My Incan Ordeal

As you should already be aware, Ness became ill a couple of days before we began the Inca Trail. Her sickness seemed to settle down a bit, but the night before we began the Inca Trail she began to feel very unwell again. Her situation was probably not helped by the meal we had just consumed. Both Ness and I had eaten some very ordinary creamy pasta, and I had mine accompanied by the rankest pizza I have had the displeasure of tasting so far on this trip. However, I felt fine, for that moment at least.

I awoke during the night to the sound of Ness vommitting, the first thing I thought was, poor girl. However, this was immediately followed by, hmm I´m not feeling too well. I pushed the latter thought to the back of my mind and tried to sleep. For the rest of the night I was disturbed by stomach cramps, and at 7 in the morning, just before we had to get up to leave, I felt the onset of the all too familiar need to reach a vomit reciprocal.

Doubled over the toilet I cursed between heaves. Why the f··· now? Of all the f···ing times in the world to get violently ill, why the f··· did I have to be ill now?

After emptying my stomach, I stumbled groggily and grumpily back into our room. Ness and Sarah both looked sympathetic. After a short discussion with them we worked out that Ness and I had the same symptoms. Vommitting and other unpleasantness that one REALLY does not want to deal with whilst hiking, especially in the abscence of a clean or indeed ANY bathroom facility. We decided it was either due to the food we had eaten last night, or that it was Ness´original illness coming back with a vengeance and reeling in a new victim. We decided with much deliberation that the latter was more likely. Firstly, no one else in the group had gotten sick from the food, and we had all eaten at the same place and similarly. Secondly, Ness seemed to be doing better than I was, her previous night´s vomit would be her final for the illness, whilst I was just getting started.

Quite frankly though, how and why it happened didn´t make one iota of difference. The outcome was the problem, we were facing a shit situation, of which the most sensible solution was also the most horrifying and heart wrenching, boycotting the Inca Trail. It was not a solution either of us were willing to accept. So our guide got us the most powerful antibiotics money can buy, and sent us on our way.

The bus trip to the trail entrance was Hell for me. By the time we got there I was in big trouble, weak, light headed, and extremely nauseous, I stumbled off the bus. For the first time, I really didn´t think I would be able to embark on the Inca Trail. I could hardly walk a step let alone trek 40 kms. Apparently I looked like the living dead, I was a definite grey colour, I spoke in groans, and stumbled around as if my limbs were decaying.

At this stage the guide´s assitant was celebrating, it looked to him as if he were about to get four days worth of pay to take me back to town and kick back in Cusco. The guide approached me to ask how I was, I was about to reply not good, before I turned on my heel ran five steps, and projectile vommitted all over the entrance gate to the Inca Trail. Suddenly I felt fine. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was only temporary relief, but despite all that my body was telling me, I figured I had come to far to turn this experience down. So I told him that I was doing it. I don´t think anybody truly believed that I would make it, not even me.

Somehow I found myself holding two hiking sticks, in my haze I don´t know where they came from, but for the following day they served as an extra pair of legs to keep me from falling to the ground. The first day was supposed to be the easiest hiking, which was a blessing for me, however, this day still turned out to be the hardest for me by far. As we set out I immediately fell behind. It was the assitant guides job to make sure I made it, so he always hovered just ahead of me, occasionaly asking if I wanted to head back, but always checking to ensure I hadn´t fallen down and died somewhere.

I don´t remember the scenery that day, although I am assurred that it was spectacular. I focussed on taking just one more step. Each step I managed was one more than I thought I could. The ascents were murder, and the descents were almost as bad, each step down unsettling my stomach. I vommitted a couple of times on the track. I arrived at the lunch site to a round of applause, but I simply collapsed and slept through most of the break. When I was awoken, far earlier than I would have liked to have been, I was informed we weren´t even half way. My heart sunk. We had the same distance again (4km) plus an extra 2km at the end of the day that was to be a steep ascent. I had hardly made it to lunch, I didn´t see how I was going to make it to the campsite. However, I couldn´t face the idea of giving up after putting myself through this much pain. Stubbornly and perhaps stupidly I set off again. Again it was agony, and if it weren´t for the kindness and persistance of the assitant guide Edmundo, who carried my day pack for the last 2km of the day, I surely would not have made it.

I arrived at the campsite forty minutes behind everybody else, later I was told that I made it in the average time hikers generally did, our group was to be the fastest our guide had taken in two years. This was evident in the amount of groups we were overtaking, and our guides constant over estimation of the time it would take us to get to the next stop. But at that first campsite I just got into my tent and slept.

The following day I felt much better. I found out that Ness was going alright as well, she seemed to be about one day´s progress ahead of me in terms of recovery. This day was supposed to be the hardest, with very steep and lenghty ascents. Comparitivley I found it a breeze compared to the previous day, and managed to keep up in the middle of our group for the days hike. The scenery was spectacular, and the weather was perfect for hiking. That night our guide told us his life story. It was quite sobering. He had grown up in poverty, and had to work hard from an early age. After finishing high school his family couldn´t afford to send him to University. He and his friends decided then and there that their lives were not going to improve, so they made a pact to drink themselves to death. A few yearsa later his sister had made a bit of money and found a good job, and was able to afford to send him to university. His mother had to find him on the streets and sober him up. But he did so, completed uni, and became a tour guide, a good one at that. Now he is sending his little brothers and sisters to uni. His friends did not have the same happy ending. Their story is unfortunately a common one in Peru.

The third day I began to get an appetite, and was very lively. It was only a short walk and views were spectacular, I perhaps overate at dinner that night, and consequently fell ill again. I vommitted in the middle of the night, and felt very ordinary on the early morning we were to set out to Machu Pitchu. It was to be a crazy morning.

There was only two hours of hiking to get to Machu Pitchu, and every group on the Inca Trail got up early to get there first. The hike turned into a sprint. Every pace I took I was sure would make me chunder. Although I did turn and dry reach once along the way, I was lucky to generally be spared of that eventuality. I was the third in our group to make it to the Sungate, and there were only about five others who made it before us. The view was amazing, but clouds were descending fast. By the time Sarah arrived she caught a glimpse of Machu Pitchu before it was engulfed by clouds.

The morning of our tour of the ruins was dampened by heavy rain. I was neither feeling to comfortable or well, but the grandiosity of the ruins could hardly be denied. After our tour the rain cleared and we hung around the ruins for a bit, but soon decided to head back to town.

On the short bus ride back to Aguas Calientes we were lucky enough to witness a most amazingly athletic feat. As our bus depated from Machu Pitchu a boy dressed in the traditional garb waved goodbye to us with vigour, then he ran away. I scratched my head over this for a short part of the bus´descent down a very windy hill, before I saw the same boy again jump out in front of the bus waving and hollering all the time, stop running whilst still continuing with the dramatics and step out the way of our bus to let us pass him before he ran off again. We saw this kid after every turn the bus took, and it was a very tall hill. Towards the end he was looking exhausted. Of course after the last turn the bus stopped, let him on and he collected a tip from every body. But Goddamn he deserved it, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. The blurry picture beneath is a capture I got of him waving.

The Inca Trail over, a few of us headed to the hot springs to soak. It did me the world of good, I was aching all over. Upon putting on my boardies I realised I had lost a lot of weight. Trekking 4 days for 40kms with the shits and the occassional vommitting fit without consuming much food is apparently better than the no carbs diet. So try to spot the condition on me now MUM! For a final thought, the Inca Trail did almost kill me, but I am glad I was able to manage it, for one it makes a good story, and also you never know if you´ll ever get a chance to do such a thing again.

Cusco: Both Beautiful and Frightening

A fore warning for this blog entry; parents may find some aspects of this entry distressing, however it is important to keep in mind that all said and done, the three of us remain in one piece (each), and that has to count for something.

As our bus rolled in to Cusco I awoke violently choking on my own saliva. A vigourous coughing fit ensued, until an elderly lady in front of me stood from her seat turned to me and held out a grottelated tissue. I tried amongst the spluttering to give her a quizzical look, but most likely failed. Clearly a little aggravated with me, she said `there´s a cough lolly in there.` I tried to tell her I was choking, and a cough lolly probably wouldnt help, but she looked at me coldly, and said ´I haven´t touched it. Take it. It will help.´ So I took her grottelated tissue, unwrapped the cough lolly, and obligingly put it in my mouth as she stared me down. She sat down, and I rested my head against the window trying to supress my cough as tears welled in my eyes due to the water still in my lungs. To take my mind off the discomfort I took in the sights of the city we were entering and my urge to cough and splutter eventually passed, as such an urge always does. At first the city seemed quite unimpressive, dirty unpaved streets, unfininshed houses (very common in South America as you dont have to pay taxes tif you live in an unfinished house), and many homeless. However, soon the scenery turned greener, the houses older and grander, the roads cobbled, and we found ourselves in the heart of a most amazing city. Incan houses still standing, generally with Spanish additions of second and third floors. The result; a gorgeous city that could belong in any European country.
Our group was to split in two the following day, for two days anyhow. Half would advance into the jungle for a couple of days, the other half would remain in Cusco to relax and take in the sights. Needless to say the jungle goers were keen to have a big night in Cusco to make the most of their brief visit. And so we all prepared for a night on the town.
I was a little tired, and thus only intended on having a couple before turning in. God`s honest truth I did only that, but after my fourth drink something very unexpected happened. I suddenly felt incredibly drunk. Now I know we are in high altitude, but we had been in higher altitude for some weeks, and I can usually put away five or six drinks without beginning too feel intoxicated, so this was most unusual. I stumbled down some stairs towards the bathroom of the club we were at, but did not make it. I collapsed on the floor of the lobby, a couple of people helped me up, and I realised then that I desperately needed to get back to the Hotel. I made my way back up the stairs to signal to at least one of the girls I was going. I caught Ness` eye across the crowded dance floor and waved. She signaled for me to wait a second, but I desperately needed to get out of the club, as the sure signs of imminent vommitting were well and truly present at this stage.
I descended the stairs a second time, flung myself out onto the street and briefly scouted for a suitable place to vomit. I clearly failed in this venture as the place I settled for was most definitely not suitable for vommitting, it was a grand pillar of at least five hundred years, constructed under the rule of the proud and masterful Incan Empire. After the first episode of vommittting passed, I managed perhaps ten steps to the next grand pillar before hurling again in what must have been a most offensive gesture to any one who felt any morsel of pride towards the the once great Incan Empire.
After this I cannot remember what happened. My hotel was perhaps a twenty minute walk away from the club we were at, which included many dark and slightly dodgy alleys. Keeping in mind I had only just arrived in Cusco it was a miracle I managed to make it back to the Hotel unharmed. Before waking confused and groggy in my room the following morning I can only remember one thing. I cannot remember arriving to the Hotel, I cannot remember getting into bed, but I can remember crawling up a set of stairs in a dark alley wondering how the hell I was going to find the energy to make it back.
Awaking the following morning felt like I had skipped a scene on a DVD. I could make certain deductions on what had happened based on the information that was being presented to me at the time, but somethings I had well and truly missed and would not recover without that vital piece of footage. I could for instance incur that I had spent some portion of the night vommitting in the bathroom, but could not work out how I had managed to communicate to the night porter who I was, or what room I was residing in. As I had no room mate, I could not be enlightened.
That day was a slow day for me. I felt pretty rough. The girls said they had looked for me as soon as I left the previous night but couldn´t find me, and assumed I had gone home.
The only reasonable explanation for this night in my opinion is that one of my drinks was spiked. I say this because I rarley forget anything when I´m out drinking especially after only four drinks. Also we heard that guys were regularly targeted by drink spiking in Cusco, escorted back to their Hotels, and stripped of all their valuables. Luckily I had all mine, but I do put this down to luck, and luck alone. Somehow, I must have managed to leave the club wihtout detection, and avoided mugging on the way home. Our guide doesn´t think it likely my drink was spiked, but he is a proud Peruvian, and perhaps underestimates the dangers of this city.
Regardless, it was a lucky escape, but an escape nonetheless. And another valuable travelling lesson learned in which we came out relatively unscathed. So no amount of frantic emails from concerned parents will further teach me to keep a closer eye on my drinks, I´m already on to it.

The following day we did something really cool. We went white water rafting. It took a lot of convincing to get the girls to come along, and when the safety chats at the beginning of the day, both girls looked positively horrified, a visble shade of green. Sarah approached me afterwards and said ´Why are we paying ten dollars to die?´
Their attitude soon changed when we finally got on the water, it was lots of fun and the views of the mountains alongside the river were spectacular. Half way through we stopped at a bridge ten metres above the rapids, and our guide asked us who wanted to jump off it. We all did, even Sarah although she needed to wrk up a bit of courage. The bridge looked much taller once we were on top of it, and the rapids much wilder. I didn´t think about it too much and jumped over the railing second in our group. the rapids were strong, but I easily swam to the bank where our boats were. Ness jumped in gung ho but forgot to swim for a bit and almost missed the landing. Sarah gingerishly attempted to mount the railing, but required assistance. When she finally bombed off on her own accord she didn´t bother swimming and when she emerged and let a rescue kayak bring her ashore. Apon questioning later, she thought that was what you were meant to do.
Rafting continued, and in our final violent rapid I nearly fell in. Turning to tell Ness how close a call it was, I found it had been even closer for her, she was no longer in the boat at all. I then saw her two little hands holding onto the rope off the side of the raft. Sarah and I proceeded to pull her into the boat. She landed on top of me laughing hysterically, as only Ness does.
It was a really fun day, but had dire consequences for Ness and I that would prove most compromising. Ness caught a bug from swallowing river water. How that affected me you shall find out in the next blog regarding the Inca Trail.
Adios.

Titicaca: The highest navigable lake in the world... Can you spot the trend in my titles?

For our last night in La Paz we had to book into a hotel for the beginning of our 21 day tour of Peru. It was by far the nicest place we had stayed in, we even had tvs in our rooms, which didn`t really matter seeing as we never have the time nor desire to watch it. We met up with our group for dinner for the first time, and we were shocked that we were by far the youngest in the group, making me yet again the baby of the trip. However after minutes getting to know them it soon became apparent that we were not the most immature. Sarah went into skepticism mode, beginning to think we had made a terrible mistake in booking this trip. I on the other hand was trying to find a way in which I could enjoy the following three weeks. I had already decided that one of the members of our tour was a real life David Brent from The Office, after he told us that he did nothing at his work except sit around and have a laugh in his office with the boys. He then went on to tell me about explicit photos he had sent to him by email, one in particular called ¨mittens¨(which I shall leave to your imagination, except that it included 3 girls), that the only female co-worker caught him looking at. He went on to tell me how funny it was that she was offended cos there was nothing she could do about it. It sounded like a truly horrifying work place. All his subsequent stories were equally cringe worthy, especially one about video taping himself making fun of locals who could not speak English. However, as horrible as this man sounds, being able to compare him to David Brent turns him into a hilarious and relatively pathetic charicature.

As it turns out, although there are a few tools in our group, they are relatively harmless and nice enough, and the rest of the group are really nice. One man from Canada called David is particularly nice, and by a strike of coincidence reminds us very much of David Plebs, a fellow Australian called Dale is very friendly, and the three of us are getting on very well with a Canadian girl who is close to our age called Ola.

Upon being assigned to our rooms in the hotel, Sarah and I were assigned to the same room. We looked at each other a little curiously, everyone else had been matched with a same sex room mate, and we were under the impression that males and females were to sleep in separate rooms for the whole trip. We wandered up to our room, opened the door and pissed ourselves laughing. We had been given a room with one double bed! We asked our tour guide what it was all about, he shrugged and said he had nothing to do with it. Then some of the hotel staff saw us and started laughing, one nudged Sarah telling her to enjoy the Matrimonial Suite. I´m not sure if they were taking the piss or what, but we all had a good laugh anyway. I think they were actually just short of rooms, and really it was no big deal to share a bed for a night, and better with Sarah than someone I did`t know. As it turned out we were so tired that our sleep was unaffected by the presence of the other.

Over the past couple of days we have been visiting Lake Titicaca, and it has been a most incredible experience. Yesterday we headed from Puno (a lakeside town) to two large and inhabited Islands. First we headed to Taquile Island, with a population of 2 thousand. It was an immensley beautiful island, where we had the most spectacular of lunches. Sitting at a large table outside at the top of a hill overlooking the lake, we enjoyed a very tasty rice and vegetable soup, and one of the most delicious serves of fried trout I have ever had the pleasure to consume. All whilst a local man played the pan pipes and guitar for us. It was one of the highlights of my trip so far. We then went on to the next Island (the name of which escapes me at present), where we would have our homestay. Sarah and I were assigned to our Mother, Justa, and after a long and exhausting walk from the port, we reached our house. It was a cute mud brick house, with tiny doors, and no electricty (obviously). We then played soccer against the locals (they throughly beat us, but I did set up one of our only goals), and proceeded to do an arduous hike to the temple of Mother Earth. It had the most spectacular view, and along the way our guide told us of the courting rituals of this community. Basically a guy would shine a mirror at the house of a girl he liked to let her know that someone was interested in her. The following day when all the girls went to the shops to buy food, all the guys would wait by the soccer field near by and on their way back would follow them back to their house. Then one of two things would occur. One, she would like him, and throw a pebble aside to let him know she was also interested. 2, she would not like him and run for her life. Some things are universal I guess.

We were fixed a most fantastic dinner, gave our host family some presents, including my recently purchased hacky sack that I had grown quite attatched too. However, the child of the house, Henderson, also had grown attatched to it and was really too cute to be denied of it.

After dinner Justa dressed us up in traditional garb, and took us to a dance. It was a pretty amazing sight, all these whities in Ponchos and fancy dresses that really made the girls look more like they were from Holland than Peru. Our host Mum then took us by the hands and started teaching us the local dance. After awhile I got the hang of it. It was really very difficult. As she threw one hand forward, you would throw the corresponding hand back, and vice versa. Tricky stuff. There was a local band there, and they played songs for 7 to 10 minutes, and thus that´s how long the dances lasted for. It was really very tiring throwing your hands back and forward over and over again. Plus our host Mum looked very disinterested in the whole thing, as if it were a chore. I think in honesty the whole thing was a ploy to make us very tired so we would go to bed early, thus allowing them to do the same. However, it was animmensley fun evening, even if we did go to bed early due to our exhaution. Sarah and I splept like logs, apparently right through the most violent of thunder storms, and awoke early in the morning to Pancakes in bed. It was quite a treat.

From there our boat took us to the floating islands, a spectacular if touristy destination. The locals live on these islands that they have constructed from reeds and that literally float on the lake. It was quite incredible.

We arrived back to Puno this afternoon, and re leaving for Cusco tomorrow morning. It will be our last stop before The Inca Trail, and an opportunity for us all to have a bit of a rest and recover from our various mild illnesses.

I look forward to blogging again there.

Catch ya,

Dylan

La Paz: The Highest Capital City in the World

We were lucky enough to get a good bus into La Paz, and thus we were able to sleep for the majority of the overnight trip. I awoke at 6am just as we were approaching La Paz, and was met by the sight of a city unlike any I had ever seen. We were at the top of a mountain descending in to the city, which lies within a valley surrounded by mountains, some of which are snow capped. What is remarkable about this city is that it climbs high up the walls of the valley. Houses are crammed in every space possible. Entire suburbs sit precariously on badly eroded mountain faces, and look as if one torrential downpour (not an uncommon occurrence here) could wash them away. It is really quite breathtaking.
We got off the bus and booked into the closest hostel, and were rewarded by our lazyness. Upon checking in the doorman actually led us out of the hostel, took us down the street to what looked like an abandoned warehouse, he heaved open a large decaying door, and led us into what still looked like an abandoned warehouse. There was no signposting at all, but we walked up about five sets of steep and seemingly endless stairs, before entering a final door to reveal a freshly renovated and quite charismatic hostel (it is the secondary residence of the place we had booked in). Being 6.30 am we assumed we would not be able to get into our rooms until at least midday, but to our delight we were shown to our rooms and beds, and passed out immediately.
When we awoke we got down to business. We came to La Paz for pretty much one reason... To shop. It has innumerable markets, with good quality stuff for next to nothing. Over the next few days we all shopped until we were way over it. Except Ness, who bought more than Sarah and I combined, and in fact is hard to find amongst her purchases when she goes to bed at night. No Ness could probably shop indefinitely, and I fear would if we were not leaving in a day.
Other things that happened over the course of our stay in La Paz, involved me getting quite sick from either accidently drinking Bolivian water, or eating rancid Burger King. However the vommitting ceased after a day (although it was quite an intense day of vomitting), and I am now almost back to my best. We also met up with our American friends Adam and Noah again, definitely for the last time, and went on a double decker bus tour of the city with them.
The tour was good, except that it was raining and we were on the roof of the bus, even that was not so bad though. What really made us question the quality of the tour, was when the bus left literally half of the tour on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. We were included in that half. We were left scratching our heads wondering whether they would return for us, and as we waited two friendly police women approached us, organised us a taxi and then encouraged 8 of us to pile in to this four seater. We all crammed in as if practicing the clown car circus act, whilst these police women were smiling and nodding at us, and then began our uncomfortable journey back to the hostel. It was a funny enough experience though.
Tomorrow we begin our tour with Intrepid. We are quite intrigued as to what our group will be like, as it has the potential to make or break the tour in essence. I figure at worst we`ll be able to bond over our hatred of any particularly vile member of the tour, but it would be nice if we had a good group.
This I am sure will be revealed soon enough.
But until then...
Ta ta!

Potosi to Sucre

After the mines, the only thing worth noting in Potosi is that Sarah ate a cream bun on the morning we left. At the time she claimed it was the best thing she had eaten in a while, and went on to proclaim that cream buns would be her new thing. The relevance of this will become clearer soon.
We got on a bus, and enjoyed a relatively comfortable and short trip to Sucre. However, we did come across one disturbing sight. Our bus stopped suddenly, and upon looking around I saw that many cars had stopped, but I couldn´t work our why. On one side of the road was a river that was about six metres below us, on close inspection of the road side, I saw that a whole bunch of bushes had been flattened. The driver started the bus again, and as we drove by the flattened bushes I could see that a family Sedan had driven off the road, fallen six metres, and lay crumpled upside down at the bottom of the shallow river. Surprisingly it looked as if most of the family were okay to the exception that the mother was cradling a child and weeping. It was impossible to tell whether he was alive. The clearly distressed father was warding off people attempting to help them. We were about 15 minutes out of town, and five minutes down the road we saw a police car rushing in their direction, hopefully to help them.
We arrived in Sucre, booked into a nice enough hostel, and went to look at the markets. After a few minutes, Sarah looked ill. She decided to go back to the Hostel, and did not emerge for a day and a half. She had become very ill indeed. It was only a matter of time before it happened to one of us, and I am sure Ness and I shall fall victims to food poisoning soon enough, but it certainly wasn´t pleasant for Sarah. Ness however, although sympathetic for Sarah, was not too affected by it. I say this because I witnessed something I thought impossible. During one of Sarah´s more violent vomitting affairs, Ness sat on her bed watching Sarah, quite concerned, but still somehow managing to shovel handful after handful of cerial in to her mouth, chewing unabaited by he hurling not a metre and a half away. It was an impressive feat.
Sarah is still not 100%, her appetite has not yet returned and it has been a while since she has been able to eat a proper meal. But she is certainly far better than she was yesterday.
Whilst Sarah was sick, Ness and I went to see some dinosaur tracks. You were unable to get closer than 150m from the tracks, and thus they were none too impressive. They were uncovered by a cement mining company, who only decided to preserve them because a) the soil they were in did not make good cement, and thus b) they realised they could make more money making a tacky dinosaur park and charging tourists 40 boliviars to get a far away glimpse at said tracks. They continue to mine around the tracks during the opening hours of the park. Thus it was not one of the greatest highlights of this trip to say the least.
Sucre is a nice place though, it´s a pretty town, and it´s been good to bum around for a few days. I even got to see a film in English, The Prestige, which I quite enjoyed, if only for the experience of seeing a film.
We´re headed to La Paz tonight, and shall be there until the 12th. It´s a twelve hour bus ride, so we took care in selecting a comfortable looking bus.
Until La Paz,
Dylan

Potosi: The Highest City in the World

After our first night in Potosi, I awoke well rested if still a little sick. Despite this we had booked a tour of the cooperative mines, with a group called Koala Tours. Why Koala Tours you ask? Well Koalas chew eucalyptus leaves all day, whilst Bolivians chew Coca leaves all day. Also Koalas sleep 22 hours a day, whilst miners are awake 22 hours a day. Except for the boss of koala Tours who also sleeps 22 hours a day. Well that´s what our guide told us anyway.
We were lucky to get a very good guide. A miner, who spoke very good English, and was very funny. Our tour consisted of more Australians than we had met on the trip so far. But I guess that´s what you get when you travel with Koala tours.
The first thing we had to do was get into ridiculous mining apparel, then jump on a bus to the markets outside the mines. Upon getting off the bus, we realised how ridiculous our clothes were, no other group looked like us, and the miners certainly didn´t look like us. Upon asking the guide why we were dressed the way we were, he responded, to give the other miners a laugh. And yes upon looking around we were attracting many looks and smiles. I have never felt so much like a tourist. At the markets we were to buy the miners presents. Our guide gathered us around and taught us about the presents we would buy. First of all dynamite. Our guide pulled out a big stick of it and smacked me hard on my helmet with it to mine and everyone elses horror. Then explained it was harmless without a fuse and detonator, I was not entirely convinced, but am glad i still have my head. then our guide pulled out a bottle of alcohol. 96% alcoholic it was, he said we must drink from it if we were to enter the mines. A mouthful put hairs on your chest, anymore would put you under ground. By this stage the entire group´s eyes were watering. Our guide proceeded to tell us to buy a bag of Coca leaves, and soft drink.
We bought these items, and I realised it was the first and most likley the last time I would be holding cocaine and dynamite at the same time... at least legally.
We were then taken to outside of the mines where our guide sat us down and introduced himself as Pedro, not Perro (dog), and if we ever called him Pedo (fart) he said he´d kill us. He got us to introduce ourselves, upon telling him my name he told me I must be mistaken... He was asking us what our names were. Upon reassuring him that my name really was Dylan, ya know like Bob Dylan, he decided just to stick with Bob. He then asked the girls when they started high school, and that became a running joke of the tour, getting the girls to cover their ears when he was to tell us anything remotely crude.
Pedro then pulled out a bag of Coca and asked us all to take a handful, a large handful, he wanted us strong for the mines. He then told us all to put it in our mouths and chew it. So we all stuck large fistfuls of Coca leaves into our mouths and began chewing. It tasted pretty foul, kinda like sticking a hundred tea leaves in your mouthes. As he watched us all struggle on our big mouthfuls of Coca leaves. He laughed and showed us how Bolivians chewed Coca... One leaf at a time. We cursed him between swallowing large amounts of Coca sap.
Finally Pedro took us into the mines. The ceiling was very low, I hardly ever was able to stand up straight, and I was thankful for my helmut as I hit my head often and hard on rocks and beams, but my neck got very sore. It often got so low that we had to crawl on our stomachs.
The Potosi mines are the highest mines in the world. So conditions in them are very hot, up to 45 degrees C, and there is very little oxygen in them, thus conditions for working are poor. The miners work for themselves, and have to sell their mineral themselves to the highest bidder. Thus they have no medical benefits, no protective clothing, and no special equiptment to get their minerals out of the mine. The average life expectancy of a miner after he starts working is 10 to 15 years. That said, Pedro explained that most miners were happy at present as the price of minerals were way up, and a miner could make quite a good living these days, drawing attention to all the miners rocking up in their 4X drives. Still it´s a hard life for a miner.
In the mines there were many sculptures of the devil, sporting a flattering erection, usually holding a bottle of booze, smoking a cigarette, and covered in coca leaves. This is because the miners are predominantly catholic. They believe that their mines must be close to hell and therefore the minerals in them must belong to the devil, so they worship him, reffering to him as Tio (uncle). If they have a good harvest of minerals, they feel they must show their appreciation to Tio by drinking A LOT with him. If they have a bad harvest they believe they have not drunk enough with him to appease him, so they drink A LOT with him. In fact there are many occassions whereby the miners drink a lot.
We crawled our way to the 3rd level of the mine, it was hot, impossible to breathe, and many of our group looked as if they were to pass out at any minute. I couldn´t walk in a straight line. Sarah looked as if she could have collapsed at any moment. One Hawaiian man was really struggling. Pedro explained that we should not worry if we passed out, he had carried two Israeli´s out yesterday.
Pedro continued to tell us of the miner´s bloody history, as we passed other miners giving them presents. As many as five massacres have occurrred in the mines in the past 100 hundred years, whereby the government have come in and just slaughtered them. To protect themselves the miners use dynamite as weapons, and continue to keep the cheaper crappier Peruvian dynamite on hand to kill anyone if need be. Pedro explained this in quite a matter of fact way, it was just their way of life he explained. The mines have claimed over 8 million lives in its entire history.
Upon getting out of the mines and regaining our breath the guides got some of the remaining dynamite, prepared it and lit it, and handed it to me and some other guy and just walked away. We both had a minor freak out, but the guides told us top stay there while people took pictures. Then strolled up to us casually took the dynamite walked 150m away put it down and walked casually back in time to watch it explode. I don´t think such practices would be accepted by OHSW in Aus, but it certainly made for an intersting day!
Catch yáll,
Dylan

Happy New Year

Hey yáll,
so we are well and truly in Bolivia now, and it is most certainly a very different country to Argentina. Our border crossing went very smoothly, just a couple of stamps and a walk across a bridge, and it was over. Later we found out that the border is so relaxed that you can do day trips from one country to another without any passport checking, you can literally just cross the border unchecked, which is how the cocaine trade survives so easily. The differences in the two towns that share the border could not be more apparent. You go from a well developed city to an impoverished one in the space of fifty metres, it is quite uncanny.
From the border we made our way to the train station, and slept on the dirty floor for around 4 hours whilst waiting for our train. It was a surprisingly good sleep, I think mostly brought on by the altitude. We got on the train, and were surprised by its comfort. 4 hours later and at 3.5km above sealevel we were in Tupiza, and were instantly Marauded by 15 children trying to sell us a room in their affiliated hostel. We chose one quickly, and made a b-line for it. By this stage a headache set in. Little did I know that it would not subside for three days. This was the begginning of my altitude sickness. Something that the girls were fortunatley spared of. Although I didn´t vomit, I was miserable. Whilst in Tupiza we booked a 3 night 4 day tour of the desert and the salt flats. It was $100 US everything included. Our tour consisted of me and the girls, two Germans, a Chinese Canadian, our guide, and his wife the cook. It was good to travel with these Germans and the Canadian. It made the three of us appreciate each other´s company a hell of a lot more. I don´t know what these other girls were expecting, but I think they were all suffering from culture shock. During the first stop in the desert, one of the Germans asked where the toilet was, our guide laughed and gestured to the entire countryside. The horrified look on these girls faces was priceless, but the complaining didn´t cease till the tour´s end. Myself, I was no fun for the first two days of the tour. Each day was 12 hours sitting in a jeep, getting to altitudes of up to 5km above sea level, my head felt like it was splitting every time my heart beat. Despite the amazing sprawls of desert either side of me (the types you only see in the movies), I was concerned with little other than sleep. Then when we finally got to the hostels the beds were so short, squeaky, and uncomfortable, that I hardly slept a wink.I was particularly grumpy on the second day, as I was sure I had lost my camera. It turned up in my sleeping bag, which was incerdibly lucky!
On the third day everything turned around. I still woke up with a headache, but this time I decided to treat it with Codral, the panadol had been doing jack all, and within half an hour I was feeling mountains better. Then I realised why the Codral worked so well, and probably why the altitude hit me so hard... I was getting a cold. But by this time I didn´t care, I was just glad to be awake without my head throbbing. I enjoyed the third day, even if it was much the same as the first two, but it was the first time I was truly able to appreciate the Flamingos and Llamas. We got to our hostel near the salt flats, and I was thrilled to find our beds were a good length and comfortable. On top of this the whole hostel was built out of salt, including the bed bases, it was cool.
On the fourth and final day of our tour we headed in to the salt flats. They are so vast it is impossible to comprehend. Somewhere in the middle of them is an Island of cactusses, where we stopped for a good two hours. The three fo us took the opportunity to take some awesome photos, which I shall psot as soon as I can, but with Bolivian internet being as slow as it is, that may take awhile. Coincidently, it happened to be New Years Eve. And we celebrated Australian New Years, with the girls daring me to do a nudie run into the vast, open, and deserted planes. In a rare display of extraversion, I took up the dare, and sprinted naked in to the distance. It was liberating, if retarded, and the girls got some photos of my pasty white ass in the distance. Which incidently, Sarah sent home to her Mum today. So sorry Anne, you have been warned. The tour ended in Uyuni, which is about as rural a town as you can imagine, we booked into a dank hostel, and despite there grandest efforts the girls missed New Years, opting to crash at 11.40pm. I decided I would not miss my first New Years in 15 years, and went out on to the street to watch the fireworks being set off by the locals. I watched as one local used two massive rockets as crutches, and winced everytime she threw the rockets forward, jammed them into the ground and then threw her weight on to them. I am truly surprised I didn´t see any amputees, I guess when things go wrong they can´t afford the medical to survive as cripples. As morbid as that hypothesis is.
The fireworks were alright, and satisfied that I had done my bit staying up for New Years, I headed back to the hostel at 12.05. To my surprise, the hostel had locked up... Before Midnight on New Years! Before long more backpackers turned up and became equally as disgruntled, until a crowd of over fifty of us were thumping on the door. People began resorting to throwing rocks at the windows and eventually an angry man came down and let us in.
The next day we got up early for our bus ride to Potosi. I realised that my cold had hit me with avengeance. I guess I had not exactly been taking it easy. And as soon as I saw our bus, I knew it was to be a horrible day. You see the busses in Bolivia are built for Bolivians surprisingly. And I have not felt as much of a giant as I do in Bolivia. They are on average the same height as the girls... So real short!
The girls sat next to each other and settled nicely in their well proportioned seats, falling asleep almost immediately. I looked at my seat directly behind them and wondered how I was going to get my legs in. I managed it by jamming each knee painfully into the gaps between the seats infront of me, my kneecaps were pressed firmly against the metal bolts holding the arm rests up. As I reclined into my seat I realised that the head rest met right in between my sholder blades forcing me to hunch over. Finally I realised my shoulders were far broader than the seat I was allocated to. As I considered what the implications of this could be, I watched a ver large lady approach me, each empty seat she passed only confirming my wildest fear. And thus it was realised. She plonked her enormous build practically dead on me. Her wide heavy thighs, driving into mine, driving my kneecaps further than I originally thought possible into the bolts they had been resting against. The bulk of her body crushing my shoulders in on them selves further, wedging me firmly between this woman and the window. Also as showers are a comodity in Bolivia, and the bus being incredibly stuffy, this woman reeked, and thus as she sweated on to me I began to smell the same way. The bus finally began its journey and as I sat, hunched over, bolts cutting into my knees, snotty from my cold, hardly able to breathe, partly due to restricted lung capacity, partly due to the stench, the woman fell asleep on me, began to drool, and I pondered whether I could keep this up for 7 hours.
When we arrived in Potosi, I was not a happy chappy. I made things worse by taking codral on an empty stomach. Disoriented, dizzy, sore, and tired, my map reading was attrocious, and after getting lost many a time we finally made it to the hostel. Where I slept like a baby. The following day made up for the previous one. We visited a cooperative mine. But that my friends is another story for another day. Thanks for sticking through this epic if indeed you did. Till next time, Chuckles