Bolivia - Strike!

The day after the tour was a long one.  We were heading to Sucre where we had a flight the next day and had to go through Potosi to get there.  Unfortunately, Potosi had just started striking a few days before, so all our carefully laid plans were for naught.  

Luckily, we ate a large breakfast before heading to the bus station.  Our bus was having technical difficulties, so a different one came after a couple hours to cart us all to Potosi.  Well, kind of.  It dropped us off a couple kilometers from the outskirts of town where we had to walk the rest of the way.   

Kerri and I were some of the last ones to retrieve our luggage from the bus, so most of the people were a good distance ahead before we got started.  There were a few older women we passed struggling with their suitcases, so Kerri and I each grabbed one and continued along, believing it would be less than an hour walk.  Boy, were we wrong.  

Before the wheel broke.

At about 13,500 feet high, Potosi lies on top of a mountain.  The only way to get there was to climb in the thin air.  We passed several roadblocks: burning tree trunks, piles of rocks dumped on the road, tires, and cars.  Occasionally, a vehicle would be allowed through but not often.  

Our group consisted of the four older women, a younger man from Uyuni helping to carry the other two ladies' things, and an Argentine girl with tons of luggage.  

An hour into the three-hour trek, the wheel on my lady's suitcase broke from going over all the dirt and rocks, so I had to pull the thing walking backwards, trying not to drag it on the ground.  This required me to lift my shoulders up and gave me a wonderful workout.  

Once we reached the outskirts of town, we kept hoping for a taxi, but roadblocks were set up all over Potosi, too, meaning we had to walk the whole way to the terminal.  No men aided us, even though they saw we were struggling, and the ladies were constantly asking for help when we passed a group of them.  I did have two nice young ladies help me carry mine for about five minutes up a hill, and a mother, grandmother and their two kids put the suitcase in their stroller for the last twenty minutes to the terminal.  Therefore, I was hugely impressed with the women of Potosi, but there are few gentlemen there.  

We arrived at the closed terminal a little before seven to find other groups of people waiting to get out of town, some already being there for a couple days.  The prognosis didn't look good.  We were told a few taxis and a bus might come at eleven at night (the strikers allowed vehicles to pass in the wee hours), but we didn't know if there would be enough for everyone.  

All the restaurants in town were closed, so Kerri, the Argentine girl and I all shared a cheap hostel room for a couple hours to try to keep warm before venturing outside again to try our luck with a taxi.  Did I mention I was still in the same clothes from the Salt Tour in Uyuni?  Can you say stench?

At 9:45, we joined the hordes of people waiting to get out of Potosi.  Every time a taxi came, people would sprint to claim it.  A little before eleven, the lady working the scene (out of the kindness of her heart), called the three of us over, and we gratefully slid into the taxi for the two-and-a-half hour ride to Sucre.  The stars were beautiful, and I have never been so relieved to escape a town before.  

Sucre is known as the White City and is quite beautiful.  After a large brunch, Kerri and I started walking around the main plaza only to run into the four ladies from the day before.  They are from Santa Cruz and offered to take us out for a drink the next day after their flight.  They were very kind, and it was a good way to hear more about the Bolivian culture.  

After our time with the ladies, Kerri and I celebrated the last night of our trip (and Dad's birthday) with a bottle of wine (not Bolivian) and chocolate.  Bolivia is a beautiful country with much to see, but both Kerri and I agree that a tropical destination is in store for next year.