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Published: April 15th 2006
The Salar de Uyuni
As seen from the Inca Wasi island'I've just seen a man wanking off a donkey into a cup over there! AND THEN ANOTHER MAN DRANK FROM THE CUP!', exclaimed the Irish man with a frantic expression. I went to investigate...
I was really looking forward to Bolivia during my last couple of weeks in Peru - so much to see and do, and further away from the track beaten by other travellers (although increasingly on the backpacker circuit, 'cos it's cheap).
La Paz first, and a somewhat foreboding city. You pick up horror stories about Bolivia while travelling, ranging from elaborate wallet snatching to tourist kidnapping. The city does seem somewhat sinister, especially at night: here the shoeshine boys aren't boys, but teenagers in hoodies and baseball caps. Nevertheless, the real highlight of the city is the streetlife. The enormous markets are incredible. Ovoid Aymara women of indeterminate age in bowler hats squat next to piles of fruit and veg that look like sci-fi movie props. There's only so much time that one can spend looking at veg, so I quickly moved on to Sucre, the more placid and picturesque capital of Bolivia.
In Sucre, I stayed at one of the country's finest hotels
for the princely sum of $30 and had my first bath in 2 months. Even the minibar had prices that bettered the supermarkets at home. With the faint taste of rum in my mouth, I took an early morning tour of some dinosaur tracks in a quarry with a conga of Brazilians who seemed to follow me around Boliva for the rest of my journey. Good to see (the tracks, that is), but still not fulfilling my desire to do dangerous things in Bolivia. This was satisfied in Potosi.
The city of Potosi is built around mining and has been since the 16th century when silver was discovered in Cerro Rico, the mountain that towers above the city. It is thought that between 7 and 9 million people have died as a direct result of mining in the mountain (collapses, gas, lung disease etc), the life expectancy of today's miners is woefully short, and these days roughly one person dies in the mines daily. I had misgivings about visiting the mines. Guided tours can be procured, but part of me didn't want to take part in car-crash tourism. For the same reason, I avoided the visit to the orphanage
Meeting the devil underground
This chap had a huge phallus and was placated with offerings of coca, cigarettes and alcohol. And there's a statue there as well. in Cusco. I decided to go ahead as the deal with the miners is fairly open: you pay them money and bring them coca, cigarettes and alcohol, and they tolerate you in their domain for a couple of hours. The visit was incredible. I descended with a guide into the colonial mine, walking and crawling down the narrow wet shafts, some of which were still supported by 17th century brickwork. The force of dynamite explosions rocked the mountain around us, dislodging glass-like strands of asbestos from the tunnel roofs. One particular descent was referred to by the guide in his best Spanglish as 'the Indiana Jones bit'. We lowered ourselves into a pit on a plastic cord, swang to a log suspended above a 4m drop, and stepped onto a rock ledge at the end of the cavern before sliding down the rest of the way on our arses. Very fun. We stopped to chat to some miners along the way, who seemed more than happy for the visit, and we left our offerings at the devil shrine deap in the mine. It was nice to get out into daylight again, and I got on so well with the guide
The worst toilet in Bolivia
In the refuge on the shores of Lago Colorado (after a heavy night). (we were of a similar age and disposition) that he sorted me out a ticket to Uyuni for the next leg of my trip, despite a transport strike that was halting all transport from the city.
The 4x4 that took me to Uyuni lasted 6 hours, and was one of my most memorable journeys so far. I was squashed in the back seat between a midle-aged miner and a female teacher. The latter spoke little, perhaps because she was pursing her lips so much at the behaviour of the other passengers. The miner was quick to introduce me to the joys of coca leaf chewing and before long I had a cheek full of the stuff. He then offered me some non-descript white powder. I assumed it was a catalyst for the leaves, but my mouth went instantly numb and I started thinking my banter was hugely entertaining, so I suspect it was the fabled marching powder of which I'd heard so much. After a pit-stop in a tiny village where I managed to kick the prized football of the local youths over a wall, we set off again. The miner had obtained a bottle of cane hooch, and
we proceeded to neck that and chomp down more coca. The driver got into the swing of things and was as paralytic as the rest of us by the time we arived in Uyuni at midnight. The miner embraced me as we parted company, and promptly fell over.
Uyuni itself was a bit of a shithole, but served it's purpose as the gateway to the world's largest salt flats and the Reserva de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa. We saw the former on day one - utterly extraordinary. I shared a 4x4 with an Irish guy, a couple of girls from England and Canada and two friendly but nearly mute Japanese lads. We thrashed the vehicle across the salt lake, which at the time was covered in a couple of inches of water, reflecting the sky and the surrounding mountains. An island in the middle of the lake supports giant phallic cacti and here we stopped for lunch. Naturally, we broke down at one stage - this is par for the course as the caustic salt rammed into the vehicles' engines tends to do much damage.
The next morning I bumped into my Irish chum on our respective pre-breakfast
ambulations around Uyuni, and here happened the 'donkey fiddling' incident. He motioned from the distance urgently and breathlessly forced out the words that are now indelibly etched in my memory. Intrigued that we had stumbled across an undiscovered Altiplano custom, I followed his directions to the scene of the felony. At first it did indeed appear that a swarthy gentleman was pleasuring a small herd of donkeys. Not being an expert in such matters (although I did once receive untoward attention from an excited Great Dane), I moved closer. The donkey being dealt with appeared to have multiple appendages. It took a moment to dawn that what I had found was an impromptu ass-milk vending station. Interesting nonetheless.
A couple of days more in the 4x4 took us into the dramatic scenery around Lago Colorado. Incredible stuff: mountains, desert, geysers, hot springs, lakes full of flamingos, surreal rocks erroded by the wind, and much more. We stayed in the basic (rancid) refuge next to Lago Colorado. To get through the experience we all stocked up on alcohol. It turned out to be a very long night. The Irish chap was sick, and I got no sleep as I tried
Cnut-like to hold my stomach cramps at bay. I failed, and was forced to visit the worst toilet in Bolivia on a couple of occasions during the freezing night (-15 degrees). I use this descriptor in all seriousness - ankle deap in murky water and caked in the bodily fluids of countless travellers, it was agreed by all that the convenience may even be in the running for the coveted 'Worst Toilet in the Americas' award.
I never really recovered my health during the rest of my trip in Bolivia. I had organised a trek around the Isla del Sol in Lago Titicaca, but had to change my itinerary a bit as I was delirious with fatigue and lack of food and water after a night on the throne in Copacabana (I didn't bump into Lola). My guide Joel was a nice chap, and even he expressed some concern as I stumbled up and down the rugged pathways at 3,800m above sea level, barely able to catch my breath. Copacabana is kind of like a Bolivian Blackpool - replace donkeys with llamas and rock with popcorn. The main difference is that it's actually quite nice, although there were too
many hippies around getting in touch with their inner selves. To paraphrase a friend: 'Don't let them travel. Lock them up in Glastonbury and force them to eat their own excrement'. Quite. But I digress. It's the lake that is the real draw, and I'm glad I made it there, albeit through gritted teeth.
Back in La Paz for mountain biking down the world's most dangerous road. A really tiring day, this. Descending from 4,700m to 1,100m on unsurfaced road with sheer drops around every corner. The ride starts off pleasant enough, but as one continues, one's hands become numb from the incessant juddering, and the constant movement saps your energy. The fear also begins to take hold as you see some of the appalling accidents on-route. Many hundreds of people die every year on this road, and it's easy to see why. It's one lane etched into the hillside, with buses and trucks attempting to head in both directions. One passes through waterfalls, and around precarious rockfalls as one descends. I was the unfortunate one in our group of 14. The Grim Reaper's whirlwind skimmed by me as I was nearly driven off the road by a bus.
Arbol de Piedra
Improbable rock near Lago Colorado (small man for scale) I remember vividly the expression of terror on the passengers' faces as it seemed certain I would be nudged over a 500m precipice. I cannot remember much else. I was extremely shaken from the experience - around 12 inches separated me from having to atone for my sins rather sooner than I had expected. I found the day hugely exhilerating, but won't be doing anything so dangerous again on my trip. As the guide said to me afterwards, 'This is different from other sports. Usually, when you fuck up you break a bone. Here you die.'
Final day: Andean ruins at Tiahuanaco before my last night in La Paz. Interesting, but I'd had my fill of ruins, and wanted nothing more than to lie in an expensive hotel with a wet towel (preferably dipped in wine) on my forehead.
Chile next.
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Justin Crozier
non-member comment
That picture.
I can almost smell that toilet. The photo makes a tremendous screensaver. You are a poet of the digital image, Ian.