Where to begin? Well, when I last wrote, I was in Arica, Chile. I didn´t stay in the world´s thinnest country for much longer--I crossed the border back into Bolivia last Thursday. (I spent Wednesday night sleeping on a bus at the border: I´m still not sure why anyone would schedule a bus to arrive at the border at 3 a.m., when it´s closed.) A word of advice: do not accuse Bolivian immigration officials of corruption when the ¨tax¨ they want you to pay is actually legit. It goes like this. ¨15 Bolivianos for your entrance stamp, please.¨ Me: ¨Oh really? Does everyone pay this tax, or just the gringos?¨ ¨Everyone.¨ ¨I don´t believe you.¨ (Official pulls out book of regulations and shows me that, in fact, everyone does pay.) Let´s just say that he had some strong words for me, including stuff like ¨imperialist.¨
Oh wait--something really important happened before I crossed the border. Location: the public library in Calama, Chile. Event: a giant earthquake. I´ve been told that most of the time, the ground moves back and forth during earthquakes... well, this time, it went up and down. So my attempt to run to the doorjam really looked more like a skip--every time I took I step, I got bounced up a bit. As soon as the shaking stopped, I headed outside, where I stayed for the rest of the day. I learned later that the quake had been 7.7 magnitude, and it lasted for 40 seconds. I could have sworn it was more like 10 minutes.
From Calama, I traveled to Uyuni, Bolivia. I spent one night there, then headed out on a tour of the surrounding area, including the world´s largest salt desert, the Salar de Uyuni.
Let´s pause for a moment and do a little experiment. Get some salt and dump it on the table. Next, find a lamp and shine it on said salt. Now imagine that this bright, glittering salt extends all the way to the horizon, and that you are standing in the middle of it. There´s really no way to do justice to the overwhelming beauty of the Salar: I had a good conversation with some Argentines (more about them later) about the lack of adequate words. The Salar is flat. It is very white and salty. It is also very big. That just doesn´t work! Okay, how about this. The ocean isn´t particularly remarkable either--it´s just a bunch of water. The Salar is like the ocean: the very fact that there is so much of just one thing is overwhelming. Simply hard salt desert to the horizon. Further, it´s perfect: white hexagons repeat and repeat to form a pattern that continues for dozens of kilometers. Last Friday, at three in the afternoon, I walked 100 meters away from my group, out onto the untracked salt, and it was absolutely silent. No joke: I could have been on a different planet.
That extraterrestrial feeling would return several times during the three days that I traveled with Roberto, our Bolivian guide and driver. We saw lakes made pink by algea and green by copper, and a desert so red it could have been on mars.
There were also more earthly moments to the trip: vicuña by the dozen, and rock formations that made me wish I had packed a pair of climbing shoes and my rack. (A belayer would have helped too.) And every once and a while, the reality of the gringo trail would intrude on the stunning beauty of southeast Bolivia--that would be when the Land Cruiser of loud Irish tourists arrived where we were.
See, there´s a bit of a catch-22 about traveling in South America. The out-of-this-world places, like the Salar or Macchu Picchu, are also where everyone goes. The marvels of South America have been discovered, and while it´s well worth it to join the masses in pursuit of beauty, that can´t be the whole point of a trip. I´ve met a lot of people who are simply traveling from wonder to wonder, and while that might work for some people, it doesn´t work for me. ¨For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.¨ When I found this quote (Robert Louis Stevenson) a couple of weeks ago, I decided that Rob and I would have gotten along just fine. I´m not going anywhere, I´m just going.
Going for five more weeks, that is. Tomorrow, I will rejoin my Argentine friends for a tour of the mine here in Potosí: formerly the world´s largest silver mine, Cerro Rico now produces loads of tin. It´s one of those things that you´ve just got to do in Bolivia. I´m a little nervous, since I don´t really like caves too much, but I´ll be fine. Hell, I made it through a 7.7 magnitude quake last week.
Oh, the Argentines! Well, there are three: Julio, Buli, and Ana. They´re all around 70. Julio runs a retreat outside Buenos Aires (he described it as ¨lots of yoga, and lots of thinking like Gandhi.¨), and invited me to spend a day or two there (free!) when I´m in Argentina. Buli and Ana (married) were shocked when I said I didn´t have plans for Christmas in Buenos Aires, and they insisted that I call if I don´t have anywhere to go for La Navidad. I think I will!
Now there´s just the question of Thanksgiving in a few days... I think fried chicken might be the closest I can get to turkey in Bolivia.
Chow.
P.S. Happy Thanksgiving! I´m now in Sucre, Bolivia, and I thought I´d add a little to my previous post.
The mines of Cerro Rico were pretty tough, both physically and emotionally. They´re very dusty and hot, so it´s difficult to breath, but then you see the miners and feel like a wimp. After all, the tour lasts about three hours, and they´re working for up to 16 hours a day--some pull 24 hour shifts. The money is good, by Bolivian standards (about 140-160 dollars a month), but it still stands that I can make as much in one day painting houses as these guys make in a month. That´s awful.
But it could be way worse. The mines are run as cooperatives, so profits are shared and most miners have some sort of insurance. (Membership in a cooperative isn´t required, though, and some just work independently, selling ore on their own.) It´s still a very, very dangerous job, but things have improved on that front too: since the Spaniards first started silver mining in the 16th century, eight million people have died in Cerro Rico. (No joke. That number comes from a book.)
I may have painted and excessively rosy picture of the mines: they´re really terrible. Miners rarely wear any sort of lung protection, and most develop silicosis (basically, the lungs don´t absorb oxygen as well as they should) within about two years. Most miners are under 35, simply because people don´t last that long underground. Few die, but most get sick and have to quit. There are exceptions: we met one man who had worked in the mine for 27 years. He´s 45 years old. On the other end of the spectrum, we talked with a 16-year-old who had been working for two years, almost every day.
People don´t eat or drink in the mine, they just chew coca. It´s a powerful stimulant that allows the miners to work incredible hours, and in theory, the extra saliva in the mouth acts as a sort of a filter to keep the dust out of the lungs. I´m not sure I buy that.
I traveled to Sucre almost immediately after getting out of the mines (I have never been so happy to see sun and fresh air!), and I really like this city. The tourist industry is important here, but it´s hardly the only thing going on. Sucre is one of Bolivia´s two official capitals (the other is La Paz), but Sucre wants to be the only one. So every once and a while, the city just shuts down and everyone goes out to protest. Today is one of those days: the main plaza is full of people waving flags and chanting, ´´¡Sucre! ¡Sucre! ¡Capital plena!´´ If that´s not enough, there´s a big open air concert tonight to support the plan. Should be a good time.
My Thanksgiving was disappointing. Let´s just say that it´s unfortunate that the only time I´ve felt unwelcome on this entire trip was when I tried to have Thanksgiving dinner with the Peace Corps. I don´t want to go into much detail, but it just sucks. I´ve been all over this continent and felt at home everywhere, but on the one day when Americans are supposed to come together, I was basically kicked to the curb. I´ll remember that as one of the seriously low points to this trip.
I´ll be in Sucre for a few more days. On Sunday, I´ll travel to Oruro and take a train south to Tupiza. My plan isn´t to sure yet (is it ever?), but I think I´ll be there for a couple days before traveling to Tarija. From there, I´ll cross the border into Argentina. And maybe Paraguay, if I can find a consulate that´s actually open. (The one here in Sucre is closed for two weeks.)
I´m doing well. Thanksgiving without family isn´t much fun, but it´s a tradeoff. I mean, one depressing, lonely day for 87 great ones? Yeah, I´ll take that.
Hasta luego.
P.P.S. I took some self portraits on the tour of the salar... I call this one ´´Wow, that was a big bump!´´
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