Loopy La Paz

After the horror of Potosi, we headed to Sucre to do absolutely nothing. We went for lunch. We went for dinner. We went to the pub. It was delightful. Sucre is a beautiful city, all grand white buildings, nice sunny parks and cute plazas but there's not very much to do, which suited me just fine.

The calm didn't last for long. Heading up to the Bolivian capital La Paz for the Easter weekend, we arrived at what is the highest capital city on Earth. In many ways. La Paz is a vortex of weirdness that sucks you in, chews you up like a mushy ball of coca leaves and spits you out feeling half the person you once were. I still can't really decide if I loved it or hated it, but I know I had a fucking great time.

So the weirdness begins. Greeted by the Good Friday parade through the city, a cross between the Catholic Church, Hogwarts and the KKK, we took it easy after our dizzyingly high altitude, bumpy overnight bus and opted for a quick look at the San Pedro Prison (of Marching Powder fame, which I still haven't read but am scouring every book exchange for) and a curry at the world's "highest" curry house. After a visit to the cute little Coca Museum, explaining how coca is used and abused in Bolivia, we visited the Witches Market. In my head I kind of expected it to be a big expanse of Halloween tat, with Grotbags stood there in an Albert Square puffer jacket and bumbag, but it was just a couple of shops hidden away, filled with talismans and souvenirs, and a vast array of dried llama foetuses. Apparently they bring good luck to new homeowners. Poor pregnant llama mommas.

After a late night / early morning, we headed to the Cholitas lucha libre wrestling show, undoubtedly one of the weirdest things I've ever seen in the world, never mind La Paz. Men fighting men. Men fighting women. Women and Men fighting Men and Women. Man gets crucified. Literally. Referee beats up woman. Audience throw chairs at referee. Woman gets grape in eye. Werewolf fights Mummy. Mummy sets fire to Werewolf. Gringos get asked to leave.

I went to bed on Easter Sunday with my mind in tatters. 

So an early morning rise on Monday for a gentle, pleasure-filled cycle down El Camino de la Muerte, Death Road. Yes, the World's Most Dangerous Road, the one Jeremy Clarkson nearly drove off in Top Gear. I resisted doing the obligatory "how many tourists die per year at *insert Bolivian tourist attraction here*" Google search, but apparently at this one its 200. With vomit inducing 600m drops to the side of this ridiculous dirt track, I kept missing the group photos because I was going so slowly. Hey, you don't fuck around on a road that's named after Death itself. However I have to say it was by far one of the best things I've ever done, despite me protesting since Mendoza that there was no way in hell I was going to do it. After we made it alive to the end, got the t-shirt and had the buffet lunch by the pool at the bottom in the tropical valley, we made the long 3 hour journey back by car through the clouds (only this time on the new tarmaced road they built in 2006 as an alternative to that other snaking suicide motorway of hell).

The rest of La Paz is a bit of a blur I'm afraid but I'll leave it your imagination. I can however confirm there were no midgets involved.

We escaped La Paz with our sanity just about in tact, to arrive at the town of Copacabana on the banks of Lake Titicaca for some much needed R&R. The silence was almost deafening, but it was very beautiful and calming and a great spot for some relaxation and amazing trout caught fresh from the lake. We took a day trip to Isla del Sol, lacking much of the energy we could have done with to attempt the whole trek from the North to the South of the island, and after a couple of days headed over the border into Peru.

But then it all sort of went a bit wrong. I'm afraid to say the dreaded bronny-c bronchitis is an international phenomenon, and after 3 days of feeling totally wretched, I was forced to cancel my trek to Machu Pichu, something I'd been looking forward to for ages. But it's okay! I've had a week in bed, some horse strength Peruvian antibiotics which I'm pretty sure aren't FDA approved and a loooot of time on my hands (hence blogging and photo uploading overdrive). I'm taking the train with the grannies tomorrow to Aguas Calientes and will lay my eyes on the ruins on Saturday. It's a different experience but I'm embracing it and have packed my finest alpacas, recharged my batteries and am raring to go.

The Cooperative Mines of Potosi

I've never really thought twice about mines. The image totally bored me, reminded me a bit of Brassed Off, and oh how I loathe Northern British comedies. Living a sheltered city life, who honestly cared?

After the fantastic Uyuni tour, I decided to follow on to Potosi, not really sure what to expect. It sounds totally cheesy to write that you've never had such a moving, mind-bending experience, but I'm not really sure how else to describe it.

For 10GBP, (15% of which goes to the miners), we booked on the early morning tour of the Cooperative Mine, starting with a visit to the miners market. Prancing round town like the Seven Dwarves in our ridiculous helmets, pantaloons and wellies, we were shown to the dynamite shop, and bought coca leaves, cigarettes and drinks as presents for the miners we might meet underground. All very touristy and jovial.

As we were shown around the processing plant, it all became a bit more real. This place was all rickety staircases, poisonous materials on show and grotty machines. Didn't exactly feel like we were going to bump into the Health and Safety Officer anytime soon. The ascent up the side of the mountain was precarious, and we pulled up to the entrance.

Claustrophobia and nerves began to set in. The ground underfoot was just muddy puddles and the tunnel became more narrow with each step. We began to cough and sweat. The conditions in the mine, it became apparent, were appalling. We'd only been in there 5 minutes and already it felt horrifically nightmarish.

As we descended each level, our guide (a local former miner, who described himself as 'lucky' for having learnt English and got a job as a tour guide - I soon saw why), told us to 'keep positive'. As he pointed to the next entrance, I considered leaving the mine. It felt wrong and I was uneasy. But I perservered, sliding down a hole not much wider than the human body. It was here that we had our first encounter with the miners. They were really friendly, answering our questions in Quechua, translated by our guide. We gave them coca and cigarettes and carried on.

Deeper and deeper, hotter and hotter. It was 40 degrees. The air was thin, the 'ceiling' lined with natural asbestos and the ground unsteady. We met a group of 10 miners, doing overtime on a Sunday to strengthen the supports in the mine. They were grateful for the coca leaves, which they chew all day, foregoing food in case they ingest toxic chemicals. We met the Tio, a character not unlike the Devil to whom the miners make offerings to appease the fact they are digging out his mountain. They figure it's he who controls who lives and who dies, and who finds the minerals. The mine, for them, is that close to Hell.

We never made it to the 4th level. Backtracking along the way we'd come in, our pace quickened as it became apparent we were all totally desperate to get out. Seeing the exit truly gave new meaning to there being a light at the end of the tunnel.

Refusing to answer the question of how many people had died in the mine in the last year while we were 400m down, our guide later told us it was 17 in the last year. Reading further into it, since the mine opened in the 16th century, it's 8 million.

Emerging into the hot sun, exhausted and drained after only 2 hours, I think we all had a little cry on the bus home. Some of the miners told us they`d worked down there for almost 20 years, but many die within 15 years of entering, from silicosis, a form of pneumonia caused by exposure to the countless noxious chemicals down there. It´s a tragic inevitability. The whole thing was really an overwhelming experience and one I know I can never forget.

If you have a minute, I implore you to look up the movie The Devil's Miner, which we later watched in Sucre. It follows the story of a miner who's already worked the mines for 4 years. He works daily in these dreadful conditions to support his family. In fact, before we went in, our guide told us by the time we came out we'd love our jobs. He was right.

When the film was made, that miner was just 14 years old.

Salt.. And people eating people.. And Magic Flamingoes.. And Giant Cinderella.. Etc.

The border crossing into Bolivia was absurd. I mean, actually ridiculous. The border police was literally a wily fox scuttling around outside and the immigration office no bigger than a garden shed. The guy didn't even look at the photo page of my passport.

LOVE IT.

We took the 3 day tour from San Pedro to arrive into Uyuni, the final destination being the famous Salt Flats, the Salar de Uyuni. What I hadn't really anticipated was how stunning the journey there would be. I can sit here and bore you with hyperbolic descriptions of magical flamingo lagoons, lunar landscapes made out of salt, geysers gushing up at howevermany degrees, but I'll just let the photos do the talking. It was totally. out. of. this. world.

The second day of the tour I wondered how much more National Geographic moments I could possibly take. Our moody / lunatic driver was just beginning to grate but we stopped in the weird town of Culpina K for the night, played cards, drank beer and even stopped by at the local store - someone's actual front room. It was a lot of fun.

Before the Salt Flats, more weirdness, in the shape of the Train Graveyard just outside Uyuni. I'm still not quite sure what this was, but it was all very post apocalyptic and creepy. Apart from the swings and see-saw which were clearly hilarious.

So here they are, in all their glory. One of the top things I was most excited about in South America, and they didn't disappoint. We covered our eyes until we were speeding in the middle of this salty desert of nothingness.

 

Words honestly can't describe.


But I'll try. 


Leave the country. Get on a plane to Bolivia. COME HERE! 


Easy! :-)