Micah: Unmitigated

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Not just another weblog

Silver Lining

October 1st, 2010 at 19:04

Lets get right to it:

I checked out the silver mines on Monday. There were 5 of us on the English tour; 2 Aussie girls, a Canadian guy, and an Italian male. We suited up in yellow jumpsuits while the guides joked that we were going to a disco. Rubber boots, hard hat, and a headlamp rounded out the gear and we felt cool. Mandatory gifts for the miners were purchased (like coca leaves, soda, and dynamite) and we headed up the hill. I tossed a few leaves in my mouth to feel like a local, but didn’t have any of the chemical that releases their magic. So, I will have to try it again and hope to feel the positive effects: Reduction of hunger, resistance to temperature fluctuations, cures altitude sickness, and numbing of the tongue and cheek.

We ventured deep into the mountain, often ducking and crawling to get through passages. Miners were doing what they do and we took pictures. Many interesting characters in there, all with big bulges in their cheeks. Walking the tracks became a scary task, as heavy trolleys were pushed around. When the guides yelled “trolley!”, we had to run to the closest gap in the wall to get out of the way. At the conclusion, our guide gave us a dynamite demonstration outside on the hill. I even got to hold the lit explosive due to a patient 3 minute fuse.

That night I saw an amazing sunset from a viewpoint in town and had an even more amazing bowl of soup. I was feeling defeated by my dinner choices the past couple nights, opting for the very accessible blue fast food booths that magically appear at night in every Bolivian town. Eating cheap hamburgers, hot dogs, and Salchipapas. But that night was different, I stumbled upon a mobile kitchen in a plaza. They were filling bowls and I asked for one. “Aji de Fideo”; 3 potato halves were placed into a bowl and then covered with noodles and a red broth. The spice was perfect and the noodles plentiful. There were small pieces of meat but they weren’t really needed. The broth is what made it and I was a happy man for only 75 cents.

That 1 magical bowl of soup seemed to change me with each bite. I felt like I had got my mojo back and I was ready to tackle the rest of this intriguing country. Though, I must also give some credit to another food. “Ensalada de Fruta”, multiple counters in the market offer fruit smoothies and salads. My eyes immediately locked on to the towering glasses with a fruit and yogurt base, a jell-o middle layer, and topped with the ever present whipped cream/meringue white stuff. At less than 60 cents a piece, I could not turn them down.

Tuesday: I saw a cathedral/museum, ate yet another fruit salad, and studied Spanish in the plaza, before catching a night bus down to Tarija. Another sleepless journey, partly due to the old lady who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Her right arm would conveniently slip off the armrest and onto my leg. Each time, I would politely grab her sleeve and place her arm out of my personal space. It was a long trip.

Wednesday: My planning failed me yet again. The night bus journey took 3 hours less than I thought, and resulted in a 4 am arrival. The hostals near the terminal were either full or too expensive. So, I decided to wait around the busy station until the sun came up, in order to walk into town and find reasonable accommodations. That plan actually worked out, the station was an interesting scene and my hostal in town is clean and next to the centro mercado.

Tarija is a warmer city, 2,000 meters lower than Potosi, in a semi-fertile valley. A few hours north of Argentina, beautiful people and new treats are all around, plus this is the first town I have seen in Bolivia without any blue fast food booths. My first nights dinner was the following for $2.50: 3 pieces of street pizza, 1 pork sandwich, 1 plate of chicharron (small pieces of fried pork fat) choclo and potatoes, and finished with a banana smoothie. Oh, I also had some coconut sweets for desert. As you see, I am eating a lot more.

Thursday: Strolled to the big local market and found a fruit salad. This time it was a tall glass filled with multiple fruits in an orange colored juice. And, in keeping with the local tradition, when your glass is empty, they give you an extra helping that almost equals the first. Again, for the low price of 45 cents.

On the way back to the center, I stopped at a hilltop viewpoint to enjoy the sun and study some more words. While there, a female gringo came up to enjoy the same view and (as I was the only other white person she had seen) approached me to chat. She is French and on a 3 week vacation trip. I enjoyed being able to impress someone with my length of stay and we decided to go check out a nearby lake. Though not very scenic, it was good to get out of the city.

She left to meet up with a new local friend who was learning French and we made plans for another side trip outside of town on Friday. I returned to the Chicharron lady for dinner and enjoyed standing in the corner, surrounded by locals, eating with my hands, and getting a double-take from the handful of passing tourists.

Friday: Met up with Frenchie at 10 am, sampled some street crepes and salteñas, before searching for the micro to Coimata around the local market. After we asked 5 people for directions and I showed her the fruit salads, we finally boarded a van. Disembarked, and hiked about 30 minutes to some waterfalls. Set in an arid canyon, she showed off her rock climbing ability and I showed my fearlessness in trekking through thorn bushes off the beaten track. Women always worry when they see blood, but I assured her I was okay. I soaked my wounds in one of the many pools and felt alive again. Too much time in cities really gets to me.

It was great to hangout with Frenchie for a few days and her Spanish came in very handy. Back in town, she left to catch her 6 pm bus heading north and I cruised by the sports complex to watch some soccer and little girls who desperately need to learn some basketball fundamentals. Double dribbling should not be tolerated and I don’t believe it is legal to stand on the bleachers in order to throw the ball in over the girl who is probably a little to big for her age.

Well, that catches you up. Tomorrow morning, I will hop a bus to the border town of Villazon. Sunday, I plan to cross into Argentina with a yet to be determined itinerary. I could just spend a few hours there, or I could venture further south and make it a few days. This will mark the end of my southern path and then it will be 6 weeks of north to Bogota. Creo que va a ir muy rápido. >

E = 149

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