Travels through South America

Our Uyuni tour ended on a high and seven us decided to travel on to Potosi together. We bade farewell to Sharn, Duncan and Lacey and boarded a nightbus for the eternally slow journey to Potosi. The road was hard going and I found sleep difficult. I wish I could say watching some random Jean Claude Van Damme film on mute helped eased the time but sadly it didn’t. When the film abruptly ended mid-way through I felt relieved I hadn’t wasted too much time on it.

At 4090 metres above sea level, Potosi is the world’s highest city and by goodness can you feel it. The alititude means that even walking a few blocks is exhausting. The city is attractive, with many examples of colonial architecture and we managed to visit a couple of the city’s sights, despite our snail pace.

On our second day there, we decided to forego the infamous mine visit and instead opted to catch a bus to a nearby thermal pool, Tarapaya. We hopped on a micro whereupon I was accosted by a frankly terrifying Bolivian lady who seemed intent on using me as entertainment for the journey. Reminiscent of the original She-Devil (not the goddawful Hollywood remake), this lovely lady nearly took up two seats, used my leg as an arm rest, flashed a toothy gold smile and proceded to inform me that ‘Bolivian women are great workers’.

She spent the rest of the journey ‘teaching’ us Quechua words – quite why the Quechua word for ‘Hello’ would dissolve an entire busload of Bolivian into hysterics is beyond me. I soon began to suspect she was taking the proverbial out of us. Thankfully, the driver soon pulled over, telling us Tarapaya was ‘up there, over the ridge. I was relieved to see my new Bolivian paramour was remaining on the bus and bade her a hearty farewell.

We began our ascent up the cliff, wondering whether we were being sent off on a wild goose chase, but Tarapaya was indeed awaiting us. The setting is idyllic: a volcanic crater overlooking a valley with steep rocks at either side.

The place was deserted and, for an hour, we had the crater to ourself. At 18 metres deep in its centre, swimming across was a little scary.

I was glad Domingo only told me afterwards that people had been sucked down and had died.

That afternoon, feeling relaxed, we rejoined Andreja and Benny to catch a very cheap taxi to Sucre, following in the footsteps of Phil, Chloe and Peter. Who knew Domingo and I would end up staying a month…