After acclimatising more to the culture than the altitude in La Paz I head up the hills - where indian Aymara women sit on roadsides, selling piles of whatever they have from blankets for pennies. In strange contrast to downtown with cinemas and swanky restaurants and everyone parading around in European dress. I wonder just how all the stuff they sell in the markets gets here? Labyrinths of shoes, jeans, casual wear... which no-one is buying and no-one appears to have money for.
I think I went too far off the beaten track as I not so much bumped into, as saw a man coming with tattoos up both arms, cut off tshirt, dark from the sun, crusted blood on his face. He said 'do you speak english. I dont want any money. I just got out of the prison Im a bit stressed.. yeah Im in the book you can read all about it'. Said he was from Washington heights, they took him to the gates and said go.. he wanted to call his mother to wire him some dollars. I told him I hadn't called my
mother for around two months so why would I pay for him to call his - and I was here to move away from trouble in my life so I'd rather not be around him any longer than necessary. My problem not his. So anyway we went to the phone place, he couldnt get through. I said I didn't trust him why didn't he just ask for the money.. he said what could he do to prove it to me. I said nothing because I didn't trust him. But gave him the money for a call anyway and left...
Then bumped into him 20 minutes later.. shouting 'hey miss. I got through. She was in the bathroom She's wiring me 30 dollars'. He asked my name, said his was Mike, gave me a one armed fist salute 'thanks for that' and was gone. So it turns out there's a book called Marching powder about San Pedro prison and he's one of the characters.. . I think hes also scamming tourists with his story which is probably true.
Bolivia seems to to me, a rich country held in poverty.. The people are beautiful and highly skilled in traditional crafts. I went down an active mine in Potosi. Health and safety wouldnt let you go 2 miles near it in the UK but 8000 people, all men some as young as 12 are down there working manually every day in terrible conditions while tourists crawl around the tunnels giving them gifts of dynamite and coca leaves. As we arrived at the mine, a body was being pulled out. There was a funeral the next day.
The US, backed by the UN who I have rapidly lost faith in, have been trying to erradicate the growth of Coca which is the national crop of the Andes and a staple of local trade. Coca leaves are not the problem. Western chamicals mixed with them to make the dugs are. and a massive illegal industry . To date the only 'legal' growth of coca is for import to the US for Coca Cola - subsidiaries of which are used in anaesthetics for surgery the world over! Bolivians do not profit from this and are held in cultural suspension by restrictions. It is still easy to find mate coca tea and chew leaves which make your tongue numb, your teeth green and your lips black. Also all the gold and silver was stolen by the conquistadors and is in Europe.. The levels of poverty I saw here have been the most startling in South America mostly because they are the ongoing result of actions by richer nations.
I catch glimpses of news. Wimbledon. The G8.. the Olympics. .. and then the bombings.. suicide and major disruption.
Meanwhile I spent 4 days crossing the most gruelling landscape I have ever encountered, the Altiplana - between Bolivia and Chile. My feet were so cold I couldn't speak because of the pain. I swear I will never complain about the cold again. minus 4.. minus 5. minus 15. We were up at 6, left at 7, stuck in the middle of a salt flat at ten past seven. Our driver decided to go straight across the middle of a lake in a car which wasn't a 4x4 although it had 4x4 stickers on the windows... the winch was broken, he didn't have any tools so his wife the cook began digging out the wheels with her saucepan and his son who was with us because Franco was too fat to get on the roof of his own car without falling off was sent to the nearest village for help. He disappeared gradually from sight and came back an hour and a half later with a boy who looked like Mogli from the jungle book on a bike with a spade..
Two cars eventually ventured from the safe road onto the ice. we were then surrounded by Quebecan girls doing a glove dance. Their drivers jacked the car with planks and wood and stones and another 2 hours later, we were on our way. The scenery was stunning. amazing. The changing colours of lakes and mountains from blues to greens to reds, flamingos standing on one leg and sulphur, stinks.
To the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama. With its unpaved streets, adobe houses and clear blue skies. Surrounded by volcanos, hot during the day, cold cold at night. An oasis in the desert. The restaurants and bars with blazing fires in their courtyards, open to the skies. Tipped by dreadlocks, I stayed in a place they were so laid back they weren't interested in taking money.. They leant us sandboards and bikes and were more like mates than hostel owners. I was so sad to leave. I love the desert.
And now in Peru.. with Mexico beckoning. A man on the bus said I looked like a Gitano (gypsy).. people keep commenting on my an antique poncho. It came from a Tarabucan Indian in Bolivia. Its warm.
Just wanted to say Im alive. I'll have to walk about and use my feet again before they freeze.
I think I went too far off the beaten track as I not so much bumped into, as saw a man coming with tattoos up both arms, cut off tshirt, dark from the sun, crusted blood on his face. He said 'do you speak english. I dont want any money. I just got out of the prison Im a bit stressed.. yeah Im in the book you can read all about it'. Said he was from Washington heights, they took him to the gates and said go.. he wanted to call his mother to wire him some dollars. I told him I hadn't called my
mother for around two months so why would I pay for him to call his - and I was here to move away from trouble in my life so I'd rather not be around him any longer than necessary. My problem not his. So anyway we went to the phone place, he couldnt get through. I said I didn't trust him why didn't he just ask for the money.. he said what could he do to prove it to me. I said nothing because I didn't trust him. But gave him the money for a call anyway and left...
Then bumped into him 20 minutes later.. shouting 'hey miss. I got through. She was in the bathroom She's wiring me 30 dollars'. He asked my name, said his was Mike, gave me a one armed fist salute 'thanks for that' and was gone. So it turns out there's a book called Marching powder about San Pedro prison and he's one of the characters.. . I think hes also scamming tourists with his story which is probably true.
Bolivia seems to to me, a rich country held in poverty.. The people are beautiful and highly skilled in traditional crafts. I went down an active mine in Potosi. Health and safety wouldnt let you go 2 miles near it in the UK but 8000 people, all men some as young as 12 are down there working manually every day in terrible conditions while tourists crawl around the tunnels giving them gifts of dynamite and coca leaves. As we arrived at the mine, a body was being pulled out. There was a funeral the next day.
The US, backed by the UN who I have rapidly lost faith in, have been trying to erradicate the growth of Coca which is the national crop of the Andes and a staple of local trade. Coca leaves are not the problem. Western chamicals mixed with them to make the dugs are. and a massive illegal industry . To date the only 'legal' growth of coca is for import to the US for Coca Cola - subsidiaries of which are used in anaesthetics for surgery the world over! Bolivians do not profit from this and are held in cultural suspension by restrictions. It is still easy to find mate coca tea and chew leaves which make your tongue numb, your teeth green and your lips black. Also all the gold and silver was stolen by the conquistadors and is in Europe.. The levels of poverty I saw here have been the most startling in South America mostly because they are the ongoing result of actions by richer nations.
I catch glimpses of news. Wimbledon. The G8.. the Olympics. .. and then the bombings.. suicide and major disruption.
Meanwhile I spent 4 days crossing the most gruelling landscape I have ever encountered, the Altiplana - between Bolivia and Chile. My feet were so cold I couldn't speak because of the pain. I swear I will never complain about the cold again. minus 4.. minus 5. minus 15. We were up at 6, left at 7, stuck in the middle of a salt flat at ten past seven. Our driver decided to go straight across the middle of a lake in a car which wasn't a 4x4 although it had 4x4 stickers on the windows... the winch was broken, he didn't have any tools so his wife the cook began digging out the wheels with her saucepan and his son who was with us because Franco was too fat to get on the roof of his own car without falling off was sent to the nearest village for help. He disappeared gradually from sight and came back an hour and a half later with a boy who looked like Mogli from the jungle book on a bike with a spade..
Two cars eventually ventured from the safe road onto the ice. we were then surrounded by Quebecan girls doing a glove dance. Their drivers jacked the car with planks and wood and stones and another 2 hours later, we were on our way. The scenery was stunning. amazing. The changing colours of lakes and mountains from blues to greens to reds, flamingos standing on one leg and sulphur, stinks.
To the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama. With its unpaved streets, adobe houses and clear blue skies. Surrounded by volcanos, hot during the day, cold cold at night. An oasis in the desert. The restaurants and bars with blazing fires in their courtyards, open to the skies. Tipped by dreadlocks, I stayed in a place they were so laid back they weren't interested in taking money.. They leant us sandboards and bikes and were more like mates than hostel owners. I was so sad to leave. I love the desert.
And now in Peru.. with Mexico beckoning. A man on the bus said I looked like a Gitano (gypsy).. people keep commenting on my an antique poncho. It came from a Tarabucan Indian in Bolivia. Its warm.
Just wanted to say Im alive. I'll have to walk about and use my feet again before they freeze.
