Potosi

We got in our taxi to go to Potosi and then started a tour of Sucre. It turned out that we had booked a shared taxi and not a private one. Never mind. As one rather short but wide (as the local ladies seem to be) lady tried to get in between T and I, we quickly asked to top up our fare with another 40Bs (2 and a half quid) to ensure that we could breathe for the next two hours or so. As they say in Bolivia - anything is possible.

After negotiating the busiest streets in South America (and forcing our driver to take us to the hotel and not just near the hotel, by the simple expedient of pretending not to understand him) we checked into the place we had booked and paid for - as recommended by the Travel Agent in Sucre.

It was weird. Apparently it was new. Nobody thought to tell the furniture that it was new. My bed was ancient. In the end we had to snuggle up in a single bed (presumably the Travel Agent thought we needed a twin room - having different surnames and all) for warmth and comfort.

Realising that the day after we arrived was a bank holiday, we went straight out after arriving and went to a Travel Agency recommended in the guide book. "Expensive but relatively luxurious" was the direct quote. Luckily Expensive in Bolivia; isn't.

We should have taken more note of the relatively though.

In our efforts to extract cash to pay for the trip, one of my cash cards was eaten by the machine. And we were due to leave town the next day. And it was 7:00pm. Oh, and don't forget the Bank Holiday.

Luckily, the owner of the Travel Agency seemed to have a hotline to the Bank Manager who duly appeared (suited and booted) 15 mins later and, after taking the requisite number of photocopies, duly returned my card. I haven't dared use it since.

Whilst this was happening, a nice chap wandered in and greeted us. It turned out that he would be our guide for the next 5 days. Juan Carlos - Or JC - Or King Of Spain. All in all, we thought we'd done rather well. Shame about the cold hotel - but at least we'd got on a trip that would end in enough time to get the train.

And they threw a mine tour in for free.

On leaving, we asked for a recommendation of somewhere to eat. "El Meson" was the reply. (Sure - we found out later - the guy owned it!) And Manuel served us - he was from Barcelona you know.

After a fitful night of (some) sleep, we awoke to go on our mine tour. JC was in reception waiting for us and we set off in a rickety old cab up to the mine.

Before we got there, we had to buy presents for the miners: Coca leaves (to chew on); Cigarettes (to smoke); 96% neat alcohol (to drink); Dynamite (to blow stuff up); Blasting caps (to help the dynamite) and a fuse (to give you enough time to be far away from the dynamite.) All in one neat tourist bundle for 20Bs (£1.25). Apparently this is the cheapest dynamite in the world. And they sell it to anyone. Including dumb brits who blow stuff up when drunk, apparently. (Mind you, selling narcotics; neat alcohol and dynamite in one tourist sized, low priced bundle is asking for trouble if you ask me.)

JC as Wile E Cayote

We were sold traditional mine stuff at the mine market by a traditional Bolivian.

Mine shop

We had to get kitted out to go down the mine. Boots, hats, overalls and a lamp. T was a little bit timid, and, to be fair, it was a bit cramped and dirty.

Mine Explorer Wiseman and friend

One of the problems was avoiding the trucks full of ore being hauled out of the mine. It looked very hard work. However, miners (and even the lowly humpers shown here) are very well paid for Bolivia. They are set up as a cooperative and they are, at least, no longer exploited in the ways they were of old. (Though that doesn't stop them dying of all sorts of horrible mine-related diseases).

Man hauling rocks out of the mine

We were glad to be out in daylight once more.

Back to town and a meal in "El Meson" (or El Deja Vu one might say) Followed by a four hour drive to Uyuni to stay in the coldest hotel so far.

relatively, remember.