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Published: October 10th 2009
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All aboard the Death Train Our first taste of Bolivia was the "Train of Death". The name caused some concern at first but we needn´t have worried as the train itself couldn´t have been less dangerous. It gets it´s name from the fact that it is so slow that most people would rather throw themselves underneath it than repeat the experience. The journey was made a lot more tolerable by the vendors who boarded the train at every stop. Their ages ranged from 5 to 65 and their wares ranged from meals cooked on the platform to their suspicious homemade drinks. The one thing they had in common was the gusto with which they announced themselves, and their goods, to the carriage. Daniel´s enjoyment of this sideshow deteriorated somewhat when shortly after nodding off (and we all know how he likes his naps) he was awoken by a local boy, no older than 10, shrieking "TAMERINDOOOO" down his ear.
Our first port of call was Santa Cruz. Bolivia´s largest city, despite it´s size it doesn´t offer much for tourists. It did provide us with our cheapest meal though, 2 courses each and 2 coca colas at only 2 pound 50! We did happen to bump
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Yet another station into two Spanish girls we had met in the Pantanal, which lead to an interesting night out in a heavy metal bar where we drank beer out of a gothic fish bowl with some gothic locals. We then headed south to a small town called Sucre, really picturesque where all the buildings are painted white. In the nearby park, there was a miniature Eiffel Tower that you could climb. Daniel decided to go up while I waited at the bottom for a photo. As he started his ascent I could see three very young boys were hot on his heels. Once he had got to the top they blocked off the exits and refused to move until he bought some bubble gum. From where I was sat I could see that negotiations were taking some time, however Daniel´s pigeon Spanish and frantic hand gestures won out the stand off and he was eventually allowed back down.
We then moved on to Potosi, which claims to be the highest city in the world at 4090 metres. We had heard some horror stories about people suffering with altitude sickness on the bus taking you there, however we were fortunately both fine.
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Santa Cruz accomodation The city has been notorious for over 500 years due to Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain) which it lies beneath and the minerals mined from it. We paid a visit to the working mines, known as the "Mouth of Hell" in what was probably the most memorable thing we´ve done so far. They were very different from any mine wither of us had visited in the UK, as they were working mines they are not tailored to tourists and because of this you have to sign a disclaimer before entering on not holding them liable if you lose your life.
First of all we were given full protective clothing, helmets etc. We then went to the miners market to buy presents for them as they work at least 10 hours a day without eating or breaks. We were encouraged to buy some of the following; soft drinks, coca leaves (to help with the altitude) and dynamite. Dynamite could be bought by anyone so we bought a few extra sticks to blow up later. We then arrived at the mine and it soon became very clear why it is called the "Mouth of Hell". It was also the point where we
realised that the altitude was affecting our breathing and this got worse whilst down the mine. We were only down there for an hour but the combination of the altitude, heat, dust, darkness and confined spaces made for a pretty uncomfortable experience. Whenever we came across miners we gave them what we had bought for them, similarly to them I was also munching like mad on the coca leaves in some kind hope of being relieved of the discomfort. As we were struggling up and down holes it made it difficult to believe that they could be down there everyday for such long periods of time and be as young as just 13 years old. It made complaining about our jobs seem a bit ridiculous. We were pretty relieved to get out to say the least and were then entertained with quite a lot of blowing up dynamite.
We left Potosi the next day for Uyuni. I am hoping that Daniel and smelly women will become a running theme on this trip as when we seated ourselves, on what was already an extremely tightly packed and uncomfortable bus, an old woman came and sat next to him. She did
not smell pleasant. Daniel described the smell as being like "a turkey". Not the roast turkey we all enjoy at Christmas, instead the smell of 2000 of them dealt with on the farm in Essex. The smell was intensified when she sat on his lap to allow others to pass. A particular highlight for me was when, in utter desperation, he got out his aloe vera vaseline and started spreading it all around and up his nostrils in a bid to mask the stench. It did not. With the bumpiest road we have been on so far and my window refusing to stay shut in minus temperatures, this was easily the worst journey yet.
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I think I just sat next to the same woman on the flight between Dubai and Dar es Salaam