Ode to the coca leaf

Carl and Dave are talking cowboys and Indians. They're sitting on a couple of rocks, with cheeks full of coca leaves, and they're talking cowboys and Indians. Not that you can blame them really. There's a real country and western vibe in these parts. Things are dusty, dry and harsh. Rocks are a deep red and have been sharpened by the wind to look like giant fins. Even the plants look tough, although I suppose they have to be to survive out here. It all makes you want to jump on a horse, spit tobacco and snooze in the shade with a hat over your face.

The 'fins'

You see, we're in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid territory. According to local legend, the two outlaws met their maker in a nearby mining village, after a botched robbery attempt. Some say they were buried out here, but their graves have never been discovered. Still, if you've got a day or two, you can head to the site of their final stand wearing your best set of chaps and really get all wild west.

We haven´t done that. We've booked our trip to the Salar de Uyuni for tomorrow and I am still only half human, so we decided to test my mettle with a little hike to El Canon, a canyon (crazy I know) about 5kms out of town.

El canon

Actually it was more a stroll than a hike, but I have survived aided just a little by a gobful of coca leaves. The locals swear by them for any kind of ailment and who are we to argue. You stuff a handful into the side of your mouth, chew a little, maybe add some bicarbonate soda to get things moving a little quicker and let them do their thing. In a little while, your lips and gums are numb and you've reached the little waterfall at the end of the canyon without raising a sweat. Now we´re resting in the sun. Carl and Dave are talking gibberish. We´ve got enough coca leaves to get us safely back to town. All is well again.

Our bag of coca leaves