Supply of coke and explosive materials to miners

M writes: Reluctant to leave Bolivia we decide to see a little more of the country for a week or so, and head south towards Argentina.

Having experienced tranquil Lake Titcaca, the jungle and the relative affluence of La Paz, we weren't really prepared for the difference in standards of living and poverty we witnessed off the beaten track.

First of all we headed down to Cochabamba - 8 hours on a shit bus with no loo, loud rubbish music and a poor, winding road through the Andes. Surprised when the driver stopped to pick up an Indian family - perhaps 8 of them including babes and kids, and stuck em in the luggage compartment. Sadder still when he dropped them off on the outskirts of town and an argument ensued about how much they should pay for the privilege - not very much we thought, for being stuffed into an oxygen and light deprived pit and shaken about for 8 hours - but the driver obviously thought otherwise and confiscated the rice sacks of crops they had brought to town to sell, until they paid up :-( A few bus journeys later we realised these things happen often and the bus companies obviously turn a blind eye to their drivers pocketing the cash.

Looking out the window on the trip, the atiplano and Eastern lowlands were litter-strewn and desolate with some very basic clay homes. This is the real Bolivia we guess, where living is hard. On arrival in Cochabamba we get caught in torrential rain getting some food late at night; having eaten only a twix and pringles all day, we head out all the same and get very, very wet especially when a woman taking down her market stall inadvertently folds her canopy down just as I pass, pouring several litres of cold water all over me!

The next day though, Cochabamba lives up to its mediterranean climate reputation and we wander the hundreds of market stalls selling everything and often the same thing for streets and streets - how do they all survive we wonder? Notably, women with old Singer sewing-machines sit out on the pavements offering their services for a few bolivianos. After a truly horrendous meal - "vegetarian" soup full of ham, and a snot & syrup dessert, we head uphill to the posh part of Cochabamba for a wander in the Japanese-French gardens of the local former "Tin-King", and marvel at the wealth to be found in the same poor city we were wandering about in a couple of hours ago.

Cochabamba bus station is extraordinarily busy and hectic at night-time! It's a real hub and all the buses calling in here seem to be long-distance, so night-buses. We meet a German couple who have been here all day trying to get to Santa Cruz, but the road is blocked by anti-government protestors, so they end up on our bus to Sucre instead. Again, the bus is crap - 10 hours and no loos, much to my chagrin. Once the 2 Rambo films are over though we do manage 3 or 4 hours sleep. When we leave the bus we see that the luggage compartment is fully made up with a bed, and a few people have got into the driver's cab along the way too.

At 7am we get to Sucre, hungry and tired. After being picked up by a driver who sneakily drives around the corner and picks up a woman and her son, effectively doubling his fare, we arrive at Hostal Sucre and are relieved to be able to get a room and check in straight away. It is a beautiful old building around a flower-filled courtyard. Sucre is the capital of Bolivia (although La Paz is the de facto capital, being the seat of government, following a coup d'etat over 100 years ago) and boasts stunning Spanish colonial architecture. With the sunshine and heat we feel like we are on holiday in Alicante. Except it is SO cheap - we get a 4 course meal in a strange veggie place which doubles up as a gym outside mealtimes (quite odd eating amidst exercise machines) including chicha to drink (that strange fermented corn drink, traditionally but hopefully not in this case, made with spat-out corn...) for 10 Bolivianos - about 1.40GBP!! People are noticeably more wealthy here and the population is very mixed with many western and oriental looking people. With the many universities, research centres and governmental buildings in the city, there is an intellectual and academic air to Sucre. We even get proper yoghurt in the supermarket for the first time in ages - just like Europe! However, when we go to the plush, modern cinema that evening to see a rubbish Kiefer Sutherland film: Mirrors - yes, it was as poo as it sounds - the demons live in the mirrors - Yikes! - we are reminded that we are in Bolivia when people talk loudly all the way through, even taking phone calls. I think about times we have complained about people making noise in England (remember, my friends?!), and chuckle!

I really enjoyed a bit of shopping at the bits n pieces market in Sucre - Indian women calling me over - "Gringita!", and chatting away. We also found a great food and beer place - JoyRide bar, where there was a mixture of gringos and locals - quite unusual. After this we walked outside onto the main square and into 1/ a teenagers fashions show complete with screaming girlies 2/a huge fete with floats and lots of coffins and political slogans. Not sure why the coffins - no-one seemed able to explain, but maybe a sign of protest about summut?

We head off to Potosi - famous for its silver mines - after a few days in Sucre, but as the buses take ages and we want to stay only for the day, we take a collectivo taxi and are squashed into a car with 2 other passengers for a fast and winding trip through the Andes. There are loads of kolla (highlander) women herding goats and sheep, mainly along the disused railroads, and pigs running into the road regularly which seems to make the driver and other passengers (but not us), laugh. All the houses have a large Bolivian outdoor oven - a rustic, dome-shaped stone thing - and all are covered in pro-Evo graffiti. In each settlement there is a tiny cemetery just next to the road ; apparently people are buried for several years then exhumed and cremated, so each cemetery has graves alongside shelves with pigeon-holes for ashes.

When we arrive in Potosi it is a mad dash to buy a night-bus ticket to cross into Argentina and then find a trip to the silver mines, which we are really interested to see. So we get into a taxi and at this stage of our Bolivian travels, are only slightly alarmed to note that the entire dashboard etc. are on the right hand side, with only the steering wheel on the left ie. our driver has no speedometer etc! Potosi is pretty enough, with a Spanish-style square and a big procession in town for the city's anniversary. We have a nosey around then head off on a hastily booked trip to the co-operative mines, with 6 other tourists. Dressed in out hard-hats and overalls, we did not know what to expect. Probably fortunate or we may not have gone at all...

First of all we visit a separating plant, set within one of the many companies which buy the finished product locally. Arsenic is still used and there are tanks of hazardous chemicals we are advised not to touch, but the people there are working without masks or gloves. Next we head to the "miners' market" : basically a street where you can buy everything miners need, namely dynamite, 96% alcohol for about a quid a litre, fizzy drinks, and coca leaves. We buy some of each as offerings to the miners we are going to encounter and head up the Cerro Rico hill and into the mine. I thought it might be a little like the coal mines up North - hot and deep, but in fact there are no real shafts and serious dust is added to the heat. Straight away, there is a thick dust in the air and the path is narrow and low; one girl feels bad and has to turn back almost immediately. But we aint seen nothing yet! The path becomes really tough, and it is like potholing, scrabbling around on hands and knees, trying not to breathe in the filthy air (impossible) and sweating buckets. At one point we actually have to lie on our bellies and pull ourselves through to a tiny nook where a miner is working. He has been tapping a dynamite hole for 6 hours with basic tools. The conditions here are truly appalling and it's hard to comprehend how men, and their sons from around 13 years old - come here every day, all day, for their whole lives. Most die horribly and young. They earn around $100 per month, and take a share of proceeds when they strike silver. We are told the mine isn't producing much these days, and the town will go into very steep decline if the mines are ever closed, as there is no other industry there and the miners generally have no education. An ex-miner is guiding our group and tells us that the miners live in fear of the mine shutting down. It's heart-breaking and we both go quiet and think about it a lot on our 12 hours night bus from Potosi to Villazon on the Argentinean border.

This one is the worst bus trip ever. We are the only tourists and the bus is packed full of people standing - in the dark for 12 hours, including old people and babies in the aisle. Mainly leaning on Laurent all the way. Seats don't recline. There is no light or air and the windows rattle loudly if opened. Puncture about 1 hour into the trip. No toilets of course, so I have to get out and wee in a dusty pueblo between 2 cars. We decide not to drink anything and just suffer the dehydration.

The week was a real eye-opener and despite the fact that much of it was spent not sleeping on horrendous buses, we don't regret it a bit.

---

---