Newsletter: Bolivia Part II Tue, 26 Oct 1999
Velomad
In Argentina now, heading for Chile. We left you in Potasí, Bolivia,
distraught that the city, despite being big by Bolivian standards (120
000) and high (altitude 4070m), had no cable TV, so we never got to see
the end of the Tour de France. (Hold on - Richard's having a mini
epileptic fit - funnily enough - seems to happen every time I say the
words 'Tour de France'!) Potasí is famous for its silver mines and
was, in the early 17th century, the largest city in the Americas
(bigger at that time than London!) It was so rich that the expression
"es un Potosí" (it's an Potasí) referred to anything superlatively
rich - apparently (according to our guidebook) still in use in Spain
today. They say enough silver was extracted to build a bridge from
Potasí to Madrid - but we reckon they're pushing it on that claim!
There's several stories about it's discovery but one of the one's we
like is that the Inca's discovered it but never mined the silver
because on starting to dig the cerro there was a big explosion & a
thundering voice was heard, instructing the Incas to leave the silver -
it was intended for another. The Spanish arrived about 5 years later &
merrily started to dig away. Potasí is the Spanish form of the Quechua
(the Inca language) word (nope - no idea how to spell it!) for
explosion.
We took the mandatory tour like all tourists of the mines which are now
mainly used for tin & mineral extraction. It's hard to believe that
people work under these medieval conditions in today's modern world
(the mines of Indiana Jones were luxurious in comparison (we wonder if
King Solomon's weren't too!))
No light, electricity, air-conditioning. The miners slosh around in mud
& luckily being Bolivian are small - even Stani was ducking & crawling
along on her hands & knees. The mines have 4 different levels, with the
distance between levels being 150 - 300m. The miners push old carts
full of debris to a spot & then it is hauled up narrow shoots by rope.
The minerals are carried in bags on their backs to the top (that's a
possible 1200m - not sure but probably higher than any mountain in the
UK). It was hard enough under the slippery, dark conditions getting
ourselves back up without the excess weight!
The mines are run on a co-operative basis with no regulations -
therefore fights over spots where the tunnels meet are not unheard of
(a risky business when dynamite is freely available on the surrounding
streets!)
If the conditions of the mines today and the history of the slavery of
the Indians by the Spanish isn't dark enough there's still another
blacker aspect to this story. The miner groups each have their own
'Tio' or 'Supay'(the devil himself) who is worshipped underground. Clad
with a satanic grin & rams horns, he is festooned with cigarettes, coca
leaves & alcohol.
On Friday nights, the miners gather to honour him (which involves
chewing coca leaves fanatically, smoking & drinking until they are
unconscious!) as well as sacrificing a llama foetus. Tales abound of
individual miners who have made pacts with 'Tio' - bringing him live
babies & burying them in the walls around him - subsequently becoming
immensely rich. We doubted these stories - after all the Latin
Americans must be the most child loving people in the world & we
couldn't see the average Latin male going along with it. But when
questioning the family we were staying with, (Michel & Vivienne - we
heard from Philippe & Sandra that you had such an awful time that you
had to move out - surely it cannot be the Ramos family you are talking
about?) they seemed to think the idea not impossible and even added a
few tales of their own to verify the rumours!!!
In Potosí we connected up with our Swiss Chocolate friends from La Paz
and all departed together heading for Uyuni on a fairly easy 4 day bike
ride on a dirt road through some marvellous scenery. This was the 1st
time we had cycled with other cyclists in the 33 months we'd been away
(apart from 2 hours with an Austrian cyclist in Mexico). We soon found
where our differences lay. They drove us crazy - how on earth were they
so efficient in the morning? They'd get up an hour after us & be ready
almost an hour before us! Our main crime (we hope!) was our noisy
stove, which in the still of the morning can be mistaken for one of the
Apollo rockets taking off. We marvelled - they had Blackburn racks -
had cycled from Alaska - and they hadn't broken? After 2 days the dream
came to an end & Sandra's rack cracked.
Our entry into Uyuni was a disappointment - set on the edge of the
plains of Salar - we thought we were entering a rubbish dump. The town
itself was a dusty nothing - until you reached the centre where a smart
plaza had been built with row upon row of tourist agencies & pizza
restaurants. We stayed at the Europa Hotel - hot shower & kitchen. In
fact the shower was too hot & Stani feared getting 3rd degree burns!
Richard sussed it though & got Philippe to stand by the gas furnace &
adjust it according to the burn factor indicated by Richard's screams!
Thanks to 2 Dutch cyclists we'd met in La Paz (Ann, Kent, Santiago -
believe you know them too - Mark & Lisbeth - the gadget fanatics?), we
made contact with Jhovana, of the Esmeralda agency. The day before
departure we crammed into her office & she took us step by step on a
military geographical map of the route to Chile. Although not all her
info was accurate (Laguna Cañape is definitively not potable!) she was
immensely helpful & even agreed to deliver food parcels for us at
Laguna Colorado - a relief as when we got there all we found there in
the one shop was crackers, biscuits, sardine cans (labelled as tuna!) &
alcohol. No basics like bread, pasta, rice etc.
Our 1st day was an easy ride - leaving about 3 in the afternoon & just
cycling about 22km to the town of Colchani along the railway, the pampa
itself & finally the road. On our arrival, we located the school
director & requested permission to camp in the school premises so that
we could be sheltered from the wind.
He was delighted to greet us & gave us a lesson in the history &
geography of the area & invited us to sleep in one of the rooms - a
much warmer prospect. As we cooked dinner, Sandra & Philippe showed a
map of the world to the eight year old Moises, who immediately located
the Chilean/Bolivian border & declared war on Chile - stating that
Bolivia WOULD get it's port back.
We were surprised at the conviction he displayed & wondered how
passionate his lessons were!
Our next 2 days were across the salar itself.
INCREDIBLE! Miles & miles of white expanse with the mountains &
volcanoes on all sides. Great cycling too - the salt was as hard as
asphalt & flat, flat, flat.
Tailwind too - a cyclist's paradise! Our 1st night we camped on an
island in the centre - no easy task as the island is covered with giant
cacti. Only one family lives on this island - the youngest & only
remaining daughter took a shine to Richard when she found out he was
French. Transpires that she had decided that she wanted to live in
France & marry a Frenchman. We questioned her as to why a Frenchman &
France. Turned out she knew nothing of the country & we're not even
sure that she had met a Frenchman!
("Ah! That explains it" thought Stani - now I understand why she'd want
to marry one!)
The other occupants of the island were 2 llamas & their 12 day old
baby, not at all bashful; they took great interest in our bikes & tent.
As did the young puppy who we nicknamed Cippolini, who we had great
trouble dissuading not to enter our tent & kept running off with our
shoes & cycling gloves!
The next day we crossed the other half of the Uyuni salar & headed to
the town of Colcha K where we asked at the school & the Red Cross for
permission to spend the night on the premises. We had no luck though as
it was a public holiday & everyone in authority, as well as their
subordinates, was drunk. Finally we found the building site of the new
school & camped in one of the unfinished classrooms. BIG mistake! In
the morning we were in the shade & FREEZING. We had met Japanese
cyclist the previous evening & he had camped with us.
We asked him how many hours he cycled daily - 10 to 13 hours was the
response. (That's the difference between cyclists & other people - they
always ask how many miles (or kms) you do daily) We thought he
misunderstood us - after all the 4 of us only averaged 5 to 6 hours a
day. But in the morning, as we crawled out our tents & sleepily
searched for the spot the sun would hit first, he was packed & cycled
off.
The next night was at the military camp of Chiguna.
Isolated without roads in the salar, supplied only by an old cargo
train that brings food, wood & water, the commandant was most
hospitable, immediately realizing the diversion 4 European cyclists
would bring to the intense boredom of the remote camp. We were invited
to stay the night, tempted with the offer of a hot shower - which we
eagerly accepted. 3 hours later we ruefully regretted our decision.
Although the shower was indeed hot as promised, it couldn't wash away
our guilt. In the 3 hours that we waited, we couldn't but help noticing
the 5 soldiers who ran & fetched wood, chopped it up, filled the stove
& climbed up a ladder with buckets of water all for our benefit.
Richard baked a couple of cakes in our oven - much to the amazement of
the commandant. We found out later that there wasn't always sufficient
food for all the soldiers. In the mornings they would divide into teams
& play football - the winners getting lunch - the losers doing without.
Now I understand why they take this sport so seriously.
In the morning we hacked our way through the ice to fill our water
bottles and went to say our goodbyes. Just as we were about to depart a
tourist jeep drove up but didn't stop at the camp to present the
occupants papers as it was obliged to do. The poor soldiers - the
commandant barked at them & they all ran off waving their rifles in the
forlorn hope of catching the jeep. Why not use a vehicle we inquired?
The camp only possessed one scooter & at this moment it was in bits in
the unrealistic dream that they could repair it!
This was the last inhabited place until we reached Laguna Colorado 4
days later. In fact we were relieved when we got there. We had heard so
many tales of how dreadful the route was, how other cyclists had given
up & cadged a lift with the car smugglers (as indeed the Japanese
cyclist we'd met had). But although the route was by no means a
pleasure - washboard and sand seeming to be the better aspects we
encountered - we didn't spend 4 days pushing our bikes as we had feared
and managed to cycle most of it. Despite the hardships we have to say
it was worth it for the beauty of the surrounding countryside.
A brief note on the car smugglers - everyone knows about the smugglers
& the route they take - it would be easy to catch them (if the military
had a vehicle!) but it's one of those ways of life. The smugglers pay
$50 per car to the border guards and everybody is happy.
We decided to rest at Laguna Colorado while the Swiss headed off to the
hot bathes we were told to be about 15km away. We knew there was a
5000m pass in between us & those bathes so we decided to wait to the
following morning. Just as well we did. The Bolivians really have a
funny sense of humour with their distances. Admittedly our speedometer
wasn't functioning at this point (something that we heard happened to
several cyclists due to the extreme cold) but it took us the whole day
to get up to the top of the pass - a particularly miserable day because
of the howling sub zero wind & camped eventually by Pozo 5 at 4900m. We
didn't hear the geysers that night because of the wind but in the
morning we found something noisy enough at last to compete with our
stove. We didn't actually realise then that we were at the geysers as
we thought we'd had passed them and started hunting for cyclists
warming up their morning coffee (who else would be looney enough to
camp up here with a MSR stove?).
Our trip through this remote land of hot bathes, flamingos, incredible
lakes (of nearly all the colours of the rainbow) finally came to an end
as we crossed the Bolivian/Argentine border. What a culture shock. The
first thing we encountered was the Chile to Argentina motorway. Brand
new asphalt, dotted white & yellow lines. Screaming green notice boards
announcing the kilometres to every location imaginable - it looked
remarkably reminiscent of a German autobahn. The sad thing that we had
to laugh at was the pathetic wooden sign, inclined at an angle,
surrounded by sand and pointing into the wilderness where the dirt road
was barely discernable. "Bolivia" it announced in scrawled and faded
painted brushstrokes - it looked very much like something out of one of
Bugs Bunny's cartoons.
That's All Folks!
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Stani & Richard