Political madness, dino tracks and gringo buses

We've finally succumbed to the lure of a cama (bed) bus. In Argentina, this would have been pretty special - fully reclining seats, meals, booze, functioning toilets, blankets and pillows. But this is Bolivia, so our seats only recline half-way, there's no food, and a sign on the toilet prohibits 'number twos'. None of that matters though. We're hoping that the extra cash we paid for this gringo bus is going to buy us safety and a sober driver. To hell with comfort.

You see, this is our first overnight bus in Bolivia - not something to be taken lightly if our shorter Bolivian bus journeys are anything to go by. Bad roads, bad vehicles and bad drivers are what we've come to expect, but we're trying to remain optimistic. We smelt no booze on the driver when we got on, so that's a good sign. But we're just about to leave and there's a young boy standing in the aisle singing (if you could call it that) about safe journeys. Not sure how to interpret that one.

We're heading from Sucre to Bolivia's capital, La Paz. Sucre was an odd little place. Nice enough, with beautiful colonial buildings, a leafy plaza and fantastic juice stands, but a bit odd all the same.

Our favourite juice stand

Anyway, here's a couple of crazy things we discovered in Sucre.

A president that can't speak Spanish?
The Bolivian declaration of independence was signed at the Casa de Libertaded on Sucre's main plaza in 1825. We visited the casa today and stumbled across an interesting fact about a past Bolivian president.

Political stability has eluded Bolivia for decades. The country has been through about 190 leaders since 1852 - their portraits fill an entire room in the casa - but one president (can't remember which one) stood out to us. This guy was born in Bolivia but lived his entire life in the United States, and he was elected as president of Bolivia even though he couldn't speak Spanish. Or at least that's what we overheard a guide telling a tour group. Crazy Bolivianos.

Dinosaur tracks?
Yep, just outside of Sucre, you'll find one of the largest dinosaur track sites in the world. The tracks were discovered by quarry workers, zigzagging across an enormous vertical rock. Apparently, the site was once the bottom of a lake which was pushed upright by the Andes. Rumour has it that UNESCO are planning to list the site next year, which means they're convinced that the tracks are real. And they looked real to us. Unfortunately, to get there, you have to ride the Dino Truck (with giant dinosaur claws on the roof) from the town's main plaza. The perfect way to humiliate a bunch of stupid gringos.

Tracks zigzag across the wall

The tracks up close

Down a mine with the devil

Deep inside Cerro Rico are hundreds of statues of Tio, the devil of the mine

"We were once the richest city in the world, the biggest city in the world and the highest city in the world," said our Potosi guide, Pedro . "Now we are simply the highest city in the world. The highest city in the world with the smallest people. That's why we can work in the mines."

We are 4060m above sea level in the mining city of Potosi, the city which grew at the foot of one of the world's largest mines. Here, you need to walk a little slower, eat a little less and sleep a little longer. Or you need to be made of tougher stuff, like the Potosinos.

"This mine used to be called Cerro Rico (Rich Hill)," says Pedro. "We should change its name to Poor hill. It makes no money for us now."

At the height of its splendour in the 17th century, Cerro Rico yielded a river of riches, fed the Spaniards unrelenting thirst for silver and helped fuel the economic rise of Europe ... at an enormous human cost. The hill is honeycombed with mines and haunted by the ghosts of the millions of slaves who perished in its dark tunnels over three centuries. African and native Indian slaves forced to work in the mines during colonial times are said to have lasted, on average, less than six months in the mines, unaccustomed to the climate and the altitude and subjected to appalling conditions.

Today, conditions have improved little, but there are few rewards left for the hard Potosi miners. The average life expectancy of the miners is 35 to 45 years.

Miners run through the mines, pushing tonnes of rock and rarely stopping for a break

Our guide Pedro started working in the mines when he was 10. Mining was in his blood. He and his two brothers worked alongside their father. At 15, he developed a back problem from hunching over heavy wheelbarrows and his mining career was over. He now gives tours of the mines twice a day. He was lucky.

Yesterday we crawled and climbed our way 80m into one of the mines. It was not a pleasant experience. In fact, it was shocking. The first two levels of the mine are no longer worked - whatever riches were here were plundered years ago - so most miners work on the fourth level in small claustrophobic caves.

This man works between eight and 12 hours a day for less than $US200 a month. He doesn't emerge for a lunch break. He chews bags of cocoa leaves to help him through. On Friday evenings, he joins other miners for a drink at the shrine of Tio (the devil of the mine). They give offerings of cocoa leaves to Tio and once a year they sacrifice a llama and offer Tio the llama blood in the hope that he will spare their lives. Their drink of choice is sugar cane alcohol - 96% proof.

Pedro tells us about some of the success stories: people who have struck it rich after a big silver or tin discovery. I ask whether the miners want to stay in the mine or if they leave once they have enough money. He tells me that its like a drug. They tell themselves that they will work the mines until they have enough money to buy a new car. When they get a new car, they tell themselves that they will work the mines until they have enough money to buy a house. Then another car. Then a TV.

Then their good luck comes to an end. Silver and tin prices plummet. Their minerals run out. They need a new section to mine, so they sell their car. Then their house. Soon they are broke and, of course, still stuck in the mines.

The air in the mines feels toxic. We wear bandannas over our nose and mouth to keep out the dust. But its not easy to breathe. The heat on the third and fourth level is stifling. Most miners work shirtless. Ladders to get to the lower levels are broken. In parts, we have to jump to reach the next level - over a dark black hole that leads to god knows where. This has to be one of the most dangerous things we've done, but the miners do this everyday for 30 years. Pedro tells us that they know the mine so well that if they have a problem with their lamps, they can find their way out of the mine in the dark. We'd have no hope. Even if we could find the tunnel out, we'd fall into a ditch or knock ourselves out on the pipes and wood sticking out of the walls.

Pedro tells us that no tourist has died in the mines ... yet. In fact, few miners die of cave ins. Most of the accidental deaths in the mine are caused by the toxic gases that sneak up on the miners while they work.

Carl and Dave model with live dynamite

Before we entered the mine, we stop at the miners market to buy gifts for the miners. Potosi must be the only place in the world where anyone can by dynamite. Apparently, every now and again, a young kid blows his arm off playing with dynamite and there's a crack down. Pedro says it lasts about a week. If you stop miners from buying dynamite, the people of Potosi would starve. We buy two bags of dynamite - one to give to the miners and the other to blow up after our tour. We also buy bottles of soft drink, which we give to the miners as they run past us in the mines pushing trolleys full of rocks. To get the minerals out of the mines, they put the rocks into bags and use a manual pulley system. It's bloody tough work. Pedro warns us not to get into a fight with a Potosi miner. "There will only ever be one winner."

Setting off the dynamite after the tour is a health and safety nightmare. Pedro and a couple of other guides sit on the ground outside the entrance and attach a fuse and a bag of fertiliser to the dynamite. They light it and hand the makeshift bomb around the dumb tourists for photographs. Carl and Dave love it. When the fuses start to get a little low, Pedro takes back the dynamite and runs 50 metres down the hill. The stupid tourists start to follow them, eager to get the best possible shot of the explosion. Pero, pero (stop, stop), yells a guide. Running after a lit bomb is really not a smart idea. Thankfully, they stop.

The explosions are enormous. Much bigger than I expected. Four hours later, our ears are still ringing, our throats still ache from the dust and toxins, our muscles hurt from crawling and climbing through the dark tunnels, and we feel emotionally and physically exhausted. It's an experience we'll never forget. Ever.

More photos

This is not a mirage

Emma destroys Carl with her new powers

Bolivia's Salar de Uyuni has magical powers. I am now six times the size as Carl and 10 times as powerful.

Don't believe me? Smart move. A giant, all-powerful Emma would be amazing, but it hasn't happened yet. Still, when you're looking across the bright white expanse of the Salar, it does feel pretty magical.

A perfect reflection as the sun rises over the Salar

Covering 12000 sq. km, the Salar sits 3653m above sea level and is between six and seven metres deep in parts. It was the piece de resistance of our journey through south west Bolivia, and it didn't disappoint.

We set out early this morning, well before dawn. During the rainy season, a shallow layer of water covers the salt flats and acts as a giant mirror. We drove slowly, watching as everything around us turned to pink, then red, then orange. The view was spectacular. Unbelievable. The reflection in the water was perfect, making it impossible to tell where the sky finishes and the land begins.

We watched in silence, then drove quietly to Isle de los Pescadores, one of several islands that pop up around the Salar. From the top of the Isle, the blinding white of this salt desert stretches as far as the eye can see. In fact, if you didn't know better, you'd swear it had been snowing.

The view from the top of Isle de los Pescadores

The Salar de Uyuni is estimated to contain 10 billion tons of salt, of which less than 25,000 tons is extracted annually. A handful of families from the nearby village of Colchani mine the salt on the edge of the Salar. It's a simple operation. They extract the salt using a pick, rake it into piles and initial the piles for credit with the truck drivers that pick them up. They work for hours each day in the hot Andean sun. Scarves or ski masks protect their faces from the blinding glare on the white Salar. Unsurprisingly, like miners all over South America, they work hard for little reward.

Colchani, a small mining village on the edge of the Salar

More photos

Tupiza to Uyuni: day three

I think the Sol de Manana geyser basin did it. It can't have been the altitude. The geyser basin is high at 4850m, but we've been higher over the last couple of days. That means it must have been the sulphur fumes that sent Carl and Eoin loco last night. At the very least, it clouded their judgement. You don't have to be Einstein to work out that seven-hours in a jeep at altitude with a hangover is going to hurt like hell. But, I suppose, it always seems like a good idea at the time.

On the upside, food is no longer my enemy. I am feeling human enough to leave the jeep and take over photography duties. It's a good thing too because the Southern Altiplano wasn't finished with us yet.

Before lunch:

• the fiery red Laguna Colorada, home to three different types of flamingos
• wild vicuna - thought to be an ancestor of the domesticated llama, the vicuna faced extinction until national park authorities in Chile and Bolivia stepped in. Now they can be seen roaming the lower parts of the highlands.
• Rocas de Dali - you'd be excused for thinking that the surrealist master actually did have a hand in creating this landscape. This sandy rocky out crop is a great place for ADTs and other stupidity. Unfortunately, we arrived at the same time as another tour. Carl and Eoin had kept them up all night with their singing, so they looked none too happy to see us. Oops.

Flamingos at Laguna Colorada

Rocas de Dali

After lunch:

• our first taste of the salares (salt flats) that link Bolivia and Chile. The Salar de Uyuni is the world's largest salt flat. It's so damn big that you can see it from space, so driving across even just this small part feels surreal. Can't imagine what it's going to feel like tomorrow when we drive the length of it.

We get our first taste of the salt flats and Carl and Dave get excited

Tonight we're bedding down in a little hospedaje made of salt. If we wanted to, we could lick the walls, nibble on our beds and use the salt on the floor to flavour our dinner. Clever little Bolivians.

Oh, I almost forgot ...

Today we also stumbled across a rare breed of mammal: the D4. It was a very exciting discovery. According to Eoin and Laura, the D4 are rarely seen outside of Dublin's D4 postcode, where they sponge of their wealthy parents. But this one had ventured far from its natural habitat. We spotted it languishing in a hot spring pool, trying desperately to impress nearby females with hair flicks and camera tricks.

The D4 can be easily spotted in a pack if you know what you're looking for. Key characteristics include:

• badly dyed long blonde hair
• a posh Irish accent
  
• an enormous ego.

Be alert. They can be extremely annoying.

Tupiza to Uyuni: day two

Okay, we're convinced. Bolivia really does have it all.

Ruined mining villages? Check
Green lagoons? Check
Red lagoons? Check
Pink flamingos? Check
Hot springs? Check
Bubbling, steaming geysers? Check
More volcanoes than you can poke a stick at? Check

Health update: Dave's alive. Emma remains broken.

A big bubbling stinking geyser

Laguna Verde

Don't believe us? Check out the rest of our photos from day one and two

Tupiza to Uyuni: day one

It's been a day of ups and downs. In less than eight hours, we've:

• climbed higher than 4000m and looked down into sepia-coloured valleys
• eaten lunch with llamas in the pampas (lowlands) with nothing but grass for miles
• stood in the shadow of snow-capped mountains and dormant volcanoes
• passed through tiny mud clay villages, where the people scratch a living from mining or agriculture.

Our first proper llama sighting

Along the way we met two little girls. One told us her name was Alberta, the other refused to speak. Their village is set in an open dusty plain. The land is arid and a fierce wind whips around the dirt streets. The harshness of the environment is etched into their skin, which is dark and dry.

Alberta

Tonight we are staying in a small hospedaje operated by a small local woman, who bustles about and says little. God knows where we are, but its warm and comfortable. Dave is confined to bed, with a raging fever and nausea. We've discovered that altitude is not his friend. Or mine for that matter. Dave projectile vomited the entire contents of his stomach (and then some) out the window of the jeep after lunch. And I suffered a severe relapse this morning, which makes us wonder if my 'nasty little bug' in Tilcara was actually altitude sickness. The juries still out. Neither of us can stomach coca leaves though, so we're done with that little ruse.

The poor Irish couple - Eoin and Laura - who've joined us on this four day jeep ride across southern Bolivia to Uyuni must be wondering what the hell they've got themselves into. Luckily for Carl, Eoin is also mad about football; they've been dissecting every football league in detail all day. But he's also got a dirty little obsession with Home and Away and I can tell that its only a matter of time before we've moved on from the Premier League to Summer Bay.

Local villagers barely acknowledge our presence

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

The journey from hell: Tilcara to Tupiza on a bus with no toilet

Travel lesson #522: Never attempt long bus rides with a dodgy stomach. They are not fun, not even in the slightest. Highlights of the trip included:

• Overloaded buses - people in the seats in the aisles and in the doorway. Absolutely no way out in a hurry
• No air-conditioning and no open windows - the stale stench of coca leaves and deep fried street snacks is difficult to cope with at the best of times, but when you haven't held down anything except two dry crackers in two days it's disastrous
• Travel sick children - one poor little lad clearly felt worse than me and proved it by vomiting in the aisle at my feet
• Border crossing formalities - get this stamped, fill out this form, walk back and get another stamp, join this line, carry your giant pack back and forth across the border three times until you're ready to pass out
• Realising too late that the toilets in the bus station don't flush - the less we say about that the better
• Bus drivers who dream of becoming rally car drivers - speeding over rocks, potholes and collapsed bridges in a rusty old school bus with no suspension and windows that bounce is not just uncomfortable, it's insane.

Tilcara: a little gem in the north west

A friendly local

Tilcara wasn't even on our radar five days ago. We wanted to see a bit more of the Jujuy province, one of the poorest regions in Argentina and one of the most indigenous. The plan was simple:

• stop in San Salvador de Jujuy
• be a bit lazy and take some tours into the surrounding countryside
• head north to Humahuaca for some sandboarding
• scoot over the border into Bolivia.

San Salvador de Jujuy turned out a strange mix of Argentina and Bolivia: large leafy plazas, beautiful colonial buildings and cosy cafes on the one hand, and lively markets, potholed roads, Quechua street sellers and coca leaves on the other. But the tour agencies in this city ruined everything. They tried to flog us bad tours at inflated prices. We had visions of our Cafayate rock tour all over again - drive, take a photo of a rock, drive, take a photo of a rock, repeat 20 times - and decided to hightail it out of there. The new plan went like this:

• escape from the rip-off tour agencies
• stop in Tilcara for a night and visit the Cerro de los Siete Colores (Hill of Seven Colours)
• head north to Humahuaca for some sandboarding and check out the World Heritage-listed Quebrada de Humahuaca along the way
• scoot over the border into Bolivia.

But Tilcara surprised us. Surrounded by giant hills on all sides, Tilcara is a pretty little regional town with dirt roads, mud brick houses, friendly dogs and good cafes. We stumbled across a cracking hostel with amazing views, hammocks, and fresh fruit juice for breakfast. We wandered around the ruins of El Pucara, a pre-Columbian fort set high on a hill just outside the village, and decided to stay another night.

El Pucara

The next day we set out early - before dawn - and hiked to the top of a nearby canyon to watch the sunrise. The hike was amazing but taxing. The hammocks and the sunshine beckoned. A new plan emerged:

• skip Humahuaca and go sandboarding in Peru
• stay another night in Tilcara, laze in hammocks and work on our tans (this is a holiday after all)
• scoot over the border to Bolivia.

Halfway through the hike and the altitude takes its toll on Carl

This morning, however, Dave climbed aboard the bus to the border alone. A nasty little bug has attacked my insides, making it impossible for me to hold down food or venture more than a metre or two from the bathroom. We're stuck in Tilcara for another night, night four.

Here's the kicker though: we've promised to meet Dave in Tupiza tomorrow to start a four-day jeep trip to the Salar de Uyuni. Tupiza is eight hours away by dirt road on buses with no toilets. In preparation, Carl has emptied the local pharmacy. He's armed with an arsenal of drugs and thinks I'll make it to Tupiza without incident. Needless to say, I'm less optimistic.