Potosi- mines

I'm unsure where to begin describing the tour to the mines. To truly understand the impact, I suggest you hire the documentary, The Devil Miners.

In summary.

>it was a real working mine
>there were kids as young as 10 in some mines, though i only met an 18 year old that had worked there for 3 years, his blackened lips smiling at me and his bloodshot eyes looking into mine, made my heart skip a beat.
> they worship the great Tio, Devil of the mine that eats miners
> they chew coca leaves, and sip 95% alcohol
> the dust is thick and all consuming
> the explosions echo through you bones and send shivers down your spine
> the conditions are so terrible, your brain hurts to comprehend them
> Words could not truly describe my emotions. It was a mixture of shock, compassion, relief, helplessness and disbelief. These men work here every day, most of which only get paid if they find quality minerals. Only the men working for the big corporate, like those operating the winches or air compression drills, get a regular wage. The rest have to trust in Tio to provide. They live in hope of finding that big silver vein of salvation. Like a poisonous lottery ticket, their heads in the clouds and their lungs in the mines.

On the upside, its a lovely town, and the miners are proud, dying but proud.

Enjoy the pictures but please spare a thought for the miners...

Salt flats and lagoon

Unyuni Salt Flats

I embarked on the 3 day salt flats tour with excitement. I made my way into the very back of the 4WD and wedged myself between two Russion girls I had not yet met, they didn’t seem overly happy that I was there. A grim expression set of their faces. I smiled and tried to inititate conversation. A few minutes later I gave up, and was forced to endure the harsh russion dialogue in both of my ears until we made our first stop at the ‘Train Cemetery’. The ghostly rusty machines sat patiently under the fierce Bolivian sun, as tourists from all over the world clambored from engine to carriage without too much respect for the rich history embedded within their rusty metal, including the ultimate demise of Butch Casidy.
After the delegated 5 minutes of photo time ( I have a feeling that the ‘guided tour’ travel may not be for me) we were herded back into the 4WD. As I clambored over the seat, that the driver refused to pull all the way down, I caught my thigh on a giant screw, I mouthed a course expletive before taking my seat. Steam was pouring from my ears as I awaited the rest of the cars 8 passangers to climb in.

Even as the bruise developed i knew it would not be the worst of my pain for the trip. As the altitude sickness i was suffering increased. At one stage in the journey we were 5000 meters above sea level.Nothing helped ease the symptoms which are too lengthy and horrible to relay here. Suffice to say, three days in a bumpy (almost broken) 4WD with a half crazy, half asleep driver, launching us into ditches propelling me into the front seat (no seatbelts) was a painful but memorable experience. The scenery was amazing, so i would do it all over again.

The images tell the rest of the story...

Bolivia: Tupiza

I think these images will speak 1000 words. Bolivia is a whole new world, or more like an old world. With stunning landscapes and a large indigenous community it certainly possesses a great deal of character. The little girl in the photo had just finished a large cup of jelly and was reaching up with her money for a second. Rather than assist her, I took her photo. So cute. The children here are so very adorable. With their grubby little faces and chubby cheeks they are so happy to be flung on the backs of their mothers, or so it seems. Every time a woman passes you with a giant load on her back you can never be sure if it’s a child or a package.

From Argentina to Bolivia.

Tilcara is a small North Argentinian town, 3 hrs from the Bolivian border. Nico suggested I spend the night here before heading across the border. When I climed off the bus, it was clear that the wheels on my bag we going to be of no use here. I unzipped the harness and loaded the bag onto my back for the very first time. I stepped off the concrete bus terminal and into the wild wild west, well north in actual fact, but the imagry has still been created. Though unlike the wild west, there were not many stallions with cowboys astride, spitting chewed tobacco into the dusty streets. Instead, there were lama wagons with old men spitting coca leafs from the massive ball in the side of their cheek.
I took to the streets, not sure of where I was headed, I turned off the ‘main’ road and headed up the rocky side street cursing my choice of footware. My thongs were slipping and twisting on every rock, it was time to unpack the hiking shoes if I was to conquer this town without a twisted ankle. I stumbeled into the first hostel I could find and was greeted by the most delightful and bubbly Argentinan woman. She ushered me to my room (little cave) and excitedly told me about the bathrooms in her limited English, I missed most of it though assumed I could find a shower on my own.
Grabing my tacky romance novel, (not the one i am writing:) and after 5 minutes of reading, I commenced my lengthy siesta in the hammock, surrounded by the stunning rocky mountain scape. As the wind picked up, I headed for the warmth of my cave and curled myself up in the sinking mattress. When I emerged, the sun was hanging low in the sky, I wandered down to the market in search for a new bag. Sorry Amber, your bags days were numbered! I ended up buying my first lama shawl. It's cream and soft, though very hairy. It's like i have Alaska climbing all over me everytime i wear it. I think this will become her new rug.

After a quiet night alone in my dark little cave i jumped on a bus to the Bolivian border. It's an interesting, confusing, long and disorganised border crossing. You have to enter the country then line up down the street, in front of the shops in order to 'enter the country'. I then learned that the train to my destination, Uyuni, was full, even though it didnt leave for 6hours. So i bought a ticket to another town where i would spend the night. The border town did not look like a place to stay.

I bravely attempted a burger across the street from the station. Bad idea, it was the worst food i had ever seen. Out the back of the cafe, near the toilets, a small baby craweld around on the ground by herself like a stray dog. Welcome to Bolivia.

Salta- North Argentina

From Cafayate I made my way through the red rocky mountains to Salta.

Having just read in my travel guide that cars in Salta have very little respect for pedestrians, I decided to take extra caution on my first excursion from the, very average, Salta hostel. The night’s sky was sporadically alight with the brewing storm. Thunder rolled across the sky and rain fell in giant droplets landing with a thud of wet footsteps on the eves overhead. My thongs, a poor choice of footwear once again, slipped on the wet path as I negotiated the streets with trepidation. I crossed the one-way street in front of a stationary 4WD, I was almost on the footpath when the driver decided that I was neither visible nor important, and she took off, bumping me and my shopping out of the way. My bottles of beer clanked against her bumper. I squealed and staggered out of the way. I caught a glimpse of the driver, happily chatting to her passenger. Lesson learned, the hard way. Drivers in Salta do not concern themselves with Pedestrians. The next morning, after having arranged my first couch surfing accommodation for that evening, I stepped out to explore the town. Walking through the Park, happily avoiding the crazy cars, and I see a dubious character approaching. When his about 3 meters away from me he thrust his crotch in my direction, his zipper was undone and his disgusting appendage, bulging free. At this moment the crazy cars seemed like a better alternative and I dashed across the 3 lane road without hesitation. Welcome to Salta Jade!!!

After a night with the couch surfer in the tranquility of the Salta hills I embarked on another horse riding adventure. This time it was to be just me and my Spanish speaking guide. Once we were on the grass plains below the mountains, Alberto offered his bag of coca leaves towards me. With my chewed mass tingling the inside of my cheek, Alberto announced, "we cowboys now, vamos (lets go)". I was surprised how much fun it was, chasing the cows around trees, heading them off and rounding them up. One hand on the reins and the other in the air behind me to accompany the whooping sounds we were making. It was truly brilliant, I felt no fear, and as though I was riding better than ever.
Stopping to rest, the horses grazed nearby, the cicadas in the branches overhead were ringing in my ears, almost drowning the peace in a familiar way. Alberta asked if I had a boyfriend? How old was. Did I want to find a boyfriend in South America? No, Why not? This may sound like a simple conversation, but with our limited language skills it was tough. At first I thought these questions were all innocent, Albert was 40 something, missing a couple of teeth, and certainly not a charming distinguished man that I was looking for. It soon became evident that he was fond of me. He expressed how he admired the way I rode with no fear, and loved to be outdoors. We packed our things once more ready to set off towards home, I started to mount my horse, "no no" he said. Then offered me his horse. This was highly unusual, though I was keen to ride his horse as I had been admiring the way it moved all morning. It reminded me of the Spanish dancing horses I had seen as a child. High prancing hooves, head tucked in, proudly and neatly. From the moment we set out I could feel the difference between horses. His horse was an independent horse, not a follower, strong and fast. You had but to lean forward in the saddle for him to set off into a gallop. I instantly loved this horse. I thought the other horse was fast, but when I kicked his side he took off at a speed I had not encountered before. I had to keep pulling him round and doubling back to Albert with a grin so wide planted across my face. Albert kicked his horse into action so has we were both galloping at an incredible rate, with me only slightly in front, when all of a sudden my horse falls into a puddle of mud disguised by the lush green grass. It was as though it was in slow motion, I had enough time to think “ok so I’m going to come off this horse right now, then roll away so as he doesn’t crush me when he falls. And that’s exactly what I did. I hit the mudded earth with a solid thump on my left shoulder; I rolled to the side as the horse fell beside me. We both picked our selves back up aging in the time it took Albert to dismount and race over to us. I took my horses reins and checked to see if he was alright, gently stroking his and cooing softly. Aside from being muddy we were both ok. Albert was frantic. “tambien, tambien tambien. Are you ok are you ok. I’m fine, I insisted, many times over. I mounted my horse once more and we galloped off. I was not going to let a little (or big) fall stand in my way, or spoil my fun. I had a distinct feeling that I may be in pain later, but for now I was ok.Unfortunately, my fall only increased Albert’s fondness for me. He said, “so good, you’re not a princess, but you are beautiful”. And then, much to my horror, he asked me if my breasts were real. Where then hell did that come from? Before then I thought he was a sweet horse men, now he’s just another pervy man.

I declined his offer of a beer and went back to the house to hand wash my muddy clothes. The next morning when I woke, I felt like I had been hit by a truck, it hurt to breath. Two days later and I was back to myself, no prolapsed disc’s, but I might skip the next horse ride just in case.

Cafayate

This place is wonderful. I could sit by the pool eating cheese and drinking wine all day long. They dont export this wine to Aus, but if they did i would buy a case. The Rose is amazing. The process organic and traditional, they even label the bottles by hand. Was meant to go horse ridding today but the plans fell through. No plans are ever really solid here, just maybe if you're lucky things will happen. yesterday we rode bikes to vinyards and goat cheese factory. Amazing! The second leg of the journey, after loads of cheese wine and empanadas (meat and cheese filled pastry) we rode in the heat of the day up a long dirt hill. I had a terrible hangover from the night before and was feeling average. Half way up i thought i might be ill. Then my vision was blurred. I made it to the winery and it was closed. Good times.