Taking a break

For one reason or another, I find myself having to write my latest post about the entire previous week. A grim task lays ahead but at least I´ve at last found a haven of calm where I can gather my thoughts. That place is La Paz.

Following my days in the desert, last Saturday I caught an early bus with Max and Sascha to the town of Tupiza, some seven hours away from Uyuni. The time it took isn´t so important however the experience was.

Starting off by descending into a dried up river bed, we soon enjoyed a break in a small town where the centrepiece was a Cesna plane impaled on a post and then it was the harsh climb up into the mountains. With no tarmac in sight or barriers to halt any possible disasters, we crawled along the dirt track for several hours, squeezing past other buses as they perched on the cliffs edge. A couple of times I dozed off and woke up with a four hundred foot drop staring back up at me. Despite containing no caffeine, this form of sharpening your senses was far more powerful than a cup of coffee.

Happily we made it in one piece and soon found our comfotable hostel in the centre of town. We bought our bus tickets for the Monday morning trip to Potosi and in the evening enjoyed pasta at one of the many Italian restaurants and a panoramic view over the city at sunset.

Sunday was another glorious day in the wild west-esque town of Tupiza, famed for the setting of where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met their fate around a century ago. With this in mind, I set my sights on riding a horse through this rugged and fantastic scenery. Sascha agreed to join me and so for around five pounds, we set off behind our guide into the wild. Along the way we saw peculiar rock formations, cacti and a site which was once used as a refuge by the Incas. I got to ride a horse and wear a cowboy hat so that was job done. In the afternoon I slept then awoke for more excellent Italian food and another sunset stroll.

Although we were at the bus station on Monday morning, our bus wasn´t. It was soon clear that we would never be introduced to one another that morning so instead we rescheduled for the evening bus some ten hours later. In that void of time and space, we lounged by a hotel pool, had a read and a dip and said farewell with another wonderfully executed Italian meal. I kid you not, the food here in Bolivia is actually very good.

By nightfall we and our bus were at last united and on we hopped to endure nine hours of bumps, baby screams and black holes below.

We arrived in Potosi with the sunrise on Tuesday and the world´s highest city did not disappoint. Colonial and largely indigenous, it sits snug amongt a range of mountains some four thousand metres above sea level. Hanging over it, the haunting presence of Cerro Rico, a mountain that´s been mined for the last five hundred years and sadly is still to this day.

After an afternoon sleep in our room, we surfaced for some lunch then visited the city´s museum which centres around the fact that it was South America´s first city to mint a coin. I joined in with this and minted my own coin with a large hammer.

Back at the hostel we watched an excellent documentary film called The Devil´s Miner, a story of two young brothers condemned to a life working in the town´s mines. Some say as many as eight million men have died in Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain) since it was first discovered for it´s wealth and the life expectancy for a worker now lies no higher than forty five. One day before we were due to visit this Bolivian institution, the film made quite an impact on us.

The next day we and another thirty backpackers piled into a ´Greengo Tours´ minbus and headed north towards the mountain. First we were stopped off to pick up our kit and miners hats and then it was to the miners market. Here with instruction from our guide Julio, we bought gifts that we were to give to the miners as we passed through on our third-world tour. On offer were cigarettes, fruit juice, coca leaves (the leaf from which cocaine is controversially produced), a ninety-six percent alcoholic spirit, beer and dynamite. I went for the cigarette/fruit juice/dynamite combination. Sadly, our colourful but clearly weathered guide soon backed out of the tour which seemed to be down to a mix of fear and mental instability.

We joined another guide though and after a brief look at a procerssing plant, we entered the mine.

Inside we were treated to a labyrinth of dark passages, runaway mine trains, toxic dust and a whole load of fear. To see men actually working in these awful conditions just beggared belief. With twenty-four -hour shifts a reality, cave-ins common, alcohol abuse an inevitability and one death every eight days a fact, it´s no wonder the people of Potosi fear this piece of rock so much. Twenty years ago things were slightly different as at least then it was government owned and the miners had some forms of protection. Now the co-operative mines are run soley by the miners themselves and all that separates them from a lucrative success or an untimely death is, as they believe, the will of Tio (the devil of the mines).

Through the clouds of arsenic and asbestos we eventually emerged some three hours later. Outside, the guides put on a display to outline the power of the dynamite sticks we´d just handed over, by carrying out a couple of controlled explosions.

Physically and emotionally shattered we returned to Amigo Hostal for showers although this did little to dislodge the smells we´d inherited. In the evening we refelected greatly and had beers with cheesy nachos.

On Thursday we made a slow start, having late breakfast before catching a lunctime bus to the judicial capital of Bolivia, Sucre.

We landed on schedule and went for a leisurely afternoon wander around the pretty and quiet streets. The whitewashed buildings the city is famed for really do make it stand out against the other places I´ve seen so far in Bolivia. I think mainly because it looks clean.

For supper we went to a supermarket and picked up some cheap salad which we mashed together later on.

Friday is a bit of a guess as I haven´t entered it yet into my diary and my memories are sketchy. The highlight as I remember was a visit to the city museum where the Bolivian declaration of independance was originally signed and a decent portrait of the ´Libertador´, Simon Bolivar, hangs today. We also climbed a bell tower and ate some good cuisine at a German restaurant.

Yesterday I was supposed to be going to Santa Cruz, some twenty hours from where I now sit but with Christmas and New Year looming I thought it best to make a change of plan and come here to La Paz for some festive fun. When it´s over, I shall head to Santa Cruz then amble my way back here before heading north to Peru.

Prior to getting the bus here yesterday, I managed to fit in an intense four-hour Spanish lesson with a friendly native called Isaac. Then it was a bit of lunch before hopping aboard the finest Bolivian bus I´ve seen to date.

And here I am in the countries capital perched over three and a half thousand metres above sea level where the air is thin but the pace of life is thick and fast. During the next couple of weeks I intend to relax a little, scale the world´s most dangerous road, have a party and then leave.

Meanwhile my pictures are still proving a bit of an achilles heal. Hopefully they´ll be ready in time for Christmas.