Robbed, homesick and inspired.. travelling around Bolivia

---

---

UYUNI

I was glad to leave the dusty town of Oruro for Uyuni... although the bus drive was quite an experience. I had heard numerous horror stories about long precarious Bolivian bus rides with no toilets, although most buses I have been on tend to make quite regular stops - the first time a bus stopped and half the people got off, I asked my friend: 'Were there lots of toilets?', given how quickly everyone got back on again, to which she replied: 'No, there were no toilets!'!! Most of the roads in Bolivia aren't sealed, so the bus drive feels like you are riding on gravel with no suspension - very bumpy! Not only that, but, on the way to Uyuni I woke several times during the night (when I managed to sleep), clutching onto my seat with fear as the bus tilted so much I thought we would go over! One saving grace for the night buses is that if you arrive at your destination at an ungodly hour of the morning, they usually allow you to stay on the bus and sleep for a couple of hours until around 6am. This doesn't, however, stop the travel agencies from getting on the bus at 4am and trying to sell you their tours!!

So I brought my pack onto the bus and got out my sleeping bag for a good hour or two sleep, and then we (my Israeli and English friends and I) went to try to choose between the 40 or so agencies offering tours of Uyuni. Yoni and I finally decided upon the recommendation of a friend of a friend, Reli tours, for a 4 day tour for $70 including park entrance fees. Not including Renato, our delightful driver, and our cook, we were 6 in the jeep - an English couple - George and Em (who's website inspired me to change mine - check my old website for photos of previous entries: www.ozzysonrisa.whereareyou.net), an American/Bolivian couple - Chris and Yuvi, and my new Israeli friend.

Our first stop (following the train cemetary) was the amazing 93x176km Salar de Uyuni - salt flats as far as the eye can see. At 3675m, the salar is an intricate pattern of crystal hexagons when it is not covered by water, reflecting the surrounding mountains. My photographing the workers was not welcomed. I found they take 1 hour to shovel a salt mound, 5 of which fit on a truck, and they earn a measly 20Bs (Less than USD3) per day! We visited the salt hotel which is made completely of salt (although one such hotel has already been relocated due to environmental reasons), and I was accousted by small children at the salt museum trying to find money in my pockets! After a gorgeous sunset over the Salar, we headed to our hostel.

The second day's itinerary included driving through the desert landscape dotted with 6000m+ peaks, including Iruputuncu Volcano, and many lagoons, culminating in the Laguna Colorada - taking its name from the sun's reaction with the algae in the lake giving it a gorgeous redy pink colour in the afternoon. The lakes in the region are also home to three endangered species of flamenco, the most common being the James species. Ignoring the biting wind, I soaked up the gorgeous landscape.

Day three was an early start to see the sun rise over the Geysers at 4970m - the highest altitude I have ever been! - as the geysers are only active in the morning (we drove past the same landscape on the way back in the afternoon and it was unrecognisable, with no steam rising at all!). Then we braved changing in the freezing cold for a beautiful, well worthwhile dip in the outdoor thermal waters - I think I may have found a rival for the hot springs in Japan!!! Of course, breakfast was ready and waiting when we got out! Our cook was fantastic and we couldn't complain about the hearty hot meals, served on a foldout table with umbrella for the sun and all! We said goodbye to our English friends just after Laguna Verde (green as the name indicates, reflecting a perfect image of the neighbouring mountain), at the border of Bolivia and Chile - the latter was indicated by a sign only!!! A good route for contraband goods to enter the country. I hesitated as to whether to join them in the hour's trip to Chile's famous San Pedro de Atacama desert, but decided to continue back to Uyuni. The car was much quieter without George and Em, who's conversation's had ranged from splinters and oil reserves, to horrible repetitive Bolivian pop music (which I later had a taste of on one of my night bus rides). Chris, suffering from the altitude, slept in the back until we arrived at a small village where we stayed the night. The village was self sufficient, with stone walls enclosing the llamas for the night, as well as pigs, on the hillside. We even discovered some mummies near the remains of a plane crash... a kind of memorial to the dead - spooky right on dusk! After dinner, we were treated to some traditional music by a band made up of some local boys. Their music needed a lot of work (!!!) but they were so cute!!

On the last day we were joined by two lovely Italian girls, one working in Cochabamba, the other took over Chris's position with altitude sickness! We stopped at Valle de las Rocas - gorgeous rock for climbing so I had a boulder in my boots and jeans... ah, I wanna climb!!! In the afternoon we stopped at San Cristobal - the whole village was moved down to the bottom of the hill by a large mining company which has permission to exploit the former colonial mine for silver for the next 20 years.

SUCRE

Back in Uyuni, Yoni and I met up again with his Israeli friend, Carmet, and we headed to Sucre (Constitutional Capital, UNESCO World Heritage city) on a night bus, leaving at 8pm, to arrive Sunday morning 6am, so we could check out the markets in Tarabuco, about 1 hour by bus. We found a fabulous HI hostel near the bus station. So much for staying one night - with practically our own private balcony complete with swinging chair overlooking the gorgeous white houses on the hill, we decided we would be here a couple of days at least!

The markets were brimming with colour - textiles, fruits, spices, and ritual offerings to be burnt on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I got some lovely photos of the locals in traditional dress (which I have lost - see next section), and the next day when we visited the Indigenous Museum, we were told the leather rounded hat with bells on is worn by males and married females, whereas the cylindrical hat with a hanging curtain is worn by single women. Women wearing the latter often have a small baby on their back because couples often live together for a few years before getting married (financial reasons among others) - modern society is not so modern after all! The museum also explained the different textile prints and dress of the different regions - fascinating.

We headed up to the Mirador in the evening, and enjoyed exquisite spicy hot chocolate from deckchairs overlooking the city... A perfect way to relax after 4 days bumping along in a jeep! Back at the hostel, my Israeli friends cooked me a lovely dish, 'Shak Shuka', based on tomato, onion and egg.

The next day was a transport strike, with drivers protesting against the taxes being imposed on them, so we abandoned all thought of heading to Potosi, and continued our R&R. All the streets were blocked with trucks, so we walked through the lovely colonial town - such a pleasure to have bitumen roads without all the dust! I found a cheap call center and chatted with home for an hour... nice to talk with my folks after so long!!! I think I'm starting to appreciate the luxuries of home after travelling in such a poor country!

POTOSI

The next morning the strike was continuing, but we were able to catch a taxi the three hours to Potosi, the highest city in the world at 4070m, and another UNESCO World Heritage city. The city is famous for silver extraction during colonial times (founded in 1545), although nowadays most of the silver is exhausted and the mines mainly produce lead and zinc.

Three encounters and a tour of the mines later, and my motivation had returned. The conditions in the mines are appalling. Little has changed over the past 500 years, apart from the tubes bringing oxygen into some tunnels. Miners make about 15Bs (less than USD2) for a huge 11 cartloads of mineral. They have to buy all their own equipment - torch, dynamite, clothing - and are contracted by bosses who take all the profits. We met a boy who's 19 year old brother had died in the mines, and a woman who's husband was also a victim to the mines. The mix of the gasses seeping from the rocks and the toxins produced by the explosion of dynamite can be toxic, causing instant death. We saw tunnels big enough for a man to fit inside, where a miner has followed a vein and carried the mineral out on his back to a wheelbarrow which is pushed to a cart on rail tracks. Everything is done by hand (and the hands are knarled and bleeding), and there are no elevators. During colonial rule, the miners lived for months in the mines without seeing daylight. Nowadays, they work longer hours to make more money. Before entering the mines, we tipped 85% alcohol over a statue and took a sip. The statue was made by the Colonial rulers to 'watch over' the miners - using superstition to force them into submission - and is still used today. Even children as young as 8yrs are working in the mines. Evo Morales is a shining light to these people. When he visited Potosi, he emerged from the mines with tears streaming down his cheeks and flung his helmet from his head. He reduced the retirement payout age from 75 (which virtually noone managed to attain) to 55 years. The people are still waiting to see what else he will achieve.

The mine tour was fabulous, and it was good to be helping with the gifts of gloves, softdrink, dynamite, biscuits etc that we had first bought at the 'miners market' (a small roadside stand). It wasn't enough though, and I wished I had bought more as the men asked if we had something to drink after our supplies had run dry. I was pleased we were at least able to offer something rather than just being gaping tourists. It seemed that our guide was their fairy godmother, and she explained that she guides tours through different mines, depending on who is the most needy. As we left, she asked one worker if he was interested in learning a profession. She explained to me that a French girl was organising for French Universities to sponsor 10 young mine workers to be educated in a profession to get them out of the mines. The main problem is lack of education. My mind was working overtime with what I could do to help. As a teacher, take Spanish language students from Australia to Bolivia on a tour of the mines and get them to write to schools requesting them to sponsor a child? An English journalist, working in Columbia, was also on our tour, and was also touched at the sight. What impressed me most, however, was the spirit of the people. No complaints, no resentment of the tourists, just quiet acceptance of their fate.

The transport strike continued, but we managed to buy tickets on a bus going to Oruro. We caught a taxi to catch the bus at 8pm. The driver was a part-time taxi driver, and worked in an NGO, helping mothers to use their talents to make textiles for a living. There is hope. The Bolivian people are working to improve the standards of their lives. We arrived to find the bus was nowhere in sight. After much asking around, we found the bus had left, but was waiting at a roundabout further down the street. A taxi whizzed us there in record time and we just made it before the bus zoomed off! When we arrived at Oruro at 1am, we were lucky to get a seat on the small bus going to La Paz, uncomfortable though it was!

ROBBED

Not a very nice welcome back to La Paz... I fell for the oldest scam in the book.

We stumbled off the night bus from Potosi, rubbing our eyes and trying to adjust to the cold morning air. I accompanied my travelling companions to the local Israeli hangout - the Lobo hostel - and left them for the Gravity House to arrive before Graham left for work around 6.30am... Walking down the main avenue, checking for buses to Sopocachi, I got chatting to a sweet, innocent Equadorian who had apparently just arrived in La Paz and was also heading in the same direction. A taxi stopped in front of us, and we both told the driver we were waiting for the bus. The taxi driver then offered to charge us the same fare as the bus (alarm bells... but I thought, being so early in the morning, he was just happy to have a customer).

First mistake: I got in the taxi with a stranger.

Further down the road, the taxi slowed down, for another passenger, yelling 'Sopocachi' out the window... But it turned out that the passenger was a 'policeman', who promptly jumped in the front seat, and proceded to ask for our identification (after showing us his). I was aware of the scam of people pretending to be plain clothes policeman (although being in a taxi somewhat threw me), and showed him only my student ID. He was very pleasant and explained to us that many foreigners come into Bolivia with drugs and false money, so he was just doing a routine check. He asked to check our money and our bags, and I watched, horrified, as the Equadorian handed over wads of money, thinking how stupid he was (how ironic!). Sceptical, I handed him the 10Bs note I had in my pocket, insisting it was the only money I had on me, saying I didn't carry money with me but drew it out as I went. Of course, he next asked to see our credit card. Looking back, I was very stupid to have handed it over, but with Mr. Equador alongside complying religiously, and me vigilantly surveying the 'policeman' who checked it and handed it back, I followed suit. When he got out his mobile phone, under the guise of 'checking' the authenticity of my card, however, I demanded it back.

He then checked our bags. I figured (after him checking the Equadorian's bag and commenting on the coca leaves) that I had nothing to hide, and no cash inside, so watched as he looked through and took out my camera and put it back in again. I asked if we were at Avenue Equador yet, noting that we were heading up the hill, and the policeman said we had passed it and told the taxi driver to let me out, that he was taking the Equadorian to the police station as he had a lot of cash on him. I got out, not quite sure if the guy was authentic or not, decided to cancel my credit card anyway in case he had memorized the number, and, if it was a scam, felt sorry for the 'innocent' Equadorian with all that cash.

I got back to the house, a little shaken, and looked for my mobile phone to call to cancel my credit card. Of course, there was no mobile phone in my bag. I realised the taxi driver was obviously in on the scam, and it gradually dawned on me that the Equadorian was also an accomplice. Later, when I got to the part about 'taking the camera out of the bag' while explaining the story to Graham, I ran to my bag to check and, sure enough, it too was gone.

Looks like I'll be seeing a bit more of La Paz while I wait for my new credit card and organise for a new camera...

---

Comments

[Marcelo]

Robo
Querida Caty: Muy lindas tus experiencias y tus fotos. Lástima la mala experiencia del robo, aunque podría haber sido mucho peor. Estamos con Laura, Marcelo y Lorenzo que no hace más que comer y crecer. Esperamos sigas teniendo lindas experiencias y disfrutando de tu viaje. Un beso grande de todos nosotros. MARCELO

[Amande]

Poor you!
Ma pauvre, je viens juste de lire cette histoire, c'est vraiment triste :(