The bus from Potosi to Sucre takes just over 3 hours and costs 15 Bolivianos (almost $1). A share taxi from Potosi to Sucre takes 1.5 hours and costs 30 Bolivianos. If you have been to Bolivia you do not have to do the math to know that the share taxi is a sweet deal. A no-brainer. Of course to save 6 Bolivianos we walked from our hostel down to the share taxi stand, about a mile, downhill. We arrived at the taxi stand to be assaulted with potential rides. While there are many taxis servicing this rout the price is non-negotiable. This does not mean you just hop in any old car and go, far from it. First you want to scope out the vehicle to make sure it is safe. Then you need to determine how many will be required for departure-the taxis only leave when they have a full load-and how close they are to filling those seats. Fortunately for us there was a nice ride with 2 seats available ready to leave immediately.
We hopped in and away we went. The ride between Potosi and Sucre is pleasant as you drop out of the high Andes to the lower elevations near Sucre. The terrain changes from bleak high desert to greener cloud forest mountains and volcanos with spectacular valleys and rivers. Sucre is located at 2800 M above sea level and promised to be a relief from the high altitudes of Potosi, Uyuni, and Tupiza. Sucre is the constitutional capital of Bolivia and is also home to the Supreme Court (Corte Suprema de Justicia). With its whitewashed colonial buildings (earning the city the nickname "la ciudad blanca" or "the white city") magnificant cathedrals, and clean green parks and plazas most Bolivians consider Sucre to be Bolivia's most beautiful city. We were arriving the day before Sucre's formal independence day celebrations but the party had already started. Our taxi driver worked his way through the one way street maze-common to all South American cities-despite all the road closures and crowds of celebrants. The hostel we were trying for was located 2 blocks from the central plaza and thus the center of celebratory activity. We managed to get to our hostel and we were happy to take a sunny room on the third floor for just 60 Bolivianos a night. The only problem was that our bathroom was compartido or shared and we had to walk a ways to get to the facilities, not to big of a problem. We settled into our new digs and decided to have a wonder in search of some eats and a walk about of Bolivia's "most beautiful" city. By the time we left our hostel the streets were filling up with throngs of people everywhere. We made our way up to the central plaza and cruised the crowds for a bit before ducking into a Chinese food joint for lunch. After our meal we hit the clogged streets again. There were all kinds of folks parading about in their finest military duds and it was becoming difficult just to walk so we decided to head in doors until the place calmed down. Phat chance. By 6pm the place whole city was hopping, the street in front of our hostel was closed and there was some important speech and spectacle taking place on a bandstand erected there. We headed back to the plaza where people continued to march around the plaza. We ducked into a cafe for a drink-we had earned it. Even after a few beers the city was still popping off as we looked for a dinner meal. At about 9pm we decided we had enough of fighting the crowds for one day and retired to our hostel where we hung out listening to the music and watching the fireworks exploding int the sky above us. What a day to arrive.
The next day things got under way very early. We planned to visit the Casa de la Libertad (House of liberty) a museum where the contitution of Bolivia was drawn up but our hopes were quickly dashed. The Casa is on the plaza which was even more full than the day before. There were more police and lots of military marching everywhere in the city. There were people in suits and bands and all kinds of parading madness. We stuggled through the crowds until we were both tired of pushing and shoving. I told Mo to head back to the hostel to get out of the circus. I like parades for about five minutes. I like large crowds for about five seconds, it was a lethal combination. What the hell was all the fuss. Then, as we were walking back towards our hostel against a raging sea of humanity I saw him. Sure as shit should be brown there was Evo Morales the newly elected president of Bolivia. Evo is the first native American to be elected president of any country anywhere on earth. He is a former cocoa farmer and labor organizer. Evo leans left on the South American socialist political front and is the lap dog of Venezuelan president Victor Chavez, the Fidel Castro of South America. Most recently Evo (about a month earlier) Evo had socialized Bolivias substantial petroleum reserves-pissing off the Bush administration along with his neighbors (and heavy investors) Brasil and Argentina-Chavez loved it and hailed it as a victory over the imperialist capitalist pigs to the North. Oh what a tangled web we weave. Anyway, not 20 feet away from me is little Evo with a big grin on his face, in town to celebrate. Coolio. I thought there were lots of military and police around but not nearly as many that would proceed a showing by a senator in the US. After about 2 minutes Evo continued on his route to the podium where he delivered what I am sure was an awe inspiring speech. I wouldn't know not because my Spanish is so bad but because we got the hell out of there after he passed. The day was pretty much a wash, we were unable to see anything other than people on parade (boring). That night Amy got the Bolivian belly and the next morning we had to switch to a room with private bath (100 Bolivianos). I spent the day nursing Mo along and we even managed to get out for a bit to see the beautiful city but Amy was really not feeling it. The next day I went for a wonder about the city to check out some of the museums and the view from the top of the hill (spectacular) while Mo slept and sat on the toilet. Our 4th day in Sucre had us leaving town to visit a near by market-Mo willing of course. Amy was up to the challenge and we rode out to the village where they hold the market. It was really unnecessary, the market while colorful was typical of just about every third world market and believe me I have seen enough. Floating, sitting, stinking, they all have the same shit. No I am not jaded. Anyway, we made a few minor purchases and then made our way back to Sucre.
The city was so nice and pleasant, our hostel was so swell, and Amy was finally feeling better that we decided to spend another day in Sucre this time paying a visit to the Dinosoar tracks located 10 K outside the city. It was really cool to check out these old footprints discovered at a cement making facility. We spent the rest of the day wondering the streets of town and arranging an overnight bus North all the way to La Paz where we planned to base ourselves for the final 15 days of our world travels. Sucre was a really cool city and we wished we could head out further East to Santa Cruz but our time was running short and there were things we wanted to do near La Paz that would just make life simpler-or so we thought. I will carry on with that story next.
The Tupiza Tours 4-day, 3-night journey through the surreal terrain of southwest Bolivia revived my waning adventure travel enthusiasm. Over 2-years on the road becomes a bit weary at times and in the weeks preceeding the tour of the Uyuni region I was on the verge of burning out both mentally and physically. After visiting the remote villages, lagunas, deserts, and rock formations I felt spiritually rejuvenated. I got to play football at 4300 M above sea level and I got to see other-worldly landscapes. Where else but Bolivia could this be possible? Back in the civilized world-the private confines of our hostal room in Uyuni-I once again picked up the Bolivian Bible (Lonely Planet Guide Book) ready to pack my final 4 weeks of travel with experiences like our most recent tour.
However good I was feeling mentally, I was still physically aching with a lingering soar throat and sinus headache. That is how MoWenck found ourselves couped up in our room after just a few beers with Johnny and Birgitta (before they left on a night bus) and a pizza with Taylor and Daniel, who, like MoWenck were unsure of their next destination and were traveling on limited, if not borrowed, time. Besides, Uyuni is a craptacular village that offers the tourist very little in the way of atmosphere or attractions. Despite this fact, gringos flock to Uyuni to join tours of the beautiful southwest Bolivian countryside. The main drag in town offers much in the way of fly-by-the-night tour agencies and a handful of pizza/pub joints all aimed at the gringo tourist dollars. Not what I was looking for. So after a few games of shithead with Taylor and Daniel Amy and I went back to our room to contemplate our future adventures. That night we decided to catch a bus early the next morning to the city of Potosi where the LP suggested there would be plenty to keep any adventure traveler busy for a few days. Righto!
Early the next morning (1000) we found our way down to the bus stop to hop our ride to Potosi about 4 hours away. The bus was typically Bolivian with uncomfortable seats cramming us in like sardines but at least the driver was sober-I think. After about 2 hours the bus pulled into a tiny little village where we were told there would be a 15 minute stop to eat and hit the lavatory. Swell. Everyone cleared off the bus and all the Bolivians headed straight for the only restaurant in town. The gringos congregated confused. The only restaurant was a hole in the wall locals joint, where was the Burger King or the tourist oriented eats? "No where, it's Bolivia you jackasses" I thought to myself as Amy ventured into the restaurant. I quickly joined her at a shared table and we ordered the lunch special for $2 (15 Bolivianos). It came with soup, bread, meat and potatos and salsa-what a deal. The other gringos saw what was going down but several English subjects decided they would rather starve than eat at the locals restaurant and so only one brave blond woman joined in. We helped her get an order in and proceeded to enjoy our tasty hot meal. I figured what the hell, the restaurant is the only place open, they know when the bus is scheduled to come through town, they have a pretty high turn over. Conclusion: the food must be safe to eat. Amy and I finished eating in time to have a toilet break before our 15 minutes was up. The restaurant did not have restrooms so we had to visit another local business and pay to wee-spreading the wealth I suppose. Of course the toilets were dark and dank but they did the trick for 50 centivos (about $0.15). Then it was back on the bus for the climb up to Potosi.
That's right a climb, at almost 4000 M above sea level Potosi claims to be the highest city in the world. Potosi is not just some tiny Bolivian village it is a city of 115000 inhabitants. Located at such an elevation and surrounded by bleak high desert terrain one might wonder why the hell there is a city here at all. Well, the answer is simple (isn't it always?): silver. The city is nestled at the base of Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain) home to one of the world's greatest silver ores ever discovered. A mining village was established here by the Spanish in the middle of the 16th century. Potosi quickly became the largest city in South America (200000) and eventually laid claim to "richest city" in the world. Indeed most of all Spanish silver came from Potosi-so much that the Spaniards built a mint in the city. The Spaniards inslaved the local Indian population to extract the silver from the mines. The natives were forced to work under extreme conditions by their colonial masters-sometimes working shifts of up to 48 hours without food or water* and often spending months at a time under ground-killing tens of thousands of natives. By the start of the 19th century the silver ore was depleted and the miners focus switched to tin an ore that was large but one that could never match the riches of the silver. Potosi began an economic decline in affluence and influence. Today Bolivians still mine the mountain for tin and silver, among a couple of other ores, but the glory days of the past are long gone. The mines of the mountain are collectively owned by the miners but working conditions have barely improved: the average life expectancy of a Potosi miner is 40 years with most dieing of silicosis long before then. Of course, conditions are always improving mostly due to tourist dollars generated by mine tours. The tours have resulted in yet another way for the miners to make money off the mountain while at the same time demanding that safety equipment and engineering be employed-all to the miners benefit.
We pulled into the city in the early afternoon and an hour later we had secured a comfortable room at a locals favorite hostel. With our lodging for the night taken care of we set out to explore the bustling streets of the once wealthy city. The one time economic health and wealth of the city is evident almost immediately in the architecture of the city. Walking the busy streets of the old city brings the tourist past many large colonial homes from centuries past. The mint building, La Casa de la Moneda, built in 1672 is a spectacular display of of colonial architecture. As are the cathedral and many of the 60 or so churches that still stand in Potosi. The economic decline of the city is also noticeable from the delapidation of the above mentioned structures to the failing infastructure: broken sidewalks and potholed streets, dysfunctional stoplights and sewers. Life in Potosi can not be easy. Again, the gringos flock to Potosi to see the remains of the mint (now a museum) and maybe take a tour of the mines. That was exactly what we intended to do.
We visited with a few of the local tour operators and settled on the Koala Tours $10-5 hour mine tour-it came recommended by other travelers-and signed up for an afternoon tour. I was again feeling the effects of the altitude combined with my soar throat but I was also determined to join the tour. Everyone I spoke to said the mine tour was one of the weirdest, hardest things they had done in Bolivia, and in my short time in country I already realized that was saying a lot. There were 12 of us on the tour and after acquiring the required safety gear we paid a visit to the miners market where we needed to pick up "gifts" to give to the miners we would meet under ground. It was also the place that everyone in our group opted to buy dust masks (a recommended and invalueable purchase even though they only charge 6 Bolivianos). At one store our tour guide explained how the sale of dynomite was not regulated in Bolivia (not just Potosi) and our group proceeded to buy about 10 completos (a completo is the dynomite, the detonator, and some plastics to give it all a little kick). Part of the tour includes blowing up your own dynomite! We also bought bottles of water and coke to give to the hard working miners. Our tour guide, a former miner himself who started in the mines when he was just 12 years old, also took this opportunity to introduce us to the miners favorite Friday beverage: a 1 liter bottle of 96% alcohol. That's rubbing alcohol to you and me. On Fridays 2 or 3 miners will share a bottle but not before making an offering to Patchi Mama (Mother Earth) and Tio (literally uncle but in this case referring to the underworld god, lord of the mines). Our guide was kind enough to allow us all a cap full of this hideous alcohol before we set sail for the mine. We arrived in time to see the morning tour group come out of the earth. They looked disheveled and out of breath-the mountain is above 4300 M and there are no elevators in these mine shafts-and their half-hearted smiles showed dirty dusty black teeth from the soot encountered underground. Thank goodness I bought a dust mask. Before we headed into the mine we got to have fun with dynomite. Our guides helped us to put together a few demonstrative completos and then, without warning, lit the fuses and started passing them around to the tourist in the craziest game of "hot potato" you ever saw. Gringos stumbled to pull their cameras out and snap photos with lit sticks dynomite in their hands and "holy shit!" smiles on their faces. We left our camera at home for this one and I would not have touched the lit sticks of dynomite for all the silver in Cerro Rico. I did ask the guide how long we had until detonation and he responded "about 3 to 5 minutes." I dropped an F-bomb and said, "what do you mean, 'about' 3 to 5 minutes?' there is lots of room for error in that estimation." He just smiled and walked away. Nucking Futz! Eventually a couple of the mine minions took the lit completos and ran down the hill where they "expertly" placed the completos just before the ground shattering explosions went off. Damn! This aint your every day North American tour, we just blew shit up! With little time to recover from the dynomite display we were quickly whisked off into the mine before anyone got cold feet.
Like I said, there are no elevators and hardly any moving parts in the mine so we had to walk in. It was a narrow low ceiling shaft that we walked down and sometimes ran to avoid the careening mining carts. About 1 K in we came to a "museum" of mining set up by Koala Tours right there in the active mine. It was a great place to catch our breath and check out the history of the mines of Potosi. Never mind that it was hot and the air was stale and the walls looked ready to collapse in on us. We were only at level 1 of 18! After a visit to one of the few machines in the mine (a pulley) we proceeded to descend to level 2 and 3. Amy decided she had seen enough: the conditions were oppressive and appalling and she had no desire to continue down the narrowing shaft that would require crawling on hands and knees. I decided to continue down...Amy always was the brains behind MoWenck. The descent was horrid but arrival at level 3 was pleasant-it is by far the largest shaft in the mine we were visiting and I could even stand up right. Our guide told us about the mining process, the collective ownership, blah, blah, blah. There are 16 different mines in the mountain with upwards of 12000 miners under ground on any given day. We met many miners underground (they were ending their shifts and headed top side) and stopped to talk with them and give them drinks and completos and such. The youngest miner I met was 12 years old. This was a sobering experience. As a special treat we proceeded to descend to level 4 where an independant miner-Alberto- was working an ore solo. We talked with Alberto for a few minutes and dropped some bombs on him-literally like 5 completos-before we started our ascent back out of the mine. On the way from level 4 to level 3 the evening blasting started, much to my chagrin. Nothing like being a few thousand feet under ground in a third world country with dynomite blasts shaking dust from the ceiling. Of course then our guide informed us that the dust was actually arsenic and that we should neither touch it or breath to hard. Right! Never mind the fact that I am starving my cells of oxygen because of the high altitude and the hard walking I am doing I should now reduce my breathing?!?! Fuck that. I was ready to be topside and so was everyone else. We made the ascent very quickly and I have never been so happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel. All in all it was an eye opening experience and I would recommend it to anyone who visits Bolivia but I will never do it again. After being under ground they took us to a processing plant so we could further see the OSHA inspectors nightmare/wet dream of a work environment before ending the tour back in town. I was wiped out. Considering the altitude, my soar throat, and the madness I had just whitnessed I was ready to sleep for a few days. We decided to stick around Potosi for another day and try to visit (unsuccessfully) La Casa de la Moneda before taking a share taxi to Bolivia's second capital city Sucre. A story coming to a website near you, soon.
NOTES:
* I should note here, for future reference, that the natives were able to endure such harsh conditions largely due to their chewing on a local plant leaf: cocoa. Chewing on the cocoa leaf metabolically increases energy while reducing hunger and thirst. RIDE THE SNAKE! Of course the Spanish missionaries demonized the native's use of the leaf-it was a huge part of the native culture and their "pagan" religious ceremonies-and the Spanish crown outlawed its use in the Americas. The immediate impact of the crown's law was that thousands of native slaves died in the mines of Potosi, which in and of itself was no concern to the crown, however, productivity also steadily declined. In its greed to rape the whirlwind of South America's treasures the Spanish crown relented and disobeyed the clergy allowing the natives to once again chew their cocoa leaf. Whew!
Boarders are not just lines on a map. No where in South America was this more apparent than at the frontier between Argentina and Bolivia. The difference was night and day-well, technically it was day on both sides of the boarder but it was an hour earlier in Bolivia. Bolivia is third world, Argentina is new world Europe. 3 hours after we crossed the boarder we were having a typical Bolivian bus experience waiting for a road block/protest to clear our path and allow us on our way to Tupiza. Wait a second, I have told this story once already...
and as you already know-my faithful reader-we made it to Tupiza without any further incident and managed to spend a few days in this pleasant little city before joining a tour of South West Bolivia´s high desert plains enroute to the salt flats of Uyuni and the village of the same name. The Uyuni Solar tour from Tupiza is generally a 4 day 3 night affair in a 4-wheel drive vehicle with a driver/guide, a cook, and up to 6 tourists and all their shit-I mean gear.
On the appointed day of our tour departure we eagerly met our guide, cook, and fellow travel companions at 0800 in front of our hostel. Amy and I were already familiar with the Swedish couple of Johnny and Birgitta who made up 1/3 of our tour group. We had met them at the boarder and enjoyed that first bus ride with them along with a few meals and the European Champions League final while in Tupiza. The other third of our tour group consisted of Taylor, a student at Northwestern University and her Argentine beau Daniel. Introductions were made and it was quickly apparent that we had a great group for the tour. It was also quite obvious that the guide and cook were going to struggle with Taylor and Tyler on the same tour. We piled into the Toyota Landcruiser and made our way out of Tupiza and into the crazy mixed up landscapes that surround the city. That first day we climbed and climbed up through red rock valleys that were reminiscent of Arizona. We leveled off somewhere above 4000 meters before arriving at a small village that would be home for the night. Despite the huge change in altitude I was feeling all right if only I could kick this cough I picked up on the dusty ride from the boarder to Tupiza. Once we all claimed a bed and got our gear put away we had a walk around the village. Soon the six gringos (Daniel as an Argentine counted as a gringo) found ourselves being challenged by the local youths to a match of futbol. Thus we found ourselves at 4200 M above sea level on a dusty rocky pitch playing futbol with the locals who had a distinct advantage over their fair skinned opponents. After one jog up the abrieviated pitch I was gassed and gasping for oxygen. The local boys-no one older than say 15-were having a blast. Eventually Johnny headed home the first goal. Gringos 1, locals nil. The equalizer came quick as I was beaten in goal off a sloppy corner. Johnny barried the game winner a few moments later to save us all (victoriously none the less) from collapsing on the pitch. We may have beaten a bunch of kids but considering the circumstances we were all pretty proud of the feat. That night dinner never tasted so good and Johnny's red label bottle of his namesake's whiskey (Johnny Walker) never went down so smooth. The stars in the sky shone the brightest I have ever seen and my head hit the pillow softly.
Unfortunately I had a rough night of sleep-probably due to the altitude and the nagging cough and a soar throat I was developing. Day two of the tour would be brutal on me. First we visited the ruins of an old Spanish mining village now nothing more than a ghost town. From the village we passed though amazing high desert landscapes that were other worldly. Lakes of colors beyond description encrusted with crystalized chemical compounds and strange Andean flamingos. Eventually we reached our lunch spot which also happened to have a hot spring. The altitude (4600 M) was doing my cough and soar throat no good and now I had a pounding headache. I skipped the hot springs in favour of rest. Johnny, Birgitta, Taylor, and Daniel all went in and enjoyed themselves very much. Mo opted to relax with me. From the hot springs we proceeded out past a section of desert known as the Salvador Dali Desert so named (apparently)because the strange rock landscapes reminded someone of the sureal Spanish artists works-and I believe the artist himself even payed the area a visit-to a few more lagunas. I was feeling better even though we were climbing higher en route to some geysers located over 5000M above sea level. Lucky for me we found our way down to a village at 4100 M for the night. The next day we were up early and on our way to some more interesting rock formations and yet more lagunas with thousands of Andean flamingos. We also got to see some Andean foxes and that was really cool. Another day, more crazy landscapes and lagunas and yet another village. It was our final night on the tour and as I was feeling better we tackled Johnny's bottle of Johnny with a vengence. Early the next morning (0330) we rolled out of bed and crawled into the landcruiser to make the 2 hour journey to the salt flats for sunrise. The Uyuni salt flats are the worlds largest (by volume of salt) and truely breathtaking. We spent a good part of the morning taking in the fascinating salt flats before we ended up in Uyuni that afternoon. All in all it was a great tour with really good folks. The high desert of South West Bolivia makes the area around Salt Lake City Utah look normal maybe even like the promised land Brigum Young was searching for-I don't know-all I do know is that was some crazy arsed landscapes and a fantastic tour that any gringo in Bolivia must experience.
Sorry I have not updated the Bolivia Blogs sooner and many of you maybe wondering what has happened to MoWenck. Well, rest assured that we are doing good. All will be explained in the next few blogs.