Cochabamba, Sucre and Potosi

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Kyle

From our last blog it wasn't hard to see that we were feeling a little disheartened after our La Paz experience was not all we had hoped it would be. Tired of waiting for the Yungas roadblock to reopen we decided to cut our losses in La Paz and continue our journey south. We were pinning our hopes on Cochabamba, Sucre and Potosí to redeem the Bolivian leg of our trip, and thankfully they did so. But not in the way we were expecting.

After eight days spent powering up and down the steep streets of La Paz the seven hour bus ride to Cochabamba was actually a nice opportunity to put our feet up and relax. We still were yet to experience a horror Bolivian bus ride like those we have heard so much about - the bus was comfortable, we were lucky enough to have the two front seats upstairs which afforded good views of the puna, and the road was paved; the journey was quite enjoyable with the only discomfort coming from the lunch we ordered at the truck stop. We expected sandwich mixto to be the typical ham and cheese combo, but were a little put off by the greasy steak and egg it turned out to be.

We got a little something extra out of our bus trip too - for once the on-board salesmen was peddling something of interest rather than the more common sweets and books. We attentively listened to his twenty minute spiel extolling the virtues of a coca-infused heat rub that he was selling for the attractively low price of 10Bs. We almost missed out, as thinking we didn't speak Spanish he didn't even attempt to sell to us. We'll have to hide that away with our other coca products before even trying to enter back into Australia (don't worry - these do not include the most famous coca product).

Our first hour or so in Cochabamba was not particularly enjoyable as we trudged the streets in search of decent accommodation, which is quite thin on the ground in this town. We ended up at Residencial Familiar Anexo which was in a great location but it had all the character and charm of a mental hospital. It also came complete with its own bitchy matron who took an immediate disliking to me. It all started when we asked for a matrimonial (double bed) to which she looked me up and down with a look of disdain that clearly said "I know you're not married" and offered us a twin. We found it hard to beleive she didn't have a matrimonial as there was only one other room occupied. Things became clearer once we read the sign on the door that stated "Somos Católicos y no queremos cambiar. No insista." ("We are Catholic and we don't want to change. Don't insist."

We contemplated taking a tour to Toro Toro national park. We decided against it due to timing restraints but the brief moment we spent flirting with the idea was notable for something the agent said. We always make a point of asking where the other people booked on the tour are from, in an effort to avoid groups of unsociable French (there is a plague of French in South America who do not mix with those below their station). When we asked the aforementioned question the agent was quick to assert that "They're not Israeli!". That wasn't our worry at all.

Cochabamba really surprised us with its thriving cafe culture. We drank at some of the nicest cafes and bars since we left Spain and once again we were far removed from the "poverty" of Bolivia. One street in particular, Calle Ecuador, was lined with locales that would not be out of place in Europe or Sydney. One of our favourites was PriKafe where we enjoyed excellent $2 cocktails, and also the extremely popular Casablanca with its extensive menu and young, fashionable crowd.

It wasn't all beer and skittles however. Two of the more unusual dining/drinking experiences were had at K-Ooz (somehow pronouned "caos"), where cocktails were served in two litre jugs with shot glasses to sip from; and a cheap chinese restaurant near our hostal where South American hospitality was taken to new levels when the depressed waitress frisbeed our meals to us and almost missed the table as she dumped our cutlery having already turned to return to the kitchen.

Cochabamba is also lacking in informed tourist information. We visited three separate tourist "information" offices with questions about nearby sights sourced directly from our guidebook. Nobody had any idea what we were talking about, wanting only to sell us tickets for the open-top sightseeing bus and give us directions to the giant statue of Jesus overlooking the town. The only hint of information we were interested in was a random pamphlet covering a nearby nature reserve that the Departmental Tourist Office was somehow able to provide despite not knowing where or what it was (we suspect the pamphlet may have been propping up the leg of a wonky table out the back). Spurred on with only this pamphlet for guidance we decided to try and get there - it was the sight of the 1993 South American Scout Jamboree, of course we couldn't miss it.

It turned out to be a narrow valley of Eucalypt trees which was pretty enough. Part of the fun was just getting there with so little information - two colectivos packed full of confused school children wondering why there were two gringos in their neighbourhood. We also made a new friend in a black and white speckled dog we named Bits after an heladería called Bits and Cream (cookies and cream to the rest of the world). He turned out to be a useful ally chasing off more aggressive perros bravos along the way. In this valley (El Potrero) we found what would have been the perfect free camping sight - flat, grassy, with a firepit, next to a small stream and shaded by the eucalypt forest. It was enough to get us fired up for camping in Argentina.

After a relatively uneventful but enjoyable two days in Cochabamba we boarded a 12 hour overnight bus to Sucre. We fell asleep OK but woke up not long after as the bus went off-road. The majority of the way is unpaved and bumpy is an understatement. Why this route is only done overnight is beyond me as the conditions are not conducive to sleeping. For this reason our defenses were low when we arrived in Sucre in the morning, and a tout was able to usher us to his four day old hotel with little resistance and barely any questions asked on our part. Usually we would never do this, preferring to seek out our own choice in accommodation, but the thought of being taken straight to a waiting bed was too tempting and we jumped in a cab with Wilson and headed to Quechua Inn. It really was brand new - our enormous room held nothing but a bed and we had flashbacks of Hostel Arcadia in Medellín. Like Arcadia it is just a huge house that has been turned into a hostel. It has a great kitchen and will probably be quite nice when it's finished.

After a couple of hours sleep we headed in to the centre of Sucre, a town determined to convince everyone it is the rightful capital of Bolivia. It's also known as the Ciudad Blanca as all its colonial architecture is painted white. Apart from wandering the pretty streets of the old centre there's not a whole lot to do in this town. One day was more than enough. We took refuge from the heat in the leafy main plaza where Tahlei commented the birds were rather loud and annoying. I'm surprised she didn't pick up on the regularity of their "chirping" as it was infact the crossing signals at the traffic lights. A true blonde. It was also here where we witnessed an amazing sight - possibly a first in South America - a man being cautioned by a policeman for pissing in public. I thought South America was one big open urinal; it smells that way anyway.

Again we were able to find a few lovely watering holes, the pick being La Bodega Vieja which had a distinctly Spanish feel. We enjoyed a nice bottle of Bolivian wine (it´s really not that bad) and a huge platter of cheese, olives and ham. They also played a music video mega-mix of 90´s hits that was sadly very entertaining. We must get out more.

The next day we boarded a "short" four-hour bus to Potosí, home to the famous silver mine. In colonial times the mine produced half the world's silver - they say it has produced enough silver to build a bridge to Madrid, and enough people have died working it to build a bridge of bones back again. Lovely. It is now worked by co-operatives of miners who work in conditions that probably haven't changed much since those days. Tourists are able to go into the mine to experience first hand what it's like to be a Potoseña miner, and this is the main attraction of the town nowadays.

Upon first entering the town it didn't seem like much - poorer than the previous two towns we visited it had a definite working class feel. Once we made it in to the compact historical centre we were pleasantly surprised - it has nice architecture and a vibrant atmosphere. We got a tiny room with an even tinier bed (seriously it was more like a single and we didn't get much sleep in it) at Hostal Felimar. It was in a great location, staff were friendly and it included breakfast.

Our first item of business was to book a tour of the mine for the following day. The most popular agency in town is Koala Tours, so called because the owner chews coca leaves in the same quantity as a koala chews eucalyptus leaves and sleeps 20 hours a day (statistics provided by Wilson in Sucre). However, we went with Silver Tours - a cheaper option as our guide book put it. It was not only the price that attracted us to this agency but also the testimonials on the walls (even some restaurants in Bolivia have testimonials scribbled on their walls) that made out Freddy the guide to be some sort of mine tour demi-god. Another reason was that they visit a mine where the workers actually work on Saturdays, something that Koala Tours could not offer. Furthermore, we were assured that there were no Frenchmen on the tour, just two Irishmen. It's funny how tour agencies always use the Irish to attract other customers - they must be the world's most lovable people.

We arrived the next morning for the start of the tour to find that the two lovable Irishmen had morphed into five cold Frenchmen. Funny that. Luckily we were split into two groups, sociable and unsociable, and Tahlei and I were given our own guide. Not the worshipped Freddy but another ex-miner called José, who turned out to be excellent. After being fitted for protective gear (jacket, pants, boots, helmet and lamp) we were taken to the Miner's Market to buy gifts for the miners. For 10Bs each we bought them a bag of coca leaves, two bottles of soft drink and a bottle 96% alcohol (think metho). Buying gifts for the miners is part of the deal as you are kind of imposing yourself on them during their normal working day. I also bought a gift for myself - a stick of dynamite for the criminally low price of 15Bs (about $2). Being the gallant gentleman I am I allowed Tahlei to carry it through the mine for the duration of the tour.

Entering the mine was like stepping back in time. Following the cart tracks into the darkness, ducking under wooden support beams propping up the rough-hewn walls, stepping over muddy puddles and breathing the scent of freshly-exploded dynamite... it's like a cartoon image of what you expect a mine to be like. José carried a sack on his back with the regalos we had bought to share with the miners we met along the way. The first of these were two young men whose job was to push the carts back and forth all day - 14 times that day. José explained that the cart weighs half a ton empty, and one and a half tons when full. I hope they enjoyed the well-deserved bottle of soft drink we gave them.

We then wound our way deeper into the mine, José taking random turns through the labrynthine tunnels purely from memory. We climbed what looked like an ancient ladder up to a higher level, where we found two miners working a winch that raised rock from a tunnel sixty metres below. One of these miners was fourteen years old (and not wearing a helmet). Another of our gifts was lowered down with the winch to the miners below.

Returning down the ladder and continuing on our way we soon found ourselves climbing again - this time up three levels to where two young miners were drilling perforations in the rock wall to insert dynamite. Climbing these ladders was probably the most dangerous thing we've done in South America - the ladders were old, slippery with mud, and where you had to clamber off them at the top there was nothing but a plank of wood across a sheer drop. Finally we reached the miners, who were working in horrible conditions. The air was thick, it was dark and it was a very confined space. They were given the last of our gifts - the coca leaves and alcohol (goes well with dynamite).

After carefully retracing our steps down the treacherous ladders we took a minute to catch our breath, but almost immediately one of the miners from above appeared and ushered us into the main tunnel of the mine (which we were told is structurally stronger) as they were about to explode the dynamite we had seen them inserting into the wall. We stood with our fingers in our ears and waited, counting the blasts as they went off. They told us there were supposed to be twelve, but we only heard eight. Is that a good sign?

Last stop for us was El Tio - a shrine housed in a small tunnel near the entrance of the mine where the miners offer gifts of coca leaves, alcohol and cigarettes. It consists of a statue of the devil with a huge erect penis - José said he never sleeps. He is supposed to be the partner of Pacha Mama (mother earth) and is the guardian of the mine and all its minerals. The most interesting bit was hearing the different theories explaining why he is called El Tio. Our favourite was that the Spanish conquistadores put the image of the devil in the mine to scare the miners into working harder; the natives, considering the Spanish to be as bad as the devil himself, dubbed the statue "tio" which is what they had heard the Spanish calling each other (in Spain 'tio' is used in much the same way as 'mate' is in Australia).

José added to the already thick layer of coca leaves covering El Tio, and made offerings of alcohol as well. In fact, José made several offerings of alchol to Pacha Mama during our time in the mine. Any time a miner drinks a capful of the rocketfuel he'll pour some on the ground in offering to Mother Earth. As well as drinking José was also chewing on a big ball of coca leaves the whole time we were in the mine. All the miners chew it for endurance and to dull the senses to the poor conditions. During colonial times the Catholic church declared coca to be demonic and therefore banned, but once the conquistadores realised that the natives could not work forty hour shifts without it the Spanish king himself asked the church to revise their decision. Coca was reintroduced to the mine and the workers could be fully exploited once again.

We resurfaced after an hour and a half - any longer would have been too much. We boarded the minibus and drove a little further up Cerro Rico to a lookout over the city of Potosí. The view was nothing special but the event that followed certainly was. I took my dynamite back from Tahlei and José prepared it, moulding the plastic explosive into a nice, big ball and sticking in the three minute fuse. He lit the fuse and we took a moment to pose for photos with our little bomb. It was while Tahlei was smiling nicely for the camera that the French group's dynamite exploded not too far away and she almost dropped the lit fuse on herself. The look on her face was priceless. When the fuse got down to the two minute mark we were advised to get thirty metres back, where we waited with anticipation for the explosion. It didn't disappoint. The noise was deafening, a plume of smoke shot into the air, the shockwave definitely was a shock, and small pebbles rained down on us. It was a fitting end to the tour.

After the disappointment of missing out on the dangerous road in La Paz the middle part of our trip through Bolivia was a good recovery. We hung out in some cool cafes and bars in Cochabamba, enjoyed some tasty chocolates and fine architecture in Sucre, and blew a big hole in Potosí (make sure you check out the video of it I posted with the log). Bolivia was back on track!

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Photos

Cochabamba
jesus looking over us as always

Tahlei lookin the part
cerro rico in the background

Comments

[bob watson]

Ah Tahlei the miner just like her dad, if only we had coca leaves to chew.

[liliana]

Good news!!! You ar3 having an exiting travel. Cheers.