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Published: September 18th 2009
It is about 2am and from our window we are looking down upon the clouds. A full moon illuminates a blanket of white candyfloss with only peaks of chocolate mountains piercing through. A sight that reminded me of a plane journey at night, even the bumpy ride resembles turbulence. But we are not on a plane. We are on an overnight bus climbing from Tarija to Potosi crossing over the Cordilleras de Chichas on a dusty unpaved road. We are leaving behind the highest vineyards in the world and heading to the highest city in the world.
Potosi sits at 13,500 feet (4060 metres) above sea level and has a harsh climate. It was so cold at night in our hotel room that Jessica and I slept with our clothes on inside our sleeping bags, under four heavy blankets and a duvet. (Yes there is accommodation with heating, but king and queen we are not - got to stick to the budget!) The altitude also affected our breathing. Even after three days I sometimes found it hard to catch my breath.
Given the unfriendly conditions, why on earth build a city here? All down to a shiny metal and
a lost llama.
Legend has it that a shepherd who had lost one of his llamas climbed a mountain for a better view of the surrounding area. As night fell, he built a fire on the mountain. The silver was so close to the surface that it began to melt and hot silver spat out. The mountain became sacred to the Quechua people, a shrine to Pachamama (Mother Earth).
When the Spanish discovered the silver deposits, they descended upon the area like greedy magpies and founded the city of Potosi in 1545. The mountain then became known as Cerro Rico (meaning 'rich mountain' in spanish) and today it looms over Potosi. The Spanish plundered all the silver but the Cerro Rico mines are still active holding other minerals like zinc.
As we strolled through the narrow streets of the city, we saw beautiful colonial buildings, wooden balconies and doorways fit for a palace. In the Casa Real de la Moneda (Royal Mint) we were told that by 1650 Potosi was the largest city in the Americas and one of the most important in the world. Today the city yearns for the days when the streets were paved
with silver. I though it was a nice place but there is an air of gloom in its streets, echoes of the past.
Like every other tourist in town, our reason for visiting Potosi was to do a tour to the silver mine. Just four in our group including us - brilliant. First stop was the miners market to buy gifts. The gifts we bought were hand-rolled cigarettes, soft drinks, coca leaves, a small bottle of alcohol and dynamite. In Potosi it is legal for anyone to buy dynamite. A stick plus a fuse and detonator cost us €1.50! Because tourists enter the mines with gifts, the miners are welcoming (well as long as you are not Spanish). Once we had finished shopping, we were kitted out with wellies, a jacket, trousers, helmet and headlamp. Then up to the mountain we went in our little batch loaf minivan.
Standing outside one of the mine shafts I was a bit apprehensive. I've never been in a mine before. Breathing outside in the open air was difficult enough and I knew the mines are not well ventilated. There were small rail tracks (used by trolleys to carry the zinc ore)
which disappeared into a dark tunnel. But our guide reassured us all and told us to let him know if we had any problems.
About one hundred metres in we stopped to give homage to Tio, the god of the mines. His statue was formed from the mud of the moutnain and he looked like the devil with his horns and glistening eyes. Each miner comes to the statue at least once a week to ask for safe passage and a good yield. The miners insist all tour groups do the same out of respect for their beliefs. Tio likes to receive cigarettes, coca leaves and a sprinkle of alcohol. The alcohol we had bought was 96% pure and this is what we used. Our guide expained that the miners use as pure alcohol as possible because it is used as an offering. During carnaval, Tio is also partial to the blood from a llama.
The further we ventured in, the smaller the tunnel became till I was bent over. We turned left off the main shaft and it instantly became hot, like opening an oven door to check if the pizza is ready. The Cerro Rico is
criss-crossed by 5,000 tunnels. The years of mining left it resembling a giant anthill. We passed under dodgy support beams and alongside gaping holes.
Climbing down wooden ladders and rock we came upon a miner working alone. He was about forty and a powerful man, but aged beyond his years. In one of his cheeks was a large bulge. Coca leaves - the same leaf that produces cocaine. The miners will continuously take small handfuls of coca leaves and chew them until there is a ball of leaves in their cheek, together with a catalyst which releases the active ingredient in the leaves. The effects of chewing coca are three fold: it numbs pain as well as warding off fatigue and hunger.
We spoke to the miner for a short time and left some gifts. He had five children. He worked ten hour days with only one break. He had no food at work (superstition forbids eating inside the mine), just some fizzy drink, coca leaves and an occasional sit down. The walls and rock contain aspestos, I could clearly see it on the walls. This man worked every day breathing in gases, aspestos and god knows what
else. The worst working conditions I have ever seen. The average life expectancy of a miner is 45. If I worked in the mines, I might be pushing up the daisies in just twelve years.
Our guide led us deeper into the mountain in search of other miners. Breathing was now more difficult but managable. We stopped at a small chamber for a quick break. In a quiet moment, the chamber walls suddenly shook and some loose rocks fell. Our guide casually says "It's probably just explosives somewhere else in the moutnain". OK...well I suppose it is a working mine!
We arrived at another area where miners were meant to be. Tools were evidence of a working area but there was no sign of anyone (we found out later there was an important cooperative meeting). We were shown holes in the rock made for dynamite. "There doesn't seem to be anyone around," says our guide looking around, "I think it is safe to light one. Would you like me to explode the dynamite here?". I was sure he was joking. But no. He was deadly serious.
Next thing we know we were given a lesson in dynamite
preparation. Might come in handy if Jessica and I rob a bank so we don't have to work again! Dynamite is harmless without the detonator. It can be dropped on the ground (which our guide did several times trying to scare us) or even thrown on a fire and nothing will happen. The detonator and fuse were pushed into the soft dynamite stick. Ready for action. It was then placed into one of the holes and the three minute fuse was lit. We all had a smell of the lit fuse (why I don't know, but our guide insisted) and legged it to a so called safe area. The five of us stood in a small tunnel. Only one knew what to expect. Excited and worried at the same time, the three minutes seemed like three lifetimes.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
My heart jumped out of my chest in unison with the explosion. The walls seemed to expand for a split second, closing the space around us as though the mountain took a deep breath. Was this really happening?! We went to check out the hole we had made. The air was thick with dust so our t-shirts were pulled up
over our noses. We couldn ´t see much or breathe well in the heavy air, so we got out of there pronto.
Finding no other miners, we had a sit down in an old chamber about 15 feet wide where silver was mined in the 1800s. Our guide told us about the history of the mines. The Spanish enslaved indigenous people as well as a small number of Africans to work the mines. Children and adults were forced into fourteen hour working days. An estimated eight million died during colonial times in the mines of Potosi. The silver produced backrolled the Spanish ecomony for over two centuries. Our guide said enough was mined to build a bridge of silver to Madrid and a bridge of bones on return. Empires are built on slavery and death, the Spanish Empire was no different.
I asked if Bolivians hold much resentment towards Spanish people and the simple answer is yes. Many indigenous hate the Spanish. Miners do not like Spanish tourists coming into the mine and can get quite angry. But our guide also explained that it was complicated because so many Bolivians are of mixed indigenous and Spanish blood. Himself
included.
Have things gotten any better since the election of Evo Morales, the first indigenous President of Bolivia? Our guide felt yes they had. Evo had built a football field for the miners, donated some tools to the cooperative and most importantly set up pension funds for the miners and their families. "It's a good start," our guide says, "more than any other president has done."
On that bright note we headed for the light at the end of the tunnel.
From James
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joy
non-member comment
POTOSI
James,your account of the conditions in the mine was very moving.I hope the horrendous working conditions start to improve under the new president.Your description made me feel as if I was present with you on the tour .