Bolivia was such a shock to the system after 10 days in Chile which is the most economically developed country in Latin America. We arrived in Uyuni to find all but the main streets unpaved and desertous, the houses mostly identical and basic with just a window and door each and the women all in traditional Andean dress (huge puffy skirts, black top hats and colourful traditional textiles draped around their back to carry possessions/children - not a pushchair in sight!). Culture shock aside, there's nothing note-worthy in the way of tourist attractions in Uyuni so we took a bus to Potosi on the same evening. Seven hours is local by Bolivian standards so we were on a regular bus with no loos or beds (goodbye Chilean comforts), travelling along winding mountain dirt tracks (I advise a sports bra if you ever follow in our footsteps) and passing about three villages in the entire journey. We stopped at one of them to pee - a necessary detail as it imparted upon us one of the many differences to Chile, the loo being a hole in the ground accessed by a muddy path behind a shed.

We arrived in Potosi at 1am, as warned, and after about ten minutes of drumming the doors somebody let us into our hostel. Potosi could hardly be more different to Uyuni in terms of cityscape, but shared the same cultural identity, including a marked dislike of tourists. In Bolivia there are two (even advertised) prices for everything: one for Bolivians and another for foreigners. In shops Bolivians are always served first and frequently push in front of any tourists at the front of the queue, and a street vendor served me the juice squeezed from a pre-peeled orange in a plastic cup immediately before giving some Bolivian customers a fresh version in a glass. I suffered from this later rather more than I'd bargained for.

The Bolivian hospital had an outpatients' clinic on the ground floor with a single outdoor loo which consisted of a very small hole in the ground surrounded by s***. I had two consultations with a very good doctor (two because immediately after the first I suddenly got worse and had to go back in), with Clara interpreting (very few people in Bolivia speak English and my Spanish is crap even when I can talk/walk etc). He sent me to bed in one of the wards upstairs thinking I might need a drip. Clara dragged me upstairs and we found there to be two real loos, although they had no seats, let alone paper or soap. I was the only patient on the womens' ward and there were none on the mens', but interestingly none of the three nurses came in to monitor me or administer my drugs. Instead Clara nursed me the whole time. I'm so lucky to have her as my travelling companion and owe my recovery to her.

We had a day in Potosi before I got ill in which we explored the city. Throroughly unlike Uyuni, the buildings in the centre are enormous examples of Spanish colonial architecture and the central plaza tends to be occupied by activists protesting on behalf of Cubans, Venezualans and others in conflict. We also visited and stamped our own coins at the Casa Real de la Moneda, the Royal Mint, which made Potosi the richest city in the world during the silver mining period, and visited the world's most vulgar collection (probably) of Catholic art at a convent called Santa Theresa. Room after room of gold-framed Spanish-influenced paintings were trumped only by a spectacularly vomit-inducing nativity scene enclosed in glass cabinets, featuring dolls' house furniture, teddy bears and rubber ducks, all draped in fairy lights. For all I complain about the paintings their subject matter was at least enlightening. Jesus was a girl and had his knee knifed by a man with horns and a pink ponytail; Mary was conceived by two men and oversaw various assassinations, while a skeleton nursed a sick man.

While I was recovering Clara had a private tour of the mines by an ex-miner. CLARA: "Wily and I headed to the Miner's market to buy some "gifts" for the miners. These included coca leaves, 98% alcohol, energy drink and would have included dynamite if I had had enough money. So we arrived at the mine and sat with some miners as they prepared for the day by chewing 400 coca leaves. Apparently there is a specific technique to this which I mastered quite quickly and was soon "one of the lads" (despite them taking the piss out of me for being pale and blonde). So we got kitted up, helmet and all (good job too because I hit my head at least 5 times) and entered the mines. Wily introduced me to the devil of the mine who is thought to bring luck and safety to the miners throughout the working week. The ritual of thanks involved pouring some of the precious alcohol over the devil's feet, scattering coca leaves around him and lighting a cigarette to put in his mouth. I was supposed to feel safe after having partaken in this ritual. We proceeded deeper into the mine where Wily showed me the various minerals mined (now that the silver supply has been exhausted) and explained their extraction techniques. Somehow I agreed to clamber up into what I can only describe as a miniature cavern to join some miners in their break. My heart began to race as I climbed through holes barely wide enough for me to slip through as rubble fell down towards me. Luckily I felt safe with Wily guiding me. I was immediately offered some whiskey. I reluctantly accepted and was told I must first offer some to Mother Earth by pouring some onto the ground with my right hand before swigging away myself. After 15 minutes here, I was well and trully ready to get some space and sunlight so we followed a 500kg wagon of ore out of the mines. Wily told me that a miner's life expectancy is only 45 years compared to the national average of 55 for men (65 for women, partly because they don't work in the mines). Many miners die of either silicosis or freak accidents in the mines. The most shocking observation for me was the number of children working in the mines, some as young as 12. Luckily, I was told that these days many fewer children are working in the mines. I was also told by another tourist that miners can only receive their pension after they have 50% lung damage."

One aspect of daily life in Bolivia which is particularly standing out to us is the child labour. Everywhere, shops, hostels, restaurants, markets and public "loos" are maintained by children, and it's the children who make up the majority of the street workers, shining shoes and selling trinkets. It's hard to know who the driving forces are and where the money will go when we use the services they offer. Another pressing if less serious problem is the difficulty we're having in finding vegetables. Bolivian diets consist only of meat, carbohydrates and occasionally pulses - this and the apparent lack of cleaners probably explain the state of the loos, even in the hospitals.

Good luck to Fra, Cameron and Maya with their month in Sienna, to Sam for his recital in Germany and for my mum in her first week as a doctor! Love to all xxxxxxxxx