Can´t believe it´s been nearly a week since I left La Paz first time round, in the company of Ylonah, Lee, Dave and Fordey. The boys were too hammered to remember meeting me first time round, but seemed happy enough with Ylonah´s invitation to join them. Headed to the bus stop ticketless (the others having booked theirs) in hope of finding a spot on one bus or other, the hostel having told us the bus the others were on was now booked out. Tramped around the bus stop, no luck. That is til we got back to the first bus where we managed to negotiate a first refusal on the bus. Or so we thought. Tramp outside, man in yellow jacket seemingly recognises me as the girl wanting the bus ticket. After the others troop on he waves me in, and proudly leads me to the back of the bus, before standing aside to let me see my throne. A small wooden stool with a blanket on it. I giggle nervously, but it turns out not to be a joke. Everyone takes pity on me (having first taken the piss, and lots of pics) and lends me their blankets. I hunker down on the floor with a diazepam. Ironically not the most uncomfortable of journeys. Was even warm as I was sleeping on some form of pipe. God I love being an optimist sometimes. Also strike 1 for midgetty me - I just about fitted, which is why I think I was offered the spot...
We arrived bleary eyed in Potosi at about 5am and headed to the Koala Hostel to book our tour of the mine at 8.30 am, and eat Pringles and watch TV snuggled under blankets up til then. Did not want to leave. First stop on the tour was to get changed. Looked more dwarflike than ever in voluminous overalls. All handed bandanas (much needed later), plus helmets and torches. Our guide Diego (¨like Maradona, you know him?¨) asks us what we want our team name to be. Lee promptly selects various unmentionable words (siblings, think the Judy Muirhead / fringe episode last summer...) - our guide giggles uproariously, obviously getting the drift, and names us ´Team Llamaf*ckers´. Next stop: miners market, where we sample and then buy various gifts for the miners, including coca leaves, cigs, squash and dynamite. Plus the alcohol, a nice 96% proof. We follow Diego´s lead, pouring a bit on the floor and asking Pacha Mama and Tio (the devil inside the mines that they worship) to protect us in the mines before quaffing the rest. Tastes like paint stripper.
Quick empanada from the market (potato, one of the best yet) and we head up to the mines. The land around is bleak - bright red rubble piled high into peaks around us. When we leave that night we see the mountain the mine is beneath picked out in lights along its perimeter. Into the mine we go, and it´s immediately pretty low overhead. Yours truly soon realises that midgetty nature is again a plus and that I don´t have to bend down much. Except that sometimes I do, so I manage to clonk my head a few times by staring at the floor. It quickly becomes dusty and at points we´re on our hands and knees. We scrabble our way down 60m below the earth via some fairly hairaising ladders, holes, piles of rock etc. We stop and chat to miners, and Diego explains in detail how the mine works. The miners are pretty upset at the moment post the Chile incident, and the hats we are wearing have a form of protest on them: a Chilean flag with 33 (deaths) next to it on one side, and a Bolivian one with 10,000 on the other. We get the impression that the Bolivian president trotting over to Chile to offer an effusive welcome to the survivor in the Chilean mines rankled somewhat. Diego tells us some pretty sobering stories about young boys coming into the mines on their school holidays - 3 died last holiday wandering unknowingly into an area filled with noxious gases. No presidential benediction for their souls, then. A cover up instead.
By the time we start to head out of the mine we´re all feeling pretty rough - I´ve lost my voice completely, we´ve all finished our water and we´re filthy from crawling on our hands a knees. Then comes a frankly terrifying climb - the steepest yet, and it´s sandy rather than rocky so there´s very little to hold on. I can´t see because my hat is tipping over my nose and I need to look at what´s directly in front of me. To my left and right are huge cavernous holes. If any of us had fallen that would have been it. I didn´t freak out purely because I knew if I did then I would freeze and panic totally, so I just forced my way up through the dust. Think maybe rock climbing could be for me tho - if I could see what I was doing would have been fun.
A quick look at the Tio shrine (creepy) and we´re practically running to get out of there into the fresh air. Definitely a once only experience- how those men do it is quite literally beyond me.
Out in the air we all regain our sense of humour. The boys have brought with them a Santa to blow up (cheapo nylon material). Diego unwraps two sticks of dynamite, squishes them together, and ties them to Santa. A fuse is lit, and we all take turns holding said Santa (!) before they run off to plant it down the hill along with two other sticks the other groups have brought. First explosion goes off and we think its Santa, until there´s an almighty BANG and a huge cloud of dust. That would be ours then....
A quick look in the refining factory, and we´re all swiped with liquid silver, before heading back to the town for lunch. We go for a set menu which is a bit hit and miss but worth the experience, and then collect vast quantities of snackerage before heading for the TV pre-bus to Uyuni.
Bus that evening is meant to take 6 hours, getting us to Uyuni at 1am. Only it breaks down, of course. Much hammering ensues (all way round bus? Hmmm) and then a bump start down the hill, but we break down again about 1/2 an hour later. Eventually rescued at about 4am, we roll into Uyuni that morning. Saved a night´s accommodation technically but we´re so knackered that we check into a hotel. YES - a room to MYSELF! For 50 bolivianos (5 quid). Happily spread my stuff everrrywhere and then conk out with book.
We find our tour guide of choice and then head at my insistence to Minuteman pizza. Delicious Bolivian wine (who knew?) and llama pizza = happy little one. Ylonah and I head back to put make up on for the raving night spot that is Extreme Fun Pub (yes that really is its name) only to discover it to be empty but for our boys who look at us suspiciously (we look different when clean) and some Bolivian men who tell us we are beautiful. Some soldiers come in later and make us roses out of napkins. Latin lovers, etc. Definitely know how to impress. We then make the mistake of playing a roulette shot drinking name. The night descends into chaos, all captured by yours truly, and will hopefully make its way to a Facebook profile near you soon. When I have faster internet that is.
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