The train that wasn’t a train - Potosi.

Early rise AGAIN as we head off to the Sucre railway station to queue for a train ticket to Potosi. Though the train takes twice as long as the bus (6 hours) thought it might be an interesting and more scenic way to travel.

When we arrived at the station, I was a little perturbed to see that the track was almost completely overgrown with grass, was rusty and was currently being used as a foraging ground for a family of pigs. Oh well, this is Bolivia after all, so on with the adventure.

Then the train arrived. As anyone who has bothered to read as far as this into our blog would know, I have had a wee bit to do with trains over the last 15 years. I reckon it was a pretty safe bet that I could identify one anyway. This blue thing, sitting on the grass covered tracks was not a train. All the luggage went on top or in the aisle. All the people fitted into the bus like interior, including the driver and his offsider (recognisable by the red hard hat he wore and the reflective strips on his jeans.) Well Col was fine – he had the fireman’s seat which comes with panoramic view. I was down the back in a broken seat with the kids, seated next to an elderly gent.

Despite all this, the seat was comfortable and the journey fun – people watching is a hobby of mine.

And what sensational scenery! Soaring rock faces, huge drops to valleys planted with corn, tiny mud brick villages......and dogs – trying to catch the train. They could in fact outrun it as maximum speed was about 20km/h. We stopped many times in the absolute middle of nowhere to drop off and collect passengers, their luggage carried in the brightly woven scarves, knotted and thrown on the roof or in the aisle. The only thing we didn’t stop for was a loo break – not once in 6 hours!!

After a brilliant trip, arrived via the rubbish tips into Potosi- a town famed for its silver mines. In the 16th century, the Spaniards reefed heaps of the stuff out and shipped it to Europe whereupon they lived well on the proceeds – with little thought for the 8 million local Indians and African slaves who gave their lives to the cause. The mine still operates. The mountain that contains all the mines ‘Cerro Rico’ dominates the town’s landscape. That aside, it isn’t a bad place – some interesting churches, a pleasant town square and friendly residents. However, as the streets seem to be all uphill and the altitude is 4070 metres, jogging was out of the question – in fact putting shoes on was a bit of a challenge in the mornings and making one’s way to the wifi restaurant involved lotsa rests.

A curious fact about Potosi – the step up from the gutter to the pavement was in many cases about 60cm – a tough one when you are struggling to breathe – yet the tiny locals leapt up and down with gay abandon.

Saw a couple of street parades, accompanied by oompah bands – one in particular that impressed Col was an all young female event. They marched, in perfect unison, playing their brass instruments, xylophones and drums, each and every one, wearing stiletto heels!

Purchased tickets for the luxury bus (with toilet and frequent stops) to Uyuni, got the washing done (including ironing of socks and jocks) and retired, a little more acclimatised to the high altitudes.