Zooming to Uyuni and my super duper tour

The southwest of Bolivia cradles one of it´s show pieces, and tourist trap and all, and i wasn´t going to miss it. The biggest salt lakes and deposits in the world - well, that sits that far up high, like the nearly the whole rest of the country. I get to Uyuni, the town, book myself a seat on a 4x4 and wait for the convoy which was to come the following day and last 3 days while circling the Salar.

First day went racing through the salt lake itself, passing the salt factory, salt hotel and continuing the blinding drive to an island of cacti in the middle of it all, to lunch on llama steak. It was splendid, reminiscent of an endless desert yet looking like snow. I took note of a french woman, Marlene, on my boat and took a liking to her since we agreed to share on our first night a cheap, but not so bad red, one of only 2 bottles that we found in our village on our first night. (But more than that, the following morning i heard her mumbling to herself excepts from the monty python´s holy grail, accent and all, and i knew we´d get along.) We tossed the bottled down in the open air, albeit quite chilly, with 2 other youngsters from the north east of the states, looking at the beautiful clear night sky and the billions of stars it was blessing us with. You could say we were merry.

The following day, we passed by volcanoes, lakes of various colours and mountains (cerros de 7 colores) of pink and blue and green etc, similar in fact to the crazy coloured mountains in the north of Argentina. We were got to the 4, 450m altitude. The terrain desert like but not. We reach a lake that´s rusty red from the mineral deposits and in awe took millions of photos of the pink flamingoes going about their business there. By the end of the day however, Emily had been flamingoed out. We also spotted vacuña (they´re related to the llama), and long tailed rabbits which brought our driver to a halt, got out of the car and started chasing some of them, in vain of course cos they were too fast. We´ll need dinner, he said...

That night we resided in a place near the lake of the flamingoes, in army barracks looking place. Facilities were basic but the tucker was good. We got up at 5am the next day to see the sunrise first at the geysers, the hot sulfuric springs that lay 5000m high. It was freezing, in fact, only me and frenchy got out of the car to run around and take photos of ourselves and the brilliant sun on the red earth. An hour later, we arrived to a lake which had hot springs and i was one of the few that dipped my freezing arse into that hot bath of delight with 2 of the few aussies i´ve managed to meet and like, Brendon and Rob from Perth. A few more sights were left on the itinerary and then began the long trek back to town.

915 km was the drive around the Salar of Uyuni, not that long by australian standards but the colours of the earth, the mountains, the bleeding white salt, the red, brown, orange, grey and green earth, spotted with lakes similarly coloured - green, red, orange, even blue. It was wonderful and wonderous, despite all the dust i ate, the bumps on the uncealed roads, our flat tyres and lack of showers.
Back in town Marlene and i stuffed our faces with hamburgers off the street before having a hot shower and booking our tickets together to go to Tupiza, south of Bolivia, since we were both needing to get out of the country (visa etc). More on that later.

Potosí

Night trips to Cochabamba and Sucre and the disaster in finding a place to stay, not to mention the delectable bus rides, convinced me to take the day bus to Potosí, Bolivia´s mega mining town, historically exploited and left to bleed. I hadn´t even realised I had arrived in Potosí when i saw the huge pyramid of a mountain, very washed out in colour, that hovers over the reasonably small town, like Zeus.

The city centre cobble-stoned and very colonial-looking (hell, the Spaniards weren´t here by chance) so seemed quaint and pretty, though on the periphery it´s just like any poverty ridden Bolivian town. But at night it was chokas with people strolling through the one way streets. It was comical if not futile the way the few brave cars honked their way through. But why was i there? To visit the mines of course. To pay for what all the miners get paid to do but wish they didn´t have to.

All decked up in mining gear, even a bit better than the miners themselves, i head off to discover why everyone says it´s an amazing experience. Apart from a percentage of our fees going to the miners in the form of foodstuff, we start at the miners´market to stock up on gifts we´ll be giving to them as we encounter them on the inside, which includes explosives, cigarettes, drinks, and of course, coca leaves, which are chewed on all day long, giving energy to them and reducing hunger pains. We couldn´t take along they´re favourite alcohol cos it wasn´t Friday, that being pure alcohol at 96 % - and which i willingly tried at 10 in the morning.

In the mines, despite the altitude at near 5,000m, the air was thick, hot and full of dust. In fact the altitude still made me huff and puff. Our small group of 6 plus 2 guides (ex-miners now making a better buck) went trekking for one mining group to another. The miners work in small communal working groups, 6 to 12 people, who claim a specific piece of land, mine and benefit form it collectively and, with more luck than not, they sell the minerals they find to the big wigs, mionerals like zinc, tin, perhaps gold, silver, etc. A good month would give a miner about US$300, or more if they hit the jackpot. And yes Rob you´re right about the longevity of this career, as i found out on the job. One of the miners had been working there for 20 odd years, since he was 15, and looked oooold.

Sliding down shafts, squeezing through minuscule portals, climbing through tunnels, hitting my head constantly (lucky for my helmet) might sound like fun but it felt like sweating in my own death.
Hell! and i was only there for 3 hours, can you imagine....

I met Mr Magoo yesterday

After a nightmare bus ride where somehow i managed to doze off to sleep while the bodies tried to get comfortable in the isle and the cumbia (music blaring from the speaker, you guessed it, right over my head) i arrive early than expected in Sucre, 5 in the morning in fact. Yes, i had booked a bed but for the night to come and nor would the hostel let me wait in the lobby, "no you´ll have to come back at 10"... let´s just say that i made it to the dodgiest and dirtiest and priciest alternative that i had at that ungodly hour. And i was adamant on getting my rest because i came all this way, not to visit Sucre, but to get to Tarabuco´s Sunday market, an hour out of town.

So at the information desk at the bus terminal i ask for directions. There is where i met him, Mr Magoo and his young niece, telling me he owned the terminal and he knew from which corner to get my bus. The desk clerk nodded in agreement. He also said he could give me a lift to close where i needed to go. "you don´t have to worry about me, i won´t rob you" he says and he starts to walk off his way whether i was going or not. Ha! i´ve heard that one before. the desk clerk looks at me and motions, go with him! I assess the situation and my gut wasn´t churning so i hobbled after him.

Mr Magoo trots to his leather clad latest model mercedes where his 2 very teenage nephews take the back seat and we´re off.
Is it cold in Tarabuco? i ask
Nah, it´s the same as here, the boys inform me. Sucre is refreshing but very sunny. 2,500m high about.
Now why do you want to go to Tarabuco? Mr Magoo´s face complains, i really don´t know what all the fuss is about. It´s 4000 metres high you know...
Is it cold? i ask worried, cos if it is i have to go get a jacket.
Yeeees it´s cold and nasty. what do want to do there? buy weaves or rugs or woollens?
...If it´s cold i got to get off and get well dressed you know, i don´t want to...
He´s talking over me, i´m looking out the window seeing the blocks distancing me from where i have to return.
You want clothes huh? he asks, i´ve got a factory you can get stuff there.
...No, but if it´s cold and i´m going to get a cold...
The boys in the back are laughing cos they can´t but in either, but Mr Magoo finally assure me that it´s not that cold when he realises what i´m actually asking.
Oh, ok then. I relax, only cos i dreaded the walk back.
I don´t know why everyone wants to go to that market anyway, he mutters.
I don´t want to buy anything really, i add, but the thing about the market is that it´s interesting to visit, is all, and in our countries we don´t have country folk congregating to sell their wears and artisans.
I think he concedes. Pause.
So where are you from? he asks.
I´m from Australia.
Oh, Italy, i was there recently, 3 months ago. Have you been to Florencia?
No, no, AUSTRALIA.
Yes it´s really nice there. And Florencia?
No, i say resigned, no i´ve never been there. The nephews try to but in a few times to make the correction but Mr Magoo pays no mind. I´m forced to have a negative response to all his questions, cos afterall, i´m not from Italy. One nephew taps him on the shoulder and clarifies my origins.
Oh! he says surprised. Australia... i don´t know anything about that.
Mr Magoo ends up going around and around a round-about while nephews are politely trying to point the way, and all confused he says, How about i take you all the way there huh? that would be nice wouldn´t it?
My eyes shoot across the dashboard and say, yes thank you very much sir, after taking note that where he had told me was the bus stop wasn´t and was under instruction to take me to the real bus stop... I got out, smiled genuinely and thanked him.

The most horrifying part of all this was that when i mentioned this lil´episode to some travelling folks one night, they weren´t quite sure who Mr Magoo is or hadn´t even heard of him....
The horror....

Where did those 2 weeks go?

(The first 4 pics are in Coroico with Che; the next 4 are from Cochabamba, graffiti, view from hill top, cinnamon ice-cream, and the kick-arse bus; rest are in La Paz city, view from lookout, streetscape and my regular eating hall)

Who would have thought i´d spend 2 weeks in La Paz.
La Paz starts at the plateau and spills down the rugged valley where the temperature rises about 5 degrees or more - its´a cold place and a rude awakening from my summer interlude. It´s a pretty looking metropolis with mostly low rise housing though ornamented with a of badly maintained transport system - the minibuses which can squeeze shit loads in or the old 50´s US school buses which run slower than you walk. This place was hard to crack, every day i took a few steps outside my comfort zone, climbing another hill (as la paz is one hilly mess) puffing as i went in the thin layer of oxygen. But it bewitched me. The streets are spilling over with vendors selling everything imaginable, and i bought it allll. Saw the witches market where dehydrated llama fetuses hung, peach juice (cooked, but also endless fruit stalls), hairdressers soliciting for clients, popcorn, meat (of course never refrigerated on the street), deep-fried sausage, and soup, etc, i couldn´t go on. But even despite the vendors, the streets are full of movement and life, making it easy to just sit at the plaza and stare but hard most of the time to even walk through the crowds. Plazas everywhere homed and congregated people but come about 10 at night and all´s gone home, reminding me so should i.

But i did make 2 out of town trips, one towards the Yungas to the village of Corioco, warm with lots of mosquitoes. The roadtrip there is renowned for being "the most dangerous road in the world" but it´s not cos they fixed most of it. An incredible drive that took me through the snow before plumeting nearly 2000m in 3 hours, hence the heat. Still, very hilly and green, where a lot of coffee and coca is grown and spectacularly looking. There i met Che Geuevara (sorry Jorge) and i asked him if he wanted to take a day hike to a village, Tucaña, down the hill top where coroico was and up another. There lay villages with afrobolivian populations form the slave intake years but they appeared to live in harmony together. Thought it´d take 5 hours to and fro but i got tired so easily and we did several mate and ciggy brakes that it took that long one way. Well we still had to stumble down the mountain side, to the main road and ride on the back of a truck to get closer to home. That night we ate like horses and got tipsy on beer. I´ll be seeing Che on my way through Salta, Argentina, i hope if he´s not on a nutty anthropological expedition in the mountains.

I´ve been saying there´s one month left on my holidays for the last 3 months. Ha! A week ago i went to immigration to ask for an extension on my 30 visa only to be told that the aussie and Bolivian consulates had a misunderstanding and i would have to pay for my extension... So I´m not making a bee-line for the Argentinian boarder. There´s loads to see here, loads and even an extension wouldn´t do half of it justice. I´m missing out on the amazon completely and sticking to the east.

But i had to come through Cochabamba, where Manuel is from - housemate from BA. Now i understand why he´s homesick. A world away from La Paz, Cochabamba is sleepy middle-sized city with yummy temperate weather conducive to ice-cream, especially cinamon flavoured. It´s that kind of town you say i could raise kids here... well I´ve been wondering leisurely around trying not to eat and try food and stuff every 5 minutes, cos frankly it´s hard to fit it in. Although a shame that just about everything cooked is fried, deeeeply.

Heading tonight to Sucre to get tomorrow to town nearby with an awesome Sunday market - can´t resist. Then to Potosi to see the mines that to this day kill by poison workers within 10 years of starting there. Then to the long awaited Uyuni salt lakes and a dash to the boarder. Geez, it´s the first time i´ve had a week´s plan in advance...