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Published: March 9th 2007
We have walked across many borders on our travels, however nothing has been quite like leaving Argentina and entering Bolivia. We entered Villazon on the last day of the miners La Diabola carnival to absolute carnage.
In the border office we met a group of 5 "officials" completely drunk, throwing beer on the bonfire in the middle of the office floor! As one bloke puts his beer down and staggers over to take my passport, I doubt I will ever see it again. Luckily it wasn't thrown on the bonfire and we continue into Bolivia.
It's like the zombies have taken over the town. Everywhere doorways are filled with people drinking or passed out, kids are running around with water pistols and foam spraying everyone - this is not what you need when you have your backpack on you and are struggling up a hill. Thankfully however we know where the bus station is and will be on our way soon...or so we think.
The bus station too is in full carnival style. The floor is covered in beer (hopefully just beer as we are in flip flops!) and fires are burning. While I'm not fluent in Spanish
I can order bus tickets. However I can't even wake the people up behind the desks, and when they are awake they are so drunk that they can hardly talk the language themselves. The only person who seems to know what is going on is a small boy of about 6, who tells us the buses are full and to come back tomorrow. He is truly running the bus station, and town it seems, being too small to hold a beer. After a couple of hours of effort we give up and retreat to a hostel. It says to expect the unexpected in Boliva - no truer a phrase has been uttered.
We wake up the next day to find that the door of the "top quality hostel" in which we slept is jammed and we are locked in! Trying to explain, while hanging out of a barred window, to a random, and probably hungover local, that we are locked in our room (desperately in need of the loo) is not easy, though thankfully he does alert the manager to let us out. Great start to our second day. Back to the bus station which still smells of smoke
and beer, we search for the "boy". He is nowhere to be seen, we even check under the desk as he is so short we may not be able to see him. After 10 minutes he still isn´t here, so we ask the lady across the way... "Where is the small boy?". Her reply has us in stitches..."Oh you mean the Secretariat!!!!". So young, and already well on his way on the career ladder! We are convinced that when not at the bus station, he is the mayor of Villazon, if not Bolivia. Next stop is the train station where for 3 hours we wait trying to get transport out of this place - has no-one heard of internet ticketing? We cannot be trapped in Villazon for another day!
Thankfully we get the tickets sorted and our train leaves the "delightful Villazon". Food is included in our journey so it´s into the buffet car which resembles something from the 1970´s, plastic flowers on the tables, streamers hanging from the ceiling - brilliant (I can actually say that compared to GNER, Bolivian Rail rocks). Outside the windows the scenary is straight out of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid -
stunning. 1am and we arrive in Uyuni, the home of the Salt Flats. A three day trip in a jeep seeing salt flats, deserts, volcanoes and lakes. Sounds awesome.
Our first day sees up driving across miles and miles of white salt, hardened and dried by the sun - then finishing off the day spending 2 hours digging our sunken jeep out of the mud, before arriving at our hotel made of salt!
Ever since we hit Argentina and started to consume huge amounts of Bife de Lomo washed down with Argentinian red, I have been joking that I needed a nice case of food poisoning to get back to the slim line version of me I achieved in Asia. I repeat I had been joking, having never had food poisoning before. It is no laughing matter however when on the first night of the three day trip I wake up with cramps! I spent the full night in the freezing outside toilet, with no electricity, shivering in the dark in my woolly hat and in agony. The next day comprises of a multitude of amazing sites - Paul may have to correct me on these as I
slept the full day through, waking only to crawl out of the jeep in search of a baño, or a big bush to hide behind! Apparently however there were beautiful lakes with flamingoes, crazy rock sculptures, volcanoes, moon like scenary, the list goes on. Check out the photos - I had to!
We finished the night in a refugio which we had been warned was basic. It was. We slept the night in our clothes it was so cold until we were waken at 4am to move on. Luckily I hadn't eaten all day for if I had to endure the toilets at this place I would have opted for death they were so bad.
The third day started much better, smoking geysers and natural hot springs for us to soak in. My tummy was bubbling all by itself for me not to need to get in these, Paul braved the cold air on our behalf. But I did stay awake for most of the day, and managed to see the Dali Desert, Laguna Verde and the huge volcano behind it. A great trip however for me the highlight was the chemist, who stocked me up with anti-biotics
to sort out the food poisoning/dysentry I had caught! Bliss.
When occupied by the Spanish in colonial times Potosi (the highest city in the world) was a city larger than London, and richer than Rome. All because of one huge mountain which the Spanish discovered was full of silver. The Spanish mined it and moved on. The Bolivians in Potosi are now scraping a living with what is left - tin and zinc.
Before we even enter the mine we know this is going to be a little different. The altitude is 4070m here and even walking up slight hills leaves us breathless, this is going to be tough. We are armed with gifts of dynamite (like you do), and coca leaves for the miners - apparently this helps with the altitude. Apparently. As soon as the miners see the bag of leaves in our hands, their eyes glaze over and a crazy, hungry looks comes over them. Altitude my ass, these miners are fully addicted to these leaves. And if it helps them endure their lives in the mines, then the more the merrier. Though for Paul and I who trying chewing on the stuff, I think
we´ll give it a miss. Green teeth, bulging cheeks, no thanks, this is not a habit we want to continue back home!
Before the world price for tin plummeted the town was reasonable well off, however that was then and this is now. Now all that is worth mining is zinc. And I wouldn't even say that was worth the effort - not when you see what the effort involves. Full families (including the youngsters) spending up to 15 hours a day in the narrow tunnels, hacking away at the rock with mallets, chisels and dynamite. No safety precautions, no fresh air, no electricty - this is as basic as it gets. And to Paul and I who are crawling through these tunnels 30 metres under this mountain - it is hell. Breathing dust, crawling down 2 metre vertical shafts unaided... in a mountain, in the dark. Since it opened 8 million people have died in these mines, mostly slave labour. As the locals say "We eat the mine, and the mine eats us". If we ever complain about work again say "Potosi" to us - it will shut us right up.
It is in Potosi however that
it is Paul's turn to come down with food poisoning (added to the effects of altitude), and he is now sharing my anti-biotics! It seems as that every day we have been in Bolivia, one of us has been ill. We are scared of the food! However I must comment that although he is in a nice warm bed he is not coping as well as I did stuck in a jeep for 3 days - men! He struggles on through Sucre, the white capital city. We are now living off pizza, pasta and popcorn - it's the safest food we can find.
It is during a 12 hour bus journey from Sucre to La Paz however that we buckle. We are sick of being sick, everything we eat seems to leave us in pain and running to the bathroom, added to which Man U play Liverpool the next day. It all adds up to the perfect reason to check into a hotel. While we cannot demolish the free buffet breakfast in the way we would like, we do have cable tv. Never have 3 stars been so appreciated!
After a couple of nights in a hotel we
feel as good as new, and so the next step obviously would be to cycle down the most dangerous road in the world! The stats; 3345meters of vertical decent in over 64kms of downhill madness.
In our Westernised minds we perceive that this can´t be that bad. I mean, it wouldn´t be open to anyone if it were that dangerous. We´re not worried. Within minutes of starting we are whizzing down the road, through the clouds, in the pouring rain. I can´t see anything and I'm trying to remember what the guide said to us about braking, however that was interrupted as a car of drunken blokes stopped to yell at us. Starting to get a little worried now. Especially when our guide starts telling us that over 100 people are dying each year on this road, some being tourists - you know like us! There are small wooden crosses everywhere. This is not so much fun anymore.
There are three groups. The highest death count coming from group one (testosterone filled men!), and group 3 (wimpy women mostly scared over the edge by car horns!). Being sensible I opted for the 2nd group. Paul is being a
gentleman and has joined my group to keep an eye on me. Just as well as when we round a bend we find one member of group 1 unconcious on the floor! Round another bend and his mate has taken a tumble, and then by the end of the day the 3rd member of group one has hit the deck. Thankfully no-one flew over the edge.
We convince ourselves to check out of our 3* accomodation and head for the Peruvian border via Lake Titicaca. We arrive during the pouring rain in Copacabana, the access town. Looking out through the mist at the lake reminds us too much of a holiday in the Lake District! The next day however after braving the rain and mist we arrive at the Isla Del Sol - the apparently birth place of the Inca's. Something about 2 people rising out of the lake and forming the Inca religion is a little full of holes for me, however the island itself is beautiful. The Inca ruins however don´t look all that different to those houses that the Bolivians still live in, what does that say about progress in Bolivia - it says it all!
After 4 hours hiking we deserve food - Bolivian cuisine however will never win any awards. I order trout pasta, to me this is pasta in a tomato sauce with delicate chunks of fresh trout mixed in. Maybe with some parmesan. To Bolivians however this is dry pasta (overcooked I might add) with a slab of fried trout. No oil, no garlic, no sauce, no moisture! No thanks! This is a Peter Kay moment - "Got ought Moist!"
WARNING! This is not an easy country to travel through. The buses should have been scrapped years ago, their drivers are drunk and their tyres are bald. The most productive age sets are the children and the elderly. There´s the potential of being kidnapped. Their food that can literally kill you, and if that doesn´t get you then the altitude will have a go leaving you feeling like an 80 year old with a collapsed lung. If you survive that then they force you into the mine with a stick of dynamite. And if you are still alive, then there´s death road to finish you off. This is not the way to encourage tourism.
We feel as though we
should have been presented with a "I survived Bolivia" shirt as we left - because although it was touch and go, we did! And although this hasn´t been two of our most relaxing weeks - it has all been worth it. The scenary is stunning and the exchange rate fantastic.
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Unk John
non-member comment
would you like a sweet?
Glad to see you made it through the place and you got reflections on the salt lakes... how cool!