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South America » Bolivia » Tarija Department » Tarija
September 15th 2009
Published: September 15th 2009
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Bolivia 2


Bolivian beachBolivian beachBolivian beach

Enjoying the mirador in Sucre
Steve´s mumblings:

Into Sucre, hotly persued by Jon and Alex the amiable Aussies. A super white city, crammed full of colonial/mezito architecture, grand plaza, and impressive array of churches. The Andean indigenous folk make a return, bowler hats, massive skirts... and a bit of attitude. The smell of meat on stick, and small shops packed full of ramdon stuff. Hot showers... heated by gas!!!!! A museum with pictures of all the presidents (some amazing facial hair), more mummy museums (with distorted heads) more pictures of Christ (mostly the pained, blood covered versions). Lazy days spent at the mirador, a place above the city with amazing views, and what appears to be a beach with parasols and a great cafe. Oh yes, a small Eiffel Tower...just like the real thing!
The train to Potosi, which was basically a bus with a train undercarriage, they had even left the steering wheel in it!! The train wound its way through empty valleys, over vast dry river beds and surprisingly busy villages, the stations often packed out, however there also appeared to be a wave-down service, people just appeared at the side of the tracks and stopped the train, often we could not see
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Things to do with dynamite, Potosi
a building for miles! Sheep,cows and goats took it in turns to block the track, dogs raced the train sprinting along next to it until either they tripped or ran out of energy.
Potosi, highest city in the world, the main street over 4000mtrs up! However a suprisingly nice city, with pretty buildings, and more churches than you could shake a llama at, there was even a street where you can buy alcohol, coca leaves and dynamite all in the same shop,and in what ever quantaties you want!!!
Next the Salt flats, the remains of a mega lake, all dried up...except for when it floods. Into some rather decrepid looking fourwheel drives, and into the white. The vast white pavements of pentagons and octogons stretching into the distance, broken only by the occasional island often covered with cowboy film type giant cactusus, and the odd vizcacha (a rodenty rabbit thing). A train graveyard full of old steam locos rusts outside of town, there degrading hulks markers of a past time, strange that they were mostly made in Britain. The odd illegal salt hotel on the lake, they say its only a museum...with beds in it...and if you ask they tell
The TioThe TioThe Tio

A feature of every mine. The workers provide offerings in the hope of dissuading the devil from inflicting it´s harm.
you it cost 20 dollars to stay?! The vastness however makes for lots of fun photo ops!! We however stayed in a legal salt hotel, one perched on a mountain at the edge, well i say mountain, but when the flat bit is at 3600mtrs maybe everything is a mountain? The next day out of the white into the Mars-like volcanic zone, huge often smokey volcanoes surround us as we drive along barely visable dirt tracks, massive frozen volcanic larva-flows lounge against empty calderras. Deep colours of red and brown dominate the landscape, yellow and whitish sulphur deposits dust the volcanoes, large green mosses slump in the base of some valleys. Lakes of red, blue and green reflect the distant martian landscapes, bright pink flamingoes add to the surrealist landscapes, only their remarkably pungent smell returning the scene to reality. Our final day followed a night in some pretty chilly digs (-20c), after a 0430am start we headed in the dark to see the geysers and fumerols (5000 mtrs our highest point), the strong sulphur smell burning at our noses as the sun started to rise, then back into the cars and off to the hot spings, 38c hot bath surrounded by the frozen hills - getting undressed and in was tricky but well worth it. The long journey back served to reinforce how amazing the scenery was, as we passed through the massive valleys of this truly alien environment.

And Vik's:
Having been fairly certain that we had already visited Bolivia's top city, it came as a bit of a surprise when we entered the beautiful city of Sucre to see multiple banners boldly welcoming us to the capital. Especially when the rest of the country seems so certain that it is in fact La Paz. But that does nothing to deter the proud folk of Sucre, who are clearly a tad miffed that their first indigenous president, Evo Morales, had the cheek to move it. Of course in principle it's shared, and Sucre retain judicial authority, but in reality, La Paz steals the show. And the fact that every single Sucre soul started our conversation with 'you know that this is the capital of Bolivia' suggests that they know it too. But you could be forgiven for thinking that you were in a capital. The city is stunning, and in the midst of the celebrations for Independance
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Sunset at the Salar de Uyuni
it pulsed with life. And marching. And Morales even made an appearance here, on the date of the 200 year anniversary (allegedly with his 500-strong security force after violent riots greeted his last visit), but unfortunately Steve and I missed him as we were still recovering from the celebrations that had started the night before. We did however witness the many campesinos that had journeyed from their rural homes, patiently setting up their place in the early hours of the morning whilst they waited for their president to arrive.
And from the lovely Sucre, we trundled slowly (why take a two-hour bus when there is a seven-hour crazy train option?) to Potosi, Bolivia's - undisputed - highest city. Famed for it's lofty status, but also for it's mines. Into which Steve and I ventured. We anticipated a dreadful day, entering the mines with the knowledge that thousands of lives were lost under a brutal colonial regime, and exposed to conditions of working - that have persisted long after the spanish - so appalling that they make you feel numb. And in some ways it was that; dark but for our shakey beams of light, painfully cramped, exceptionally stifling with a
Volcanic flamingoesVolcanic flamingoesVolcanic flamingoes

Just a big hill, a bit of water and a few pink birds...
heat that builds, and just plain dangerous (I can confirm that dynamite explosions are pretty scarey in a confined space). But it was also a great day. Our journey into the depths of the mine was halted by an explosion just in front, and so we claimed a small alcove to protect ourselves from the blast and the dust and our ex-miner-guide decided that we should pass the time by sampling some of the alcohol we had bought as a gift for the current miners. So at 10am on a Saturday morning, at 4200m, we cracked into 96% alcohol whilst sitting in a cave. The time certainly passed, with a steady flow of workers joining us for a pre-weekend tipple, and we did not make it to Level 5 as intended (in fact we never left 1) and therefore certainly did not see the worst that the mines had to offer, but we did see a brief glimpse of the camaraderie that exists between the men and the ways that people have of coping with a job that, best case scenario, only knocks 15 years off your life. A sobering, if not sober, experience.
From here we spent three amazing days journeying through the salar. And then out of the comfort of a car and onto a horse. But first, the worst bus ride to date. An unhealthy 5am start, in minus temperatures - for which we were devastatingly unprepared - on a vehicle that only just about had an engine never mind any form of heating. Within five minutes the horn had jammed. And whilst I was just deliberating whether this was the coldest I had ever been, the tyre went flat and we were ushered off the bus to stand in the middle of nowhere. I was only semi-grateful when some time later we were allowed back on the trap. Horn and tyres temporarily sorted, having concluded that this definately was the coldest I had ever been, our window fell out, the already frosty temperature thus dropping a good few more minues as a result of the wind chill. In addition we now had apparently half of the Atacama desert blasting in our faces as we free-styled across the plains in the absence of any discernible road. The arrival of the sun provided much needed relief, until approximately 40 minutes later when we started to gradually boil. And as the sweat built up, so did the sand on our faces.
In the window of time before I got a filthy cold as a result of the terrible journey, we had two more amazing days traversing vast russet landscape that sat beneath towering boulders and hid tiny villages. I might even have felt like the heroinne from some great novel - as we rode through spectacular canyons and splashed through rivers - if not for my fear of galloping and the growing physical pain!
We completed our time in Bolivia with a stay in their wine region, Tarija. Bolivia not being especially renowned for this produce, but we gave it a good sample! And then it was time to move on. Buses being just about the only thing I wont miss here.






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