The Last Filthy Leg of the Journey

Sucre is the most beautiful city I think I've seen yet. Grand white-washed buildings dating back to the colonial era line the wide, rolling streets and plazas, granting small glimpses of colorful gardens sheltered within. It is an antique city filled with history, reputable centers of learning, breathtaking churches, and perfect weather. The locals are friendly and optimistic, and who wouldn't be in a place like Sucre? Our time there was spent tranquilly browsing through the mercados filled with stacks of colorful, exotic fruits and vegetables and the artesenias displaying intricately woven alpaca crafts and gorgeous turquoise jewelry. We visited a couple of museums and cathedrals but other than that simply filled our days wandering the streets, eating, drinking coffee, and enjoying the weather.

I was sorry to leave Sucre, especially upon arriving in Potosí--a city which at one time was the richest and largest in the Americas but now suffers from decline and poverty. However, I quickly adjusted to the stark contrast in atmosphere between the two cities and Potosí became another one of my favorite cities before long. It's disorganized, maze-like, narrow streets and cock-eyed tiendas lend a quirky air to the place. And the eerie city mascot helps too--a gigantic face with wide eyes, a permanent ear-to-ear grin, and dark permed hair with a crown of ivy and grapes. Now, anyone who reads this or looks at either the huge original in the Casa Nacional de Moneda or the many small replicas sold in artesenias around the city will say that it's Bacchus, of course. Well, that's one theory. The other (and the favorite among the locals) is that it is Diego Huallpa, a local who first discovered silver in Potosí which led to the city's years of prosperity and fame. One night, so the legend goes, he caught a man trying to steal silver from the mines and immediately notified the authorities. Turns out, the perpetrator was his boss who then had Diego executed. That same night as the boss was alone in his house, the door was thrown open and in floated the famous eerie, grinning face of Diego Huallpa. Then he killed himself, I think. Take what you will from that story, but I think either theory gives you a little taste of the flavor of Potosí.

There are actually still working silver mines in Potosí that many tourist agencies offer tours through. However, there's a very voyeuristic feeling about that whole concept. The conditions in these mines are apparently just unbelievable and can leave you physically sick from the sight. The Lonely Planet guidebook has an excellent description so I'll include a couple exerpts here to give you an idea:

"In the cooperative mines in Cerro Rico, all work is done with mostly primitive tools , and underground temperatures vary from below freezing - the altitude is over 4200m - to a stifling 115 degrees F on the 4th and 5th levels. Miners, exposed to all sorts of noxious chemicals and gases, normally die of silicosis pneumonia within 10 to 15 years of entering the mines."

"Deeper in the mine, visitors will undoubtedly see a devilish figure occupying a small niche somewhere along the passageways. [...] Since hell (according to the traditional description of the place) must not be far from the environment in which they work, they reason that the devil himself must own the minerals they are dynamiting and digging out of the earth. [...] On Friday nights a cha'lla (offering) is made to invoke his goodwill and protecion. A little alcohol is poured on the ground before the statue, lighted cigarettes are placed in his mouth and coca leaves are laid out within easy reach. Then, as in most Bolivia celebrations, the miners smoke, chew coca and proceed to drink themselves unconscious. While this is all taken very seriously, it also provides a bit of diversion from an extremely harsh existence."

So obviously, our group opted not to participate. None of us really felt right about paying to observe the suffering of others, though I think it's really important that people are aware of the existence of these mines and the conditions within.

So after having our fill of mercados, museums, and nights spent doing nothing except catching up on sleep, we boarded a bus to Uyuni. With feet tapping anxiously on the floor of the bus, we arrived in the small, sleepy town of Uyuni in a short six hours. We were greeted by a woman at the bus station who offered to take us to a hostal in return for a chance to pitch us a tour to the salt flats with her company. Done. The hostal was cheap and clean and the tour package met all of our standards so everything was taken care of in about an hour. So we laid down around 2am and decided to wake up at 7:30am so we could be the first ones in line for the shower (the situation was getting desperate).

Well, we woke up at 9. Miraculously, showers were available so I took the fastest shower of my life, got dressed, ran out to find a tienda to buy snacks for the trip and an atm. It was about 10:15am when we finished all of our frantic errands, but in true South American fashion, our tour was running late and we actually had about half an hour to eat dry cereal in our room before we headed out. Then there was another small hiccup when we found out that the frame on top of the jeep was broken so we wouldn't be able to bring our backpacks with us. So we drove about twenty minutes to the other side of town, picked up a new jeep and driver, and then drove back into Uyuni for our things. It was then 2 o'clock in the afternoon by the time we were legitimately on our way to the salt flats. But boy, was it worth it!

MILES of perfectly flat, white land covered in salt and maybe an inch of water--just enough so that the surrounding snow-topped mountains are perfectly reflected across the expansive stretch of blank space. It's like God forgot to create something there so we're just a bunch of curious tiny humans wandering around this glitch in the creation of the world. Anyway, so it was awesome and Jefe (we could never quite figure out his name so "boss" had to do), who was something like Donkey Kong personified, gave us about half an hour to take pictures and eat lunch because we were running late. Time was a little short, but we convinced him to let us all sit on top of the jeep on the ride back across the flats which was absolutely exhilarating and a feeling I hope I'll never forget. Hopefully I can steal some pictures from someone soon to show you guys. Unbelievable.

So in a small pueblo in the middle of nothing, we found a hostel crammed full of other backpackers mostly making their way to or from Chile. The dining room that night was filled with young people enjoying their meals of soup, grilled chicken, papas fritas (french fries), and usually a few beers and a bottle of wine, all loudly chattering away and learning about the plethora of different nations and cultures represented in the smiling, sunkissed faces. Afterwards, we wandered the wide, deserted dirt roads a while by the light of the stars.

We set out around 8am the next morning to hit the next highlight on our tour--gigantic rocks, perfect for climbing and taking in a spectacular view of the mountains. I found a nice, quiet place all to myself to take a much needed moment of stillness. And about as soon as the peace washed over me, panic replaced it. The night before I had decided to be extra cautious and sleep with my money belt under my pillow since our doors didn't lock correctly. Well, of course the next morning I woke up and packed all of my things up... except for the one thing an experienced traveler should never part with and which, if one is going to double check for one thing, it should be this one: MY PASSPORT. So I dangerously sprinted over to the rest of my group, grabbed my handy translator, Jessie, and ran to alert Jefe of the emergency. He calmly informed us that going back to the hostal to get our things was impossible because then he wouldn't have enough gas for the rest of the journey. But it's my life--mi vida!--I explained, close to tears. Finally, after much convincing, Jefe said that he would take us back if I would be willing to pay S/. 50 for gas. Um, yes, I think I will pay less than $20 for my identity, thank you. Jessie accompanied me out of the kindness of her heart but actually discovered along the way that she also had left her passport at the hostal. For two people who had been backpacking through South America for a month without getting robbed or seriously scammed, we had managed to make the biggest rookie mistake possible. But our things were right where we left them and we were able to join back up with the group less than an hour later. I've never loved my ugly, annoying, touristy money belt so much.

So on we went to see and climb more awesome rocks with a backdrop too incredible to be real and a few beautiful lakes. By mid-afternoon we were already at our hostal for that night right on the coast of Laguna Colorada, a lake which turns from orange to red to purple according to the season and is inhabited by huge flocks of pink flamingos. Vicuñas (in the llama family) also graze along the coast of the lake. A short climb--though incredibly cold and windy--up the nearby ridge provides an astounding view of the water and wildlife. We ate a filling meal of soup and spaghetti and a bottle of wine (kindly provided by Jefe, himself) and went to bed early because we had to wake up at 4am the next morning to watch the sunrise over the geysers... Probrecitos, no?

So up we rose dark and early and by 5 am we were headed to the geysers (money belts on and tightly fastened). About half an hour later as we pulled up in our four wheel drive jeep it was still too dark to see anything safe what looked like fog hovering in patches just above the ground. But I could hear the sound. And as we climbed out and watched as the sky slowly brightened, the fog turned into a group of five or six powerful geysers letting out the steam of the earth. The next group of geysers we headed to was still more incredible. Countless numbers of them in varying sizes interspersed with lakes or puddles of molten, bubbling earth. The ground was soft and spongy beneath our feet. I felt like if I stepped in just the right place, I would fall through and slide right into the middle of the earth.

We stopped at another lake (this one green, I think) for lunch. Miles of flat land surrounded the lake and one faint dirt road led to and away. Beautiful, but very difficult for a girl desperately in need of a bit of privacy... I was late for lunch because I walked about half an hour to a small structure I spotted in the distance which may or may not have been an Incan ruin. Either way, I think Pachamama understood. Lunch and the rest of our journey to the Chilean border was a bittersweet and anxiety filled time. Once we hit the border, my two best friends, traveling companions, and security blankets would be leaving me and I would travel back to Uyuni, La Paz, and then to Lima alone.

And so after long goodbyes, lots of hugs and kisses and of course pictures, we arrived in Uyuni about 5pm. I quickly ran from bus company to bus company hoping and praying that there would be room aboard a bus to La Paz for that night. If I couldn't find one, I would have to stay another night in Uyuni, leave the following night, and pray that I made it to the La Paz airport in time for my flight. But my game plan actually went pretty swimmingly. I bought a bus ticket that left at 8pm that night and would arrive in La Paz at 8 the next morning. I ran a few errands in Uyuni and then sat down at a restaurant to eat when I saw one of my friends from the Uyuni tour. We sat together and attempted to converse, but Spanish is his second language, Portuguese his first, and he only knows a few words of English. I spent a good ten minutes trying to figure out what word he was trying to say to me, including having him write it down and looking it up in my dictionary (it doesn't exist). So after struggling a while longer I left and hit up an internet cafe to kill some time before my bus. At 8pm I climbed on with several other tourists fresh off their tours, all relieved not to be one of the frantic ones running around asking where they could find a last minute ticket to their respective destinations.

I slept hard enough to dream on the bus, which is always cause for celebration. Then arrived disgusting and exhausted in La Paz. I grabbed a taxi and headed to a hotel I had heard of that I picked especially because it promised free breakfast and hot showers. Turns out, breakfast isn't free and by "hot" they mean that they have good intentions to provide hot showers, but unfortunately their electric showers are not functioning properly. So after a breakfast of jam and bread and coffee for which I paid B.12 (roughly $1.75) I wandered around the insanely crowded markets selling everything from children's toys to watches to fruit. So after dropping off those essentials at my hotel room and washing a few clothes I headed out again into the rain to find a camera to replace the one that had been gifted to Pachamama in Huaraz. Well, the cameras are cheap but it's Bolivia and no one has a credit card machine so in order to purchase one, you have to carry around over a thousand Bolivianos to the electronics store. Being a gringa traveling alone in La Paz, I opted to wait for a safer opportunity to begin capturing memories. Once back at the hotel, I hung up my rain-drenched clothes and crawled into bed at 5pm because it was the warmest, driest place in the room. I watched part of Cinderella Man on the small, fuzzy TV screen in my room, ate the bread and bananas I had bought of the street earlier (saving some for breakfast, of course), and fell asleep after quadruple-checking my alarm.

At 5am I woke up, but on clothes that had not dried from the day before, packed my things, and jumped in a taxi for the airport. After navigating my way through the airport and waiting at a gate that I was never quite sure was the right one, I breathed the greatest sigh of relief once I sunk into my airplane seat by the window. I was on my way to Lima. While I can imagine that other students in my program were filled with a mixture of excitement and terror as they boarded their planes from the states, all I felt was relief and calm because the hardest part was over. Waiting for me in Lima was a loving family, a home-cooked meal, a warm bed, and a room to myself.