Potosi 3 - Troy

We spent the next day lazing about the town, we wandered the streets then went to the minting museum, which had been pressing coins etc since the spanish era. It was fascinating to see how the spanish had colonised the indiginous mining and turned it into a commercial enterprise.

At the days end Tutu and Aurelie once again bypassed the blockades and caught a bus to Uyuni, a tiny town on the outskirts of the badlands of Bolivi, which has the famous salar de uyuni, and is the launching point for 4wd tours through the harsh hills, salt lakes and deserts of Bolivia into Chile. I had read that the roads ther were a=hard work so I decided to follow them on the moto the morning after.

This was a bad descision. After the girls left I went out to the street vendors who I had found made a reasonable hamburger which was the best food I had had in Bolivia, then retired to the hotel for a good nights rest, intending to leave early the next day to ride to Uyuni.

I awoke at 1 am with a stomach cramp and rushed to the toilet to discover that I was suffering a similar experience to Tim in Cusco. As the night went on the stomach cramps got worse and the toilet visits more frequent. "Oh no" I thought "I got Tim's poo poo disease", yet I remembered that Tim had found out from the doctor in Cusco that Giardia was not accompanied by stomach cramps, and I remembered from my experience of that in India almost 20 years back that the feeling was different. By morning I had formed the prognosis that I had a rather sever case of food poisoning. Once again thank you bloody Bolivia.

I lay in bed all morning considering whether I visit a doctor then weather it out in Potosi, until I recieved a rather nasty reminder from a rather nasty girl from the front counter that check out was at 12 (she was a perfect example of Bolivian hospitality). I was determined not to spend a day in bed in agony, and I was really looking forward to Uyuni and getting out of Bolivia, so I somehow packed my bike despite the sweats, stomach cramps and frequent toilet stops by 12.

In a rather delirious state I grabbed my lonely planet map of Potosi and asked the nasty girl how I reach the road to Uyuni, she showed me a street and said follow that all the way and you'll get there. I limpingly rode out of the lobby and did as she instructed. After riding to the outskirts of town on the route she advised I had seen no sign to Uyuni so I pulled over and asked a local how to get to Uyuni. When he pointed in the complete opposite direction I was a little confused. I rode on and asked another, who pointed me in a similar opposite yet slightly different direction.

To cut a long story short, I had been steered by this bloody vindictive bitch in the complete opposite direction out of town, if I had followed her directions I would have ended up back in Peru or the jungles of Brasil!! After almost an hour and a half of more mis directions from either puzzled, incompetent or vindictive locals and a few nice ones I finally found the road to Uyuni. By that stage I was as sick as a dog, cursing the whole of Bolia aloud and ready to give up and collapse on the roadside.

I rode on anyway and was pleasantly suprised that the road was ahphalt and quite ridable. Not for long though, as I progressed there were increasing diversions where the road had disintegrated, onto nasty gravel sides, until I eventually reached a huge section of dangerous hilly awfulness. I had to stop twice to throw up and was about to give up and pitch my tent, when I saw another couple of bikes ride over a plain before me.

Mercy of mercies, I pulled up and found an Israeli guy and Californian girl on BMW 650's who were riding from Uyuni. We exchanged info and I told them they had another 100 or so miles of off and on road, they told me I had almost the same of mostly off!!! Bugger it I thought, either I die out here alone and sick with only a few llamas for company or ride on and hopefully make Uuni and the medical attentions and sympathy of my girl Tutu.

Thus I rode on and finally made Uyuni, rode through the one horse town until I found the hotel that Tutu had arranged, and was very pleasantly suprised to see her standing at the reception, ready to receive me. I parked my bike, told her of my predicament, whence was ushered to a room where I collapsed in bed. Tutu then medicated and fussed over me before informing me that the town had no petrol because of the bloody blockades and thus if I was to ride on the tour to the Salar and then to San Pedro de Atacama the next day (which was why I had been riding in such an awful state in such awful conditions); to get my bike to a garage that had been hording fuel within the next 2 hours, or I would have to wait up to 2 days or so until the bloody blockade was over for the next fuel shipment to arrive!!!!

I was in no state to do anything, I couldn't walk let alone ride the bike to get fuel, I had killer spasms of gut ache, I couldn't even vomit anymore, I was making awful noises and smells, I was exhausted and barely able to speak... It was the final straw in the "Bolivia hates you" saga, and I felt the same way. I lay in bed and contemplated the blog that I would eventually write about how "Bolivia freaking sucks!!!!!!!". Thankfully due to the ministrations of the beautiful Tutu, who forced into me various pill and foul tasting concoctions, I found sleep and peace...