Last night, Pre-Flight

We bought tickets for the Sunday train between Rosario and Buenos Aires before we left Cordoba.  The trains are very infrequent and slow but really cheap, between $21-$30 pesos for a 9hr train ride.  This meant that the trip between Cordoba and Rosario was the last hitch-hiking we would do before we left.  Which felt strange.

It was a pretty representative day of hitching, with one lift who explained all the rock greats of Argentina and fed us delicious pasta, and another in which C ended up in the back of a pick-up (it's not legal here, but we spent so much time in them this year) for our final ride into Rosario, while the driver told J about being Bolivian in Argentina (think being Mexican in the US).  We even got dropped off only a few blocks from our Couchsurf's house in Rosario.

Rosario is built on the enormous Paraná River and the location where Belgrano raised the Argentine flag for the first time during the war of independence.  There is a giant memorial to this which offered great views over the city and river

and since we were there for the 25th May, which celebrates the outbreak of the war of independence in 1810 and the constitution of 1819, there were numerous speeches, parades, but also concerts for people to tango to:

which was interesting to see people young and old, well-dressed and casual dancing in the shade of the monument.  Despite it's fame abroad, tango has a very working-class immigrant background, it was only when it became fashionable in France that the Argentine ruling classes embraced it and promoted it.

The 25th of May is also a day when people eat locro, a hearty stew of white corn, smoked chorizo, beef, and veg like squash and onions.  Our couchsurf made up a batch which was really nice.  We also enjoyed an asado (BBQ) with him as well with ludicrous amounts of meat from various animals.  We sat out on the terrace as it was a lovely day and had nice chats in Spanish about all kinds of Argentine history and politics.

We caught the train around midnight and got a surprising amount of sleep, though were momentarily disorientated by the feeling we were moving west instead of east, but it all worked out in the end.  We entered the sprawl of Buenos Aires passing through numerous villas (semi-legal slums, subject to flooding, though we discovered quite a lot of the city is) which made a huge contrast with the opulent areas often only a street away.

We've stayed here with a friend of a friend who has been working on his PhD here for nearly a year.  This is really great as it has allowed us to relax a lot, enjoy chilling out and chatting about things deeper than the who we are where we're from.  It also meant that in addition to the obvious sites to visit, we were exposed to some of the more politically radical parts of the city.

We stocked up on books in Spanish since they were cheaper here (not as cheap as Bolivia of course, but we wouldn't have appreciated lugging them the last 10,000 km or so) than they would be in the UK.  We got some latin american authors like Mario Vargos Llosa and others less from here like Rosa Luxemburg.

We went to a couple of graveyards.  The one in Recoleta is very famous and houses the aristocracy of the city and Eva "Evita" Peron, though apparently some of the better families resent her presence there.  It is one of the top tourist attractions in the city and very grand.  The other is in Chacarita and features tombs no less dramatic

but is also where ordinary people are buried (many in morgue-like stacks that descend for three levels beneath the ground) and popular heroes of football or tango.  Juan Peron is also in there somewhere but he never was as popular as Evita anyway.

On the note of the Peróns, we also visited the Evita museum.  Juan Perón became a political power in Argentina around the end of WWII and with his wife, the actress Eva Duarte founded the nationalistic social movement known as Peronism.  It's seems to be a kind of corporatism, but it's hard to say because these days in Argentina almost anyone can (does, and seems to want and need to) refer to their ideas as Peronist.  Leaving aside the politics, he's a creepy looking guy. Wiki him and you'll see.  

We've also been in art museums, the traditional Belles Artes and the museum of Latin American art with more modern pieces, the museum of external debt which made an effort to explain Argentina's economic history, and another museum of currency and economy which had lots of interesting old banking machines and old money like 20 cent notes or 1,000,000 pesos from 1981.

Other than that we've explored the city, which is huge and busy, feeling much more like London or other European cities than like, say, La Paz, trawling bookshops and enjoying a night out with our host and some friends at a bar decorated with antique cameras and antique Argentine men playing jazz.

Last night was our anniversary, so we used this excuse to spend a bit more money on a meal than usual, and tried a restaurant promising to be Argentine but not steak.  They specialise in cazuelas, a kind of stew, which we enjoyed a lot, along with a bottle of Aberdeen Angus wine mostly because the name entertains us, being from where we are from.

We have one more day left and are going to see some films at a radical social centre tonight before tomorrow we get on the plane to head home.  Probably needless to say it feels very strange.  Some things we will miss and some we are glad to see the back of.  It doesn't feel like so long since we left.

Argentina, neither Buenos Aires nor Patagonia

Puerto Madryn was not entirely unlike being in Wales but we couldn't afford the exotic tea and "Welsh cake" here.  Having escaped the southern chill and snow, we rented bikes and journeyed out along the coast

as far as a sea lion reserve, where through looking pathetic we managed to get in for the nationals admission rate.  It is a few months past birthing season so there are several illegally cute young babies tottering around, but slightly fewer loud fat males making a nuisance of themselves, though those that remained seemed to be trying to be extra obnoxious to compensate or something.*

There was a surprising amount of wildlife around, many nesting shags and an amazing grey hawk eating a little furry thing that we got really close to.

The cycling was an enjoyable change of pace and we really enjoyed not having to wear all our clothes at once.  With our hosts we also had tasty platters of meat and a herby alcohol called fernet that is really big in Argentina, though we think it might be because it is like an alcoholic yerbamate.  When we hitched north we entered the Pampas which are Holland-like in flatness though probably France in scale and where a lot of the beef, wine and soya Europeans consume is grown.  We were lucky and made it all the way to Córdoba in two days, being fed more grilled meat and wine** along the way.

Córdoba is the second largest city in Argentina, though like Guadalajara in Mexico, there is a BIG gap between first and second.  Córdoba has just over one million people next to Buenos Airies with 16-17 million.  Tired of not being taken seriously, Córdoba decided to mark the bicentenary of Argentine independence by building a lighthouse.  If that doesn't seem stupid in and of itself, the city is located 500 miles from the sea.

Just a tourist attraction we are told.  But we prefer to think some town planner delcared it essential and ever since has been insisting that he was right because since it was built, not one ship has run aground in Córdoba.  Which is true.

Aside from that we've been taking it very chill.  Our plans to take the super-cheap train have been scuppered but we hope to be able to catch one on Sunday from Rosario to Buenos Aires.  In the city we have been taking advantage of cooking facilties to make cooked picnics and even cottage pie for dinner one night as an example of British cooking for our host.  When shopping for mince, we couldn't see it anywhere and eventually asked the butcher in the supermarket if there was a half-kilo of mince.  "Sure," he said, chopped off a chunk of prime loin steak and minced it there and then.  We were impressed.

People might have seen in the news last week that the last military dictator of Argentina, Jorge Videla has died.  He has been in prision since 2008 along with many others responsible for the "Dirty War" in which many tens of thousands of people were tortured, killed or disappeared with full support of and large weapons sales from American and Israeli governments.  We visited the Museum of the Memory, based in an old "Clandestine Detention, Torture & Extermination Centre" located right next to the central plaza though there were many in the city.  Like the museum in Santiago, it was a very powerful experience, especially being in the same cells and rooms where the torture took place, the police photos of those who died or who were disappeared looking so normal and familiar (except for the 70's hair on a few).  Though the dictators die, it is important to remember the system they built and were a part of remains.

On a completely different note we've also been watching some more movies, which have nothing to do with Argentina but were good.  Goodbye Lenin is the hilarious and also moving story of a young man forced to convince his sick mother that the Berlin Wall never fell and they still live in a communist East Germany.  It's also available free on Youtube if you're into that sort of naughtiness and we strongly recommend it for everyone.  Teeth is not really suitable for young uns but is also very very funny and clever in a different way, challenging male dominance and sexism and telling a weird and at times gruesome tale of a very special young girl growing up.  Don't watch it during dinner.

We're tired enough at the moment to spend a lot of time curled up watching films.  We both feel drained and ready for a break with the kind of conversation you can only have with people you know, a bit more personal space and less hours spent hitch hiking.  We're also excited to get on with things that we need to be in one place to do.  Basically we're ready to come home.  But this is good, because we couldn't afford to change the flight anyway!  Before we do though, we'll let you know how things go in Buenos Aires.


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* Sometimes it's great when animals act like humans, sometimes it's not.

**mixed with cola, the red wine, not the meat.  We are told white wine is mixed with lemonade or fanta.  It's weird, especially in a country so into their wine.

To the... north?

It feels rather curious.  But last night we did have the great pleasure of passing back through the (windy and godforsaken) town of Comodoro Rivadavia, thus making everything unknown territory again instead of retracing our steps.

But that's getting ahead of ourselves.  First, what did we get up to at the end of the world?

Unable to find a couchsurf we ended up camping, which was very very cold.  So we spent a lot of time in the (generous and warm) communal cooking area mulling cheap* Argentine wine with spices and oranges and chatting to the few remaining other campers.  Ushuaia is a final destination for a lot of people.  We met a guy who had cycled there from San Paolo, Brazil, and heard tell of someone taking eight years to walk there from Oregon, USA.  We also found time to hike up to a nearby glacier

on a beautiful day with stunning views

The next day was rainy and miserable so we hid in a museum about the people who originally inhabited the area.  They didn't wear clothes.  Seriously.  They were either incredibly tough or mental or perhaps both.  Sadly thanks to the same old European imperialism we saw up in Alaska and ever since, none of them are around to ask.

When we left Ushuaia drizzly snow was falling.  We hitched back to the ferry and down to Punta Arenas, not as far south as Ushuaia but still on mainland South America.  There we had a friendly couchsurf and as the weather got colder and wetter we semi-hibernated in his house, chatting about all kinds of things and eating our bodyweight in fresh clams with lime, spices and cheese.

We snuck out for a look at the very beautiful and interesting graveyard, filled with ornate tombs from various mineral or sheep farming booms.  The area had a lot of migration and there were many Scottish and Croat surnames on the tombs

But then went back inside.  Sadly on monday we had no choice but to get hitching again, and at points, with no wind protection, in the biting cold, it was bitter.  It's not worse than say November in Scotland but the problem is the standing around by the side of the road instead of being able to keep warm.   But we limped back up to Rio Gallegos successfully and camped there, just about staying warm enough overnight but discovering a layer of ice between the inner and outer tents in the morning.  This also heralded our return to Argentina, which was the last border crossing before we are returning home.  We're sick of the faff but have developed a Pavlovian happy response to the chunky stamping sound on a passport.

The next two days we hitched determinedly north, passing more fauna such as this strange mara creature that looks kind of like a jackrabbit bred with a bulldog.  We faced lashing snowstorms in the pitch dark (thankfully from a vehicle) and got very cosy with the national petrol company and their warm, 24hr stations. In one of these we saw the news that Ushuaia now has a foot of snow.  Got out just in time as we could have got stuck there.

Then, after the cheering moment leaving Comodoro mentioned above, we found our way to Puerto Madryn.  It is getting a bit warmer. Here, along with the nearby cities of Rawson, Trelew and Gaiman, are Argentina's biggest Welsh immigrants area.  Apparently when the Welsh were offered the opportunity to leave their windswept, sheep filled, rainy, cold corner of the world they said they'd like to go somewhere exactly the same please but not next to the English.  Fair enough.  Ahem, in reality they came for sheep farming.

We're couchsurfing again here and last enjoyed a nice dinner and chat with our hosts and then slept in a real bed without wearing all our clothes.  Which was very nice.  Now to explore pueblo gales**.

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*70p a LITRE if anyone is interested and not as bad as that would imply in the UK.

**Pueblo= town and Gah-less is spanish for Wales, there will probably be a bit of wind but nothing like further south.

The end of the line

Our trip is now officially over.  We have reached Ushuaia, the farthest south point you can reach by road in the world.  We can tell because there are lots of postcards saying that and also it is quite cold.

For anyone who thinks we have moved prettty quickly, you're right.  We spent a couple of days in Valdivia, hiding from torrential rain by drinking strong German beer and spending time with our very lovely couchsurf hosts.  After that. some lucky hitching and another dose of white line fever have meant we've covered about 2870 kms (1780 miles) in the last six days.  But the thing about Patagonia is, there's basically nothing here in the vast majority of it.  Gloriously, breathtakingly, nothing.

In lots of ways it's kind of like Scotland.  As we crossed over from Chile we got in some hiking in dripping woods

and watched the terrain change to mountains and autumn foliage

full of blue-green lakes and ski resorts.

Farther south, everything turns to brown grass and wind-stunted trees.  It began to get really cold, causing C to go into hibernation mode

The nutrition in the grass is so poor you need 5 hectares to raise a sheep.  Most farms have at least 5000 sheep to make a profit and that gives you an idea of the scale of them (the farms.  The sheep are quite stunted like the trees).  The sheep still manage to get in the road of course, and they are about the only thing blocking the freezing wind whistling across from the Andes to the Atlantic.  We have also seen rhea, the native flightless bird, and guanaco, the llama's far more dignified cousin who roam about down here laughing mockingly at the pathetic human fences and effortless leaping them to go wherever they want.

The crucial difference between here and Scotland though isn't even the small ostrich type creatures or camelids.  It's the size of the place.  Patagonia alone is twice the length of the whole of Great Britain and much wider.  So its size in terms of Scotland is hard to countenance.  There are spaces between towns the size of Scotland.  All this means when people do pick you up they are often going pretty far.

Once in Argentina we headed south through the alpine-esque towns of El Bolsón and Esquel to Comodoro Rivadavia.  There, after a slightly chilly and uncomfortable night camped out, we were filling our flask with hot water at a petrol station (hot water dispensers are at all fuel stops because if Argentines can't constantly supply themselves with Yerba Mate(1) they may riot.  More on this later) when a friendly looking chap approached and asked where we were going.

"Scotland," we brightly informed him in a minor Spanish fumble (Where are you from is a much more common question and they sound similar).  He looked a little confused as to how we intended to backpack there but after we realised our mistake explained that he would shortly be headed south to Rio Gallegos, about 700kms south.  Of course we jumped at the chance and were soon flying through the night chatting away(2) and drinking Yerba Mate.

We've had Yerba Mate from over half of our rides here.  We'd heard of it in the UK as it is a bit of craze in some circles there, but had never tried it.  You can't avoid it here though (where it is from.  Apparently Paraguay and Uruguay are the same too).  People travel with their own special little gourd which they fill with the strong bitter herb and then gradually pour small amounts of water at a time.  You drink the water through a special metal straw with a filter, refill and pass the gourd to the next person.  It's a strong flavour but great in the cold and we can't emphasize enough how essential it is to the culture here.  Last night our lift kept refilling it so often we both had to beg him to stop so we could pelt to a bathroom while he sat in the car giggling and apparently immune to the amount of liquid we'd consumed.  We suspect Argentines of having a special second Yerba Bladder.

We slept that night in a bus station behind what was technically a picket line.  A week long strike of long distance drivers has only been lifted today.  It was not as exciting as it sounds and it took us several days to notice the strike anyway as it never occured to us to take buses.  It seems that the unions have got something out of the big business, so that is good news.

Our hitching continued successful and we crossed into and back out of Chile (this guy was the border guard

), took the ferry to Tierra del Fuego and arrived in Ushuaia in the early hours of this morning.

So there you have it.  We have reached our destination.  It is certainly much nicer than Deadhorse.  We have traveled two continents, 15 countries and over 20,000 miles (31,000 kms).  That's more than going from Madrid to Bangkok via Moscow and back again.  All in all we're a bit knackered but very happy.  We are currently in a lovely little library full of big sections of books and friendly staff because internet cafes here are insanely expensive.  But here it is free.  Libraries have done us proud since Alaska.(3)

We don't fly home until early June and have to get to Buenos Aires to do so, so we will be faffing about some more for about another month, and still blogging if you're into that sort of thing.

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(1) Pronounced Mah-tay.  There's no reason why anyone who doesn't speak Spanish should know this but J still got sneered at (despite speaking a little at the time we didn't know it was from South America and that that pronounciation applied) in a swanky coffee place in Portland for pronouncing it like the affectionate term from London... we told you it was a craze for the cool kids.

(2) Though they replace 'Y' sounds with 'Shh' sounds as in (Shho soy C y estoy en Argentina con shhamas, poshho y shhuvia) the Argentine has actually been easier for us than the Chilean one often was.

(3) Support your local libraries folks.

Autumn has come

We escaped the route 5 to Elqui Valley, home of Chile's grape brandy Pisco and many observatories, purely by coincidence.  There we had some cheap, tasty vegan food (there is also a New Age colony in the valley, presumably after some different spirits) and arranged to go up to an observatory for some sky-gazing.  This was unfortunately cancelled due to clouds, which was a shame but we are sure it couldn't have been better than the night we spent on California's route 1 anyway (except for the Southern Cross of course) and it was a pretty day-trip in itself.

Back on the road we hitched on down to Santiago and bought our little electronic Bip card for the transport system.  This is the same as Oyster cards in London except without the option of just paying cash for the buses, which can leave you kind of stuck in large parts of the city not covered by the Metro trains.  Anyway, we met up with our lovely CS hosts and asked them how on earth they managed to stay vegan in the Southern Cone, where nearly all bread you buy in the supermarkert contains lard (for reasons we're unsure of since bread doesn't really need bulking). 

In exploring the city itself we wandered up the eccentricly developed Cerro Santa Lucia near the heart of the city, visited and recommended by Charles Darwin (which is more than can be said for Tierra del Fuego, but we find out for ourselves soon enough).

It is a very pretty knoll, covered in turrets and towers of half a dozen architectures with views as good as Santiago´s smog-bound horizon will let you see.

We generally took it very easy in the city.  Autumn had appeared out of a cloudless desert sky and J was thrilled to get the foggy mornings, red and gold trees and grape-vines, visible breath and roasted nuts the season demanded (and that we had missed this year what with being in Mexico).  Leaving aside the usual city things we saw, Santiago had the fattest street dog we had yet seen.

There, you won´t see that in the guides to Chile but equally you won´t see that fat a street dog elsewhere.  He seemed very content.  We´ve been having a problem with street dogs recently where they seem to identify us as their own, to the extent that a pack of 6-7 followed us for several kilometres out of town recently.  We don´t know what the secret signal Chilean people give them so that they ignore them is and we showered recently and everything.  It is a mystery.

We also visited the Museum of Human Rights, built in memory of the coup of September 11th 1973 and subsequent dictatorship. (incidently, this is the reason Chileans might be a tad unsympathetic to any Americans who expect global sympathy for their "9/11" given the massive effort America put into putting Pinochet in power).  Despite the ridiculous building it is housed in we really enjoyed the museum, as much as you can given the topic.  However we felt that by beginning at 6am on Spetember 11th, they had kind of avoided any looking at where the coup came from, or the actions of the Allende government in the preceding years.  Also by focusing on an individual "baddy" like Pinochet, all complicated questions about the support from mining compnaies and large landowners or the international support of Reagan in America and Thatcher in Britain, could be ignored.  And of course, the indiginous Mapuche didn´t get even a mention as far as we could see, let alone mentioning the post-Pinochet government never gave them the land he took back.  But it was free and we would recommend it if you can read Spanish.

The fact that it was in Spanish was interesting as we felt it was a sign that museums were more focused on national visitors than international ones, the mark of a richer nation maybe.  Despite much of the music in bus stations and on radios being in english, almost no one speaks english and much of the tourist info we have seen is in Spanish.  We think it maybe explains why Chile is less of a tourist hole than Costa Rica or Bolivia (we can´t speak for San Pedro de Atacama of course), but it has made us really glad for the Spanish we have learned as we would otherwise be extremely limited travelling here.

Despite really enjoying eating and cooking vegan with our hosts, we also really enjoyed visiting the fish market in Santiago, we you can see all the fresh seafood brought in each morning and then eat it at the many restaurants.  We splashed out on probably the most expensive meal we have bought on the trip (USD $25 for us both) and J had raw sea-bass, mussels, sea urchin and misc. marinaded in lime juice (which "cooks" it by oxidation) and C had red conger eel grilled with lots of garlic.  There was also two glasses each of pisco sour and seemingly limitless bread rolls shaped like fish.  It was a real change from our norm and a great meal, since despite being from a fishing port (Aberdeen), seafood other than fish and chips is nearly non-existant (except for silly amounts of money).  Though we are looking forward to people buying us chippers (or chippies as the English say) when we return. Just saying.

Moving south of the capital, we hit something of a hitching snag, waiting for about five hours outside of Chillán.  While we've faced long waits before, the disturbing thing is the blank look on people's faces as they drove past us, which is normal for the UK but very unlike the rest of Chile so far.  The foggy chill makes waits more of a challenge than they were in Panama or even Canadian summer time as well.  But we escaped the Chillán trap and have got off the Route 5 again to Villarrica, on the imaginatively named Lago Villarrica with amazing views of the Villarrica volcano.  Our rides were even nice enough to stop and show us the Salto de Lajas waterfall along the way.

It's no no as impressive as where part of J's family is currently exploring (look here for more info on a very exciting trip for some lovely ladies), but it was very pretty and the kind of little thing we sadly often skim by, since we lack control of our own vehicle.  Though we in no way miss road tolls, taxes, petrol prices or even the idea of taking one vehicle through many countries.  We'll stick by our thumbs thanks.

White Line Fever

The title is a phrase we heard from a biker we met in Panama to describe the traveler's itch.  Over the last week we've certainly had it, covering about 2500km (1500 odd miles).  Most days there's been nothing we'd rather do but keep hitching.

However, hitching wasn't an option from Uyuni to Chile.  After a whole day's frustration we realised we would have to get the bus.  We then learned there would not be a bus for two more days.  Instead we went to Argentina.*  We crossed over at Villazòn  and saw our first real signpost for Ushuaia, a mere 5,700km.  Of course we wouldn't be taking such an easy route as that.

Our first day was one of great rides and beautiful views, both whilst driving

and at hitching spots

The road that ran into Chile was a major one for trucks coming to/from Paraguay and Brazil and the tax-free zone in Northern Chile.  This was good news for us (though bad news for Paraguay, it doesn't produce anything and hasn't since 1870) and we coasted easily through the mountains, as marching armies of cacti surrounded the road, giving the impression of having frozen, arms raised, just as you looked at them, like a huge game of What's The Time Mr Wolf.

Our first night in Argentina was spent camping and symbolically drinking Argentine wine.  It is hot in the daytime up in the Altiplano and the altitude puts you at real risk of sunburn, but once the sun goes down it gets cold.  We got a great ride through the Argentine/Chilean border, which was a very stupid border indeed and we kicked our heels there for several hours.   We passed straight through the tourist hotspot of San Pedro de Atacama and were in Antofagasta by nightfall, having gone from over 4,500m above sea level to the coast in one day.

Apart from San Pedro, the north of Chile is functional mining country.  It feels like being back in Canada.  The same pick ups, the same boots on the men standing around (doing that manly rocking about on their heels discussing large lumps of metal thing), the same desolate landscapes peppered with towns full of nothing but grids of houses, small shops and the the odd grimey strip bar.  With the exception that here in Chile towns that used to serve the same function for nitrate stand empty, ruined and half swallowed by the desert, a warning of what happens when the resources run out.

There is not much to do in Antofagasta.  It is the most expensive city in Chile but without much to visit to justify that unless you have a very highly paid job in a nearby mine.  We did meet another traveler though and together found a cluster of other hitch hikers, casual workers and hippies camping on one of the beaches.  As it took us a while to get going in the morning we ended up spending a full day there, making and selling our little flowers and drinking Chilean wine (well, it's even more famous than Argentine after all).  We soon adopted a small crowd of sixth formers who we made late for school exchanging Chilean recommendations of music and film (look up Los Bunkers for some sixties inspired Chilean rock that we liked) for teaching them English swear words and how to make the flowers.  After a night on the beach,

the next day, Friday, it was definitely time to get going again.  The hitching continues easy and friendly here and we were surprised to find ourselves in a truck going all the way across the desert.  Unlike the glimmering salt flats or the shifting golden sands of the Sahara, the Atacama desert was brown.  That made the effect all the more uncanny as it looked like normal dirt and hills from back home, just dirt and hills on which not a single moss or insect lived for hundres of miles.  We love deserts.  We arrived in La Serena in the early hours of Saturday and found our first couchsurf in weeks.  We have fallen on our feet with an incredibly friendly and welcoming family who are looking after us with showers, beds, good food and more wine, and letting us play with their pack of hounds.

Today we visited a museum of archaeology and saw some of the Rapa Nui (Easter Island) heads and a lot more about precolombian Chilean cultures.  La Serena is pretty sleepy on a Sunday so we will be chilling out for a while before we get going again tomorrow.

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*An alternative title for this post was "We've come to Argentina by mistake, are you the farmer?" but this was limited to those Withnail fans who are laughing already. 

The Altiplano

Cerro Rico (´Rich Hill´, the conquistadors were too overcome with lust for silver to get imaginative on the names) looms over the city of Potosí and can be seen from everywhere in and around town:

When the Spanish arrived, they soon discovered that you could literally pick the silver off the ground.  In the 16th century Potosí was richer than London and bigger than Madrid.  The money never stayed in Bolivia though, let alone Potosí.  The wealth of the mines is long gone now and the town is poor with nothing but ornate colonial buildings to remember the past.

Despite the depleted amounts however, the mines still function, mostly in the control of co-operatives of miners.  Wages are better than anything else in town but that is not saying much, and the health risks are high.  You can tour the mines and though we were hesitant about them as a tourist destination we found a company staffed entirely by ex miners who seemed very down to earth, and decided to go for it.

It turned out very informative and the miners at work, like these guys pushing a trolley,

 varied between being indifferent to our presence to laughing and joking as they accepted the juice and coca leaves* our tour bought as a present.  We discussed politics for a long time with our guide, a big-hearted and interesting guy who had worked the mines for four years starting when he was just twelve.  He was very pleased to hear about Margaret Thatcher.  Hem.  Don't think we need to add anything there.

We also met 'El Tio', the devil like creature the miners claim is in charge down under the mountain, as it doesn't seem like God could have anything to do with it.

Other than the mines there is not a lot in Potosí.  We spent our other day at a volcanic hot pool (22 metres deep so safe for diving)

and then hitched out to Sucre, thumbing for about 20 seconds before some smiley guys in a pick up pulled up and tossed us in the back.

Sucre is beautiful but unless you are volunteering or studying Spanish there is not a lot to do there.  We took a gorgeous hike out to some waterfalls and pools and swam

and found a cinema showing Latin American films with English subtitles.  One was an interesting depiction of corruption in the Buenos Aires police, and the other a documentary about a boy working in the Potosí mines- The Devil's Miner.  Though it was maybe a bit heavy on the sensationalist aspects of El Tio and a bit light on the economics of why there are kids trapped in these lives, we'd definitely strongly recommend it to anyone interested in finding out more who doesn't happen to be hitching through Bolivia.

After a museum visit and some strolling around the pretty streets, we were ready to leave Sucre.  But we also collected a friend, the lovely M from Canada who we had met in La Paz and is now volunteering in Sucre.  She was keen to take the weekend to visit the salt flats at Uyuni with us.  We found hitch hiking just as smooth with three and made it back through Potosí and on south to Uyuni in a day.

The norm seems to be to get a tour to the salt flats, but M's friend had given us a tip on how to just get a local bus out to the edge and then hike around.  We skipped some natural spots and could not go far, but even apart from the money saved we are really glad we took this option.  The flats are the largest in the world, and in our mere dabble in the edge (we walked straight in for an hour and a half) the fact we were hiking really gave it a sense of scale.  The distances are deceptive and shimmer before your eyes and the crystals and patterns are breathtaking.

Before we came to Bolivia a few people who had been here complained of the unfriendliness of the people.  So far we have to say we had experienced no such thing, including easy hitching and helpful passers by.  But suddenly in Uyuni we see what they mean.  People ignore you or are flat out rude and refuse to serve us for being tourists.  It doesn't feel nice.  It's unlikely of course that people are just randomly nasty and prejudiced in this town, more likely tourists are obnoxious or the tours of the flats (which is the only reason people come) benefit only a few people in the area.  But whatever the reasons, none of them inspire you to stay.  Tomorrow we say goodbye to M and strike out for Chile.



*Coca is ubiquitous here.  Yes cocaine derives from it but they are very different and coca is no more addictive than coffee.  Miners use them to give them energy and supress hunger as it is not good to eat down in the mines and they also make a rather delicious tea.