Our journey from Santa Cruz to Sucre bared more similarities to our Indian experiences. We boarded the bus, us being the only gringos in sight, and settled in for a bumpy ride. The roads were pretty basic: every time we went over a bump our minutely reclined chairs would jolt right back up to attention. The woman in front of us seemed to be feeling the toll of the windy roads and every ten minutes or so she would open the window and vom profusely - the aroma of sick engulfed the back of the bus...delightful! When she was done, she tucked into some equally foul smelling snack which would soon reappear splattered on the windows, leaving us to enjoy the views. In the middle of the night we stopped for a toilet break - Ana rushed out to empty her pea sized bladder inquiring 'donde esta el banos?' to which the driver replied 'en el piso'. This was not to phase her as we are quite accustomed to awkward toilet facilities. However some kind chap had taken a crap which then appeared right next to where we were sitting. We've never smelt anything so bad in our lives and Liv especially struggled to contain the contents of her stomach. The bus was filled with the sounds of Bolivians wretching whilst we were bemused, confused, and disgusted! Vicky Vomit kindly handed out tissues to cover our noses with. To mask the smell we asked Ana if we could use some of her fragrant Neil's Yard roll-on perfume, however in her delirious sleeping pill induced state she whacked out her Tom's instead and soaked the tissues in her deodorant. Our only solace during this journey was the incredible views of the stars and the milky way as wafts of shit and vomit circled the air, we sat plugged into our ipods enjoying the most beautiful nights sky we have ever laid our eyes upon.

 

Sucre Sucre Sucre. Not what we had expected after the shitehole that was Santa Cruz, Sucre was similar to a beautiful alpine village nestled between gorgeous mountains and littered with squares and snow white architecture. Most of our time in Sucre was spent drinking coffee and sampling the delicious breakfast menus that were on offer. We had what has been one of the most fun nights of the trip so far - with the 7 Patas Hostel crew we enjoyed the Happy Hour at Joy Ride before descending upon one of Sucre's only 'clubs'. The place was all but deserted so we did what any normal person would do, and headed straight for the bar and ordered caiprinhas (classic....). Soon our group of 15 dominated the dancefloor: some highlights include Kaitlin the Canadian in her flimsy frock and bare feet grinding away; Deadman Zoe the english uni gal clutching her beer and fag whilst dressed in her purple pj's and Chris the Australian grizzly bear wafting and waltzing around the room to all our amusement. At one point a Kiwi man  called us over and asked us to explain why the Europeans are the most crazy party animals to his Bolivian friend, unable to explain ourselves in words, we ran off and demonstrated, literally, busting out the classic Dino, Alpacca, Snake and Flamingo dance moves. The 4,000 metre altitude in Sucre quickly took its toll, causing us to pause in our partying to catch our breath every 5 minutes. At around 3am the local Bolivs turned up to Salsa the night away. At that moment we decided our animalistic girating was no longer appropriate and bowed out gracefully.

 

Next stop, Potosi. A mining town, we signed up for a tour of the...mines. When in Rome. We turned up, all kitted out in tarpaulin like onesies and plastic helmets, and purchased goodies for the miners made up of 96% alcohol, dynamite and coca leaves and off we went. First stop once down under was a shrine to the devil - apparently they worship Satan to protect them from the underworld. Unlike traditional offerings of candles and flowers, instead they poured the 96% alcohol on its head, hands and penis, shoved cigarettes into its mouth and scattered coca leaves on the surrounding area. Within minutes we found ourselves scrambling through 2 foot tall tunnels and grasping straggly rope to haul us up and down 3 meter drops. Despite our medical masks to block out the asbestos arsenic and dust, breathing was still a challenge, particularly for Ana who found herself sweaty, rasping and on the brink of collapse - both physically and mentally. In her own words 'fucking shit dripped in my ear whatever it was...poison'...mining obviously is not our forte. Once we thought we had experienced all the dangers the mines had to offer, the tour guide cracked out some dynamite and we watched on, suspicious  not quite knowing whether the imminent explosion was a joke or not. It was not and a few minutes later, just as we had lost hope, it erupted shaking the ground above below and beside us. Finally we saw the light at the end of the tunnel and our mine experience was over! Hallelujah! 

Looking great pre-mines........