out of school to work with him in the mines from age 13.

P.S. TG pocketed most of our miner’s gifts (dynamite) for himself. TG still works in the mines during the tourism low-season.

Potosi (21.07.08 - 22.07.08)

Hmmm, What to say about this place... not much, except it is quite cold and windy. The town appears to be a giant rubbish tip or as Bill Bryson says, perhaps all the residents are celebrating by putting on a festival of litter. Anyway, you find yourself constantly ducking and swerving to avoid the plastic bags, wrappers, bottles and occassional nappy that the gusts of wind send hurtling towards you. Meanwhile you have to watch your step or you find yourself skiddíng in human excretement that has been left on the pavements (and we thought it was dogs till I saw a girl having a squat). So if you don't step in shit you could find yourself coping a mouthful of it!

We left Sucre by bus and travelled the 3 hours uphill to Potosi on Monday morning. Potosi is 4060 metres high, making it one of the world's highest, if not the highest, city. We checked into our hostel, the Koala Den (we were feeling a bit homesick so Koalas struck a chord with us... not really, it was recommended). Unsurprisingly, they had not checked our internet reservation and so we were not in our matrimonial habitacion with bano privado and cable tv (I really want to watch a movie in the comfort of my nice warm bed) but found ourselves on bunkbeds in our own room right next to the internet area. While sitting on the toilet we could see the outlines of people typing their emails so I am presuming they could see the shadow of us taking a dump. If they couldn't see us they could definatly hear us, we had gastro!

We wandered around town very slowly as I was feeling a bit weird from the altitude. We managed to get roped into viewing the Museo and Convento de Santa Teresa by a vary convincing ticket sales woman who assured us it was beautiful and if we didn't agree we could have our money back. Sounded reasonable. It was surprising very intersting, at least to me. We had a fantastic english speaking guide who showed us around the convent and told us what it would have been like in colonial times. Today the 5 nuns (most from Bolivia but i think one might be Brazilian) live next door but in the 16 or 1700s there were 21 spots for wealthy Spanish women (usually the 2nd daughter, so that would be you Christy) to be sold to the Church. They were often exchanged for religious paitings and crockery (their dowry). Once they became Brides of Christ they never saw the outside world again. They were even buried under the floor in the room they heard the sermons from the church in (they actually weren't allowed in the church). Part way through this tour I started feeling really ill (it seems I get gastro from the altitude) so we had to excuse ourselves and there ended our first day in Potosi.

The next morning we found the local markets and stocked up on thermals for our upcoming tour to Salar de Uyuni where I believe I might die from hypothermia (it gets to - 20 degrees there. I am cold at 15 degrees). We also wandered around and took some pics of the colonial architecture on offer and the various churches, including climbing up the Jesuites Church (1707) to take some snaps of the city. Facinating stuff. I guess the main reason we are here, apart from that it is on route to Uyuni, is for the mine tours.

Tarabuco Market (20.07.08)

Tarabuco is a small indigenous village about 65km (or a 1.5 hour bus ride) from Sucre. Every Sunday they hold a market which sells lots of colourful weavings, lama wool gloves, beannies and scarves and ponchos in any colour or pattern you can imagine. Tourist buses offload hordes of tourists (including us) who invade the town, buying up souvenirs by the armfulls, and then jump back on the buses at 1.30pm never to return again.

Our first stop was to find breakfast as no where was open back in Sucre before 8.30am. In fact, many restaurants and virtually no shops open on Sundays in this part of the world. The only people who seem to work on the Sabbath are beggars and everyone in the village of Tarabuco.

After fuelling up we set off to scope out the wares on offer. I am trying really hard not to buy anything just yet as I will have to lug it around for the next few months. Therefore, we only bought two beanies, one pair of gloves, 7 postcards and a traditional hat to add to my collection of ethnic costumes (I need Emily to have another big bash and this time I will come as a Bolivian). We also had to purchase some photographs of locals. No one posed willingly, so most snaps were taken surrepticiously on the street corner. However, some enterprising locals offered to pose for cash when it became apparent we weren't going to buy their weavings they were trying to flog to us. So, all the close up shots above or where people are actually looking at the camera were bought, often for double the original price as Jon also wanted to take pics to and therefore they demanded money from him as well.

I loved the fact that all the locals here were wearing their traditional clothes and beaded hats. It made for a very colourful scene. Another interesting thing about this place is that it has the most disgusting statue I have ever seen in the main plaza. It depicts a Bolivian man ripping the bleeding heart out of a Spanish soldier and holding it above his head. It is really gruesome. I took a photo of it but forgot to upload it.

Sucre and Surrounds (18.07.08 - 19.07.08)

Sucre is our first stop in the Andes. About 250km (atcf) south west of Santa Cruz, it took us all night because the roads are so windy and not sealed. Sucre is about 2700m above sea level making it the highest place we’ve visited so far.

Sucre has a rich colonial heritage having been founded in 1538 as the Spanish capital of the Charcas. It’s a thoroughfare for tourists but a stand-alone attraction in itself. It has colorful indigenous markets, bright white-washed buildings, decorative archways, quaint doorways, rooftops of Spanish terracotta tiles and many churches.

We were both feeling sick Bolivian-style (bus weary, sleep deprived, gastro affected, fluey and possibly a wee altitude sick) and desperate to catch up on sleep. After an awkward (no Espanio, no Ingles) hotel check-in involving much sign language, some drawing of hieroglyphics, and eventually consulting our Spanish phrase book – ‘bano privado’ and ‘habitacion matrimony’ – we bunked down for the rest of the morning.

Post siesta we at late lunch at Joyride café – gringo café owned by a Dutchman – and headed to ‘Museo de arte Indigena’, a gallery showcasing the best of indigenous art, costume, musical instruments and handicrafts (probably much like Indigenous art galleries in Australia though I´ve never been). It had displays of Candelaria, Potelo and Tarabuco weaving. We saw weavers in action and learnt it takes them +/- 3 months to complete a single ½ Sq meter weave – thrilling stuff! Weaving has changed very little in the past 500-1000 years until the early 1990s. Since then they have had multiple ‘weaver’s revolutions’ each with distinct changes in subject matter and style. We didn’t hear much about those who instigated the ‘weaver’s revolutions’ but have to say we both much preferred the contemporary-post-revolutions-weaves (Escher type designs) than those prior (rainbows etc).

Also of note was more Catholic/Indigenous-beliefs and customs hybrid. To attempt an explanation; many of the local indigenous populace have alters called ‘Pachamamas’, special stones (random rocks) called ‘virgin stones’ that they ordain with gifts of alcohol, coca leaves and lama fetuses. Somehow a bastardization of Catholic mass figures into this spectacle also, purpose being to bring good luck to the weaving and no doubt hopefully inspire the next weaver’s revolution. Tempted but too confused to buy any weavings or virgin rocks, we called it a day and headed back to ‘Joyride’ to sample a little more western cuisine.

Saturday started with a visit to ‘de la Liberatad’ (liberation museum), an ornate house-cum-museum where the Bolivian declaration of independence was signed in 1825. The highlight of this visit was escaping unhindered a pack of feral 10-year-old boys who were following us around the entire museum looking very suspicious. We became distrustful of their intentions firstly by them just being there (10-year-old boys visiting museums on their own?!?); and secondly by their loitering around particularly mundane exhibits (pretending to look interested very badly) whenever they noticed us being aware of them. Karyn growled at them in English but they seemed to understand well enough.

Energized by the enthralling ‘de la Liberatad’ we took a very slow walk up the hill from central Sucre to get a good city view from ‘Iglesia de la Recoletta’. Climbing up hills to get a better view was becoming a little routine this holiday, hence we were pleased by the extra challenge introduced by altitude (though it may still be the aftereffects of Argentinean steak).

In the afternoon we took a tour (the tour group consisted of Karyn and myself) to the Indigenous village of ‘Jatua Yampara’, about a ½ hour drive from Sucre. ‘Jatua Yampara’ is a village consisting of 10-20 families all living in mud brick houses. 1st stop was calling in on an 89-year-old widow (who looks 300+++) called Christina. Perchance we had called during her bath-time and caught her topless and on her knees, washing her hair, head in a trough in the middle of the court-yard. Karyn and I were more embarrassed than she was and regretfully declined to take a photo despite our tour-guide’s encouragement. Christina lives alone with her dog, cat and several chickens. She has no running water or power. Her community helps her grow corn and potatoes in the wet-season, enough to get her through the dry winter – her living room floor is covered with piles of potatoes and grain.

Most of the homes are like Christina’s, having a central dusty courtyard surrounded by a few small rooms – a very small kitchen (2x1meter dirt floored room with a fire in the corner) and a living room (not sure of the local word) used for everything else – sleeping, eating, and storing all food, farming produce and clothes.

We stopped by another old chap and then met the village chief after feeding the village lamas. The chief had a number of enterprises including four small guest houses (in case he can convince any visiting tourists to stay a while – 14 Dutch tourists are staying next month), a ‘chicheria’ or native bar serving no alcohol but instead a corn-brew called ‘chicha’ (reluctantly accepted for tasting – sweet with a bitter bite), lamas for wool and some women weaving their wears (all photo-shy). The chief also has a museum; a few huts dedicated to exhibiting different grains, musical instruments and common gifts to the ‘Pachamamas’ (including lama fetuses). Finally the chief showed us his catholic chapel that is on special occasion visited by a priest, no doubt quite a coup for the chief.