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Published: December 27th 2015
Streets Of Sucre
An alleyway up in the hills of Sucre."Oh no, not another bigger shithole."
Those were the words of Theo as we pulled into well, another bigger shithole. Luckily it wasn't our final destination, Potosi. Well, actually it was. Shit. But it was just the outskirts of one of the highest city in the world, thankfully.
I had expected Bolivia to be poor, but not this poor. I hadn't seen this amount of crumbling, incomplete buildings since Egypt. Poverty is always sad to see though and it constantly serves as a reminder of how lucky we in the developed world are.
I think my Spanish has improved - and it also helps that Bolivians speak more slowly and clearly. I can actually understand the people here. This became apparent at the bus station we arrived at in Potosi, as I got the lady collecting money for the use of the bathrooms to call us a couple of taxis. We decided to go safety-first having been freaked out by Lonely Planet after reading about "express kidnappings", where unlicensed taxi drivers pick up tourists, then pick up accomplices with guns, drive the tourists into the middle of nowhere, extort or beat them into giving the taxi driver and accomplices everything
Colourful Streets Of Potosi
Note the interesting wooden balconies. they have, and then being left for dead. Better safe than sorry.
We had managed to keep our
salt flat crew together to Potosi, seeing that no-one wanted to hang around in Uyuni and that everyone was heading north anyway, with Potosi being the next point of interest. We only had a night here though, so after dropping off our things at our hotel we then realised we only had thirty minutes to find something to eat before jumping onto the last tour of day at the Casa Nacional de la Moneda.
It was a bit of a debacle - the streets were busy with cars and pedestrians, there are no fast-food chains or any places that did
comida rapida and we only had ten minutes to get something. Having not eaten since we left Uyuni that morning and with the tour lasting a couple of hours, we just
had to eat something. Trying to get quick consensus on what to eat was proving difficult and for the first time in a while I was getting quite hangry and fed-up. We then came across a
carniceria selling meat sandwiches. Only that my request was lost in translation and that we ended
Dynamite!
You could buy it in Potosi! up getting just the meat, as they had no bread. Quick-thinking Nicola then spotted a street stall selling bread, so she quickly bought some allowing us to make some really quickly improvised meat sandwiches. They weren't bad but they weren't good - unlike some of the others, I was just happy to have something to eat rather than having the nerve to complain about the quality of the sandwiches - but they managed to tie us over for the tour.
And you know what happened after all that? We found out that we actually had an extra half-hour before the tour started and that the hotel receptionist had got the start time wrong. Livid. It allowed us to have a more relaxed time at the Casa's cafe where we ordered something more substantial - but even that became a race against time as the cook had to actually go out to buy the ingredients for our ultimately average sandwiches, which we managed to scoff down a minute or two before the tour started.
The importance of the Casa Nacional de la Moneda - the city's official mint - can only really be explained with a little history.
What established
Mirador, Sucre
Looking over Sucre. Potosi in the 16th century was the big hill next to it - the
Cerro Rico, which had one of the largest reserves of silver in the world. Thus Potosi was established as a mining town and the Spanish used the vast amounts of silver to produce coins for the empire - and where better to produce these coins than right next to where the silver was being extracted?
The tour was good, even if some facts presented to us were a little embellished. Our tour guide was good - he was very enthusiastic about his work and as well as teaching us many interesting facts, also brought everything he was showing us to life. We saw the different machines used and we learnt about the different techniques applied over the 400 years that mint was in service, which was more fascinating than one might expect. Perhaps the most interesting fact we learnt was that the modern dollar sign was in fact derived from the Potosi mint mark which was stamped on all coins produced in Potosi. Coins produced here became so widespread that it led to the saying
"valer un potosi", meaning "worth a Potosi" ("worth a fortune").
Plaza 10 de Noviembre
Central square in Potosi. Walking around the city after the tour, we discovered that Potosi's city centre is actually quite nice, with its steep, narrow and winding streets. And I thought
Valparaiso was hilly! The said streets presented two problems however; firstly, there isn't enough room for both cars and pedestrians and it became a case of the bravest gets right of way; and secondly, with Potosi being 4,100m above sea level, walking around here amongst the exhaust fumes left you gasping for breath, even after walking short distances. In fact, even getting up off a chair left me breathless and it became really annoying.
As explained above, Potosi's place in history is down to the production of coins and the founding impact the coins have had on today's financial system - but this would not have happened were it not for the
Cerro Rico, which is still being mined today. Given the historic value of the mine, it felt appropriate to check it out via a tour of it.
This isn't my first tour of a mine - the last and only other one I did was in
Sweden. However, it did nothing to prepare me for what I was about to
Refinery, Potosi
Machine used to refine the mined rocks to extract silver and other metals. experience, with the main difference being that that tour was in health-and-safety-first Sweden, and this one was in the wild-west looseness of Bolivia. To illustrate, we were able to buy sticks of dynamite (!) to take in there, and we also had to do a small shot of
ceibo - a 96%!l(MISSING)iquor that is poured onto the ground before cinsumption as a gift to
pacha mamma ("Mother Earth") so that she may protect the miners from the dangers inside the mine.
And boy do the miners need protection - there are very little safety regulations inside the mine, there is a severe lack of protective equipment, and the miners work for very little and are very poor. Basically, unless you are part of the miners' cooperative that you can only join after six years, you only earn money for what you find - if you find nothing, you get nothing. The silver ran out about 200 years ago - it is now mostly tin that the miners are after.
As a result, all tour-goers are asked to purchase supplies to gift to the miners - things like water, coca-leaves, and yes, dynamite. In a black comedy moment, testosterone got
Cerro Rico, Potosi
Miners push a cart out of the mine. They go really fast and I only just managed to get out of the way of one on the way in. the better of the male members of our troupe and despite pleas by the tour operators to buy less dynamite and more drinks, we were like, "nah, I wanna buy more dynamite!". They only cost us £1 a stick!
As you can probably imagine, the tour is no walk in the park and was quite scary at first. What we were about to see wasn't for show - this was a real, working mine. It was frightening at first as a metal carts came screaming towards you at a great rate of knots. With less than a metre of space either side of the railway track running through the middle of the tunnel, I had to sprint and dive into one of the waiting bays sticking out the side to avoid being run over. It was like that scene in Indiana Jones & The Temple Of Doom with the big boulder chasing Indy down. Sprinting at this altitude almost had me hyperventilating and a panic attack almost followed when I realised we were stuck under a mountain with only one way out. It was a claustrophobic's worst nightmare.
After managing to regain my composure, we then had to climb up
a ladder with broken rungs into another section of the mine. Once there, we had to climb up a steep tunnel with loose rocks underfoot and little grip on the walls - there was only enough space for one person to climb/crawl at a time. One slip and you would be sliding all the way down to the bottom of the tunnel. Up ahead, it became too much for the old Yorkshireman in our group, as he freaked out and demanded to be let out of the tunnel. At the dead end of the tunnel was one miner chipping away - not much to see here and scant reward for all the effort getting up there. He claimed he was more fed up with what he saw at the end of the tunnel than anyhting else - and I could understand the old man's frustration - but if this was the case, his anger and reaction seemed a bit unnecessary and only served to freak the rest of us out. We all reckoned he just flipped out.
While a bit of an adventure, it really wasn't a very well-organised tour. We waited around for long periods and didn't really learn
"El Tio", Cerro Rico, Potosi
"The Uncle" is the lord of the underworld and statues are set up all over the mine with offerings given to him in the form of alcohol and cigarettes, mostly. much that was useful. There also seemed a lack of direction from the guide which in such circumstances is something you really want for peace of mind - we didn't have much clue as to what we were doing or where we were going. And in terms of giving gifts to the miners, it wasn't us giving the out but the guides, who were basically giving out everything we had willy-nilly, probably to his mates. That didn't go down well with us - these are our gifts, not his.
The highlight of the tour though was hearing dynamite go off. As we sat down to await the explosion, I was a little disconcerted to see all the miners were rushing past us and getting further away from the dynamite than we were - even if our guide didn't tell us to get further away. We were then told that the dynamite still had another two minute to go, but then- "BANG!"
Though shockingly unexpected, it wasn't as loud as I thought it would be but it was more the force and energy of the blast that shakes you. It was a cool experience though, as another five sticks went off
- probably the sticks we had bought and were given away by our guide. We had heard that you could set off the dynamite yourself; given that we would have to light them and then scramble through tunnels, loose rocks and broken ladders to get away before the sticks blew up prematurely, we figured that this would be way to dangerous - even by Bolivian standards. Sure enough, we were told that this practice is forbidden but that tourists used to be able to do it - until the mountain started collapsing at the top- wait, WHAT? The mountain is COLLAPSING? Jesus, get me out of here.
We did get out of there safely enough in the end. It was a good experience but it wasn't well organised and it was actually quite dangerous - this would never get past health and safety anywhere in the Western world. It also felt a little morally dubious seeing the poor miners at work. As well as the safety aspect, I wasn't completely comfortable with the gift-giving either. I was glad to be out of there, what with the danger, enclosed space and breathlessness inside. We were told later that 14 workers a
Money-Making Machine, Potosi
Inside the Casa Nacional de la Moneda. This machine created blocks of silver from the molten metal, which were then used to make the coins. month die in there - which is 14 too many a month. In most other countries, any workplace where 14 people die every month would immediately be shut down. Not in Bolivia sadly.
Before leaving Potosi for Sucre, we "enjoyed" one last lunch. We had what had to be the stroppiest waitress ever, quite possibly the worst service I have ever had - but the quinoa soup was delicious and I got to try
llama a la plancha, which was nice but chewy. And we couldn't complain about the price - a four-course meal including a drink for £5. It was almost
Morocco-cheap.
As we fortunately managed to grab the last six seats on the bus, we were stuck down the back - but it made for an enjoyable ride as chatted and continued the laughs that we started on the salt flat tour and in
Mendoza. The ride even came with a lightning and thunder show as we passed through the mountains - all for just £2.
My first observation about Sucre were the bloody roof pipes that simply emptied onto the streets, catching out and soaking unsuspecting tourists like myself. Grrrr. Oh yeah, and that
Calle Grau, Sucre
Looking down towards central Sucre. it is a really pretty city with lots of white-washed, Spanish, colonial-pueblo-style buildings. It also instantly felt nice and safe here.
Having slept in a different place every night for the last six, we had been moving pretty fast and we all felt we needed to stop and chill for a few days - which is exactly what we did here in Sucre. Playing cards (Scum, of course), watching DVDs, watching football, writing blogs, enjoying a delicious hostel-made curry for £3.50 one night, a BBQ for the same price the next night...life wasn't bad. There were even places with decent coffee and a decent English Breakfast again.
The only thing that killed the mood was shitty wifi and the possibility that our cards had all been swiped at an ATM in San Pedro (everything turned out fine, thankfully).
There isn't too much to see in the way of sights, which is just what you want when you want to chill somewhere for a few days. There is the main plaza, Plaza 25 de Mayo, on which sits the cathedral and the disappointing Casa de la Libertad which had little information - and what information it did have was all
Best Fruit Salad Ever, Sucre
Miles, an Australian we met at the hostel, and I pose with our humongous fruit salads. in Spanish. Otherwise the museum was mainly paintings and assorted other objects. As for the square itself it had really weird timed pedestrian crossings that involved you waiting in a square in the middle of the road. It made sense yet was confusing at the same time.
Apart from the pretty buildings, my personal Sucre highlight was its bustling central market. It had different areas for different things - for example, all of the potato sellers were in one place, all of the cakemakers were in another, restaurants (really cheap!) were all upstairs and meat was all downstairs. There was a wide an interesting array of things on sale. My favourite section of the market however was where all the fruit salad and smoothie bars resided. It was here that I perhaps had the best and biggest fruit salad ever. In a big bowl, my salad contained pineapple, watermelon, strawberries, boysenberries, peaches, mangoes, kiwifruit, jackfruit, melon, bananas, guavas, apples, grapes and a couple of exotic fruits including
chirimoya and
maracuya. It was then topped with
dulce de leche, cereal, plenty of cream and a wafer. All for just £1.20.
On our last night we attended a fountain show where
the fountain and lights danced to set music, both local and popular. It was similar to the show they have in Barcelona but on a much smaller scale. We had prime seats right in front of the fountain which was located in a very well kept park. Sucre is definitely the nicest and most well-kept city I have seen in Bolivia so far. The show was actually pretty well choreographed - I could've sat there for hours.
Also in the park was a brass band practicing tunes and separate groups of young guys and girls dancing to the music in what looked like some sort of rehearsal. There are a lot of young people in Sucre which helps give the city energy - but it wasn't enough to get us out on any night, as we were either too tired, drunk, full or lazy. There just wasn't much of a party vibe at our hostel.
On our way back from the fountain show we got caught in some of the most intense thunder and lightning that I've experienced while trapped outside. It was a little scary - scary enough to have us running back to the hostel to avoid getting
Parque Bolivar, Sucre
Where a brass band and dancing troupe were practicing. hit, despite the fact we had to run uphill at altitude.
Later that night while we were playing cards, we swore that we heard a girl screaming outside the hostel. We could see anything out the window and we asked the hostel owner if we should investigate. With fear in his eyes, the hostel owner told us not to go outside. In a country that is relatively lawless, we didn't one to be getting ourselves involved in something dangerous and was not any of our business; on the other hand it was a little heartbreaking to feel so helpless in case something really bad like a kidnapping or a rape was happening. The other sound we could hear was that of a stationary car engine - when the screaming stopped, the car pulled away.
The events of the previous night were on our mind as Fleur, Sybe and I decided to walk to the bus station the nexy day, through some pretty sketchy neighbourhoods. There were even points during the walk there where we considered walking back. We made it there safely in the end but it is probably not something we want to be attempting again anytime soon.
We took a
colectivo back to the central market which cost us the equivalent of about 30p. It was probably much safer too.
On the way back to the hostel, we passed a trail of blood close to the hostel. It started against a wall, with drops leading down the footpath for a a few metres before disappearing once it hit the road - in other words, it looked like someone might have been dragged bleeding into a waiting car. We didn't want to jump to conclusions by linking the blood trail with what we heard last night but it was an easy thing to do. We prayed that nothing nasty had happened.
With Chris and Nicola having already left us, the group was splitting up. Fleur, Sybe and I were to continue our journey to La Paz where we would reunite with Nicola, but we would be leaving Teo behind, as he wanted to stay in Sucre for a while to take Spanish classes. We had a final meal before we left him for the bus station. We will miss this guy and his random Swedish swear words.
Hellvete! I especially will miss him a bit - he
Gobernacion de Chuquisaca, Sucre
The administrative building the the region of Chuquisaca. has been with me for a good 3 1/2 weeks now, since we met in Mendoza. Maybe we will meet again somewhere else on the continent.
Our last hours in Sucre had more in common with frantic first few hours that we spent in Potosi, rather than the serene few days we had just enjoyed. It involved the most crazy, stressful and ridiculous check-in process ever seen in a bus station. Firstly, to get to the platform, we had to line up in a separate queue to pay a 2BOB (Bolivian Boliviano; £1 = 10BOB) terminal tax before we could get to our bus; and then with just five minutes before departure, I realised that there was no-one giving the bag handlers bags to put in the hold of the bus. Instead the bags were coming down a wooden chute from the first floor of the bus station.
"¿Puedo dejar mi mochila aqui?", I asked.
"¡No! ¡Va arriba!", replied the bag handler, pointing the chute above.
We then had to race upstairs to get our bags weighed before being put down the chute - if we had more than the allotted 20kg, we would have to pay a sneaky
Cathedral, Sucre
Sucre's primary church. 2BOB/kg fee. Thankfully, we made it back down in time for the bus.
There are all sorts of riff-raff selling food and performing for tips on board the bus. The fact they're even allowed on tells me that there is a solidarity among the people here - an acknowledgement that everyone is struggling and that people will help each other out where they can. A solidarity that says "we're all in this together" (unlike what David Cameron says - this is a real solidarity) - something that is missing in many a Western country.
The poverty that exists here was then highlighted as we drove through Sucre's outer suburbs. Along with the incomplete, derelict, abandoned buildings also seen in Potosi, there was also rubble and stray dogs lining the streets here too. It was sad to see.
Next stop is La Paz - reportedly one of the most dangerous cities in South America. If you don't die in the city, you may well die going down the Death Road - hopefully us and our mountain bikes will survive!
Hasta luego,
Derek
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Bolivia
Enjoyed your stories, frustrations and observations. This looks good.