Advertisement
Published: December 15th 2010
Edit Blog Post
The World´s Highest City
We left Sucre on a 4PM bus and pulled in to Potosi at around 8PM. The world´s highest city at just a tad over 4000m in altitude, I wasn´t particularly dressed the part in my thongs and shorts. We went in to the terminal where I whipped on a pair of jeans and then booked a ticket for the following night for a bus to Tupiza. We headed up the terminal´s (faux?) marble stairs and out in to the night air where we jumped in to a cab headed for the city centre.
The cabby dropped us off a block from the main square, around the corner from the hostel we had decided to stay in based on LP advice. Called something about Jesus it was supposedly cheap and friendly. I stood guard over the bags - the altitude had me feeling a little short of 100%!w(MISSING)hile the Boss went and sussed it out. As I waited, a woman with her daughter walked past me and asked me "hostel?" I thought at first she was trying to sell me on her hostel but it turned out she was just asking me if I needed help finding one. I was genuinely shocked - it was the first time ín Bolivia that a stranger had made an effort to offer help.
The Boss came back from the Jesus hostel after having dealt with a more typical Bolivian welcome. After walking in the door a woman had spoken to her in Spanish and we the Boss had said she didn´t understand the woman walked in to another room and slammed the door. Soon later another woman came out and told her they only had double rooms with ensuites for B$140 a night. The price was as bad as the attitude so the Boss left.
Luckily just across the road was another hostel called "La Casona". They offered us a double room without shower for B$80 and, at check in, asked us if we wanted to book a tour of the silver mines the next day. Seeing as it was the whole reason we had come to Potosi, we were happy enough to book with the hostel and even more so when we saw they had English speaking guides. It was B$80 each, which we promised to pay after coming back from getting dinner. We dropped our bags off in our room and headed for the main square.
Potosi´s historical centre was one of the best-kept, clean and charming city centres I´d seen in all of South America. Attempts to describe the architecture are best left to people who know what they´re talking about so I guess you´ll just have to take my word for it.
With neither of us feeling that crash hot, we went to the first cafe we came across on the square. Called Cafe La Plata, it was a cozy little joint with decor suggesting an art gallery´s cafe and the smell of roasted coffee. I ordered the falafel and, served with a fresh salad, crusty bread and olive oil, I would have to call it as one of the best meals I´ve had in South America and certainly number one for Bolivia. The Boss was content with just a milkshake although, after having a taste of my dinner, she hasn´t stopped craving falafel since.
We went back to the room and tried to watch "Despicable Me" but our body clocks were both still firmly on the Parque´s timetable and it was well past our 10PM bedtime.
Up at 8AM the next day (still being on the Parque´s timetable wasn´t all bad) I went to have a shower but discovered that though there were two taps, they weren´t "hot" and "cold" but rather "freezing" and "freezing". We munged down the breakfast of juice, coffee and two pieces of bread with jam and butter provided by the hostel and then went to reception to await our Silver Mines Tour.
The Silver Mines
Our tour guide arrived not at 9, not at 9:10 but at 8:55 - EARLY! This was unheard of and boded well for the rest of the day - perhaps some degree of professionalism would follow on?
It turned out the mine tour was the hostel´s own and so we were taken to the back courtyard to get kitted out. We were each given a pair of gumboots, water-proof pants and jacket, a hard-hat, a lamp affixed to a battery pack on a belt and a canvas bag to carry bottles of water and our "tips" for the miners. We got our gear on and headed out to the awaiting minibus.
Our first stop was the miners´ markets where we were each to buy our "tips" for the miners - a bottle of juice, a bag of coca leaves and a stick of dynamite! Everyone bought the same "tips" and, expecting the owner of the stall to take the silly gringos to the cleaners, we were pleasantly surprised when the cost was B$32 each (a little under $5!)
We boarded the bus again and started up the mountain, stopping at one of the refineries. Here we were split in to our groups for the first time - English and Spanish speaking. Along with the Boss and I in the English group were a Swiss couple and a British lad named Luke. Our guide´s name was David but he told us to call him Chocko. Overlooking the refinery, he told us that the mine was originally solely a silver mine but these days was mined for tin, copper, zinc and silver. The miners used to work for corporations but these days the mine was a co-operative, meaning that the miners all essentially worked for themselves. They would take their mined goods to any one of the 40+ refineries each week and were paid according to the quality of their minerals. Chocko also said that the miners kept all of their pay and only the refineries paid taxes. Perhaps most disturbing about our stop was the lake of black sludge next to the refinery. The run-off of the refining process, Chocko told us that a single mouthful of it was enough to kill you yet until only 20 or so years ago it had been pumped directly in to the surrounding rivers. These days it was cleaned and the zinc and arsenic pressent in the water was extracted from ¡t before it was allowed in to the nations rivers. Still, it was a pretty good reminder of why the tap water was to be avoided.
Our next stop was a little further up the mountain where we had an amzing view of the city. We took some photos before Chocko initiated us on a couple of mining traditions. First of all, he passed around a bag of coca leaves and a small rock of ash to get everyone´s coca strength flowing. Next, he broke out a bottle of potable or, as he called it, "Whiskey Boliviano"! The 96%!a(MISSING)lcohol of nights in Santa Maria fame, I was a little surprised to learn that the miners drank it while down in the mines - according to Chocko a combination of coca and "Whiskey Boliviano" was good for energy levels. I had a little sip and enjoyed the burning at the back of my throat for the following five or so minutes, although I was one of only a few who did!
A final five minutes in the minibus and we were dropped off at the mouth of a mine. Waiting while other groups got a bit of a head start on us, we observed miners standing around with wads of coca in their cheek as big as golf balls and only getting bigger as all of the miners had open bags of leaves in front of them, expertly peeling the stems from the leaves before stuffing them in their mouths one by one.
A few final photos in the daylight and we all flicked on our headlamps and entered the gaping hole in the side of the mountain. The first ten minutes or so saw us following the tracks of the mine´s carts. The ceiling was at a reasonable height and even Luke (who was the tallest of the group with I´d say at least 20 cms on myself) could stand without stooping. We then came to a hole in the ground next to the tracks with a ladder going down. Chocko showed us the way to climb down the ladder (it´s always a little disconcerting when someone needs to show you how to use a ladder) and then supervised each of us as we descended.
From there were continued for another ten minutes but this time with the roof much lower, requiring all of us to walk, at times, on our haunches. We reached another ladder, this one descending much lower and Chocko again showed us how to lower ourselves through the hole in the ground to reach the ladder. By this stage the Swiss woman was starting to get a little freaked out but, despite being told she could wait at the top of the ladder for us, she decided to press forward. She was third last to descend, followed by me. As I lowered myself on to the ladder a little dust and some pebbles were knocked from the ground down the hole - it happened to everyone, what with us being in down a hole in the middle of a mountain. Evidently this had the Swiss woman absolutley terrified, as she yelled something up in Swiss before almost screaming "STOP IT!" Her husband/partner/friend said very calmly to me "be a little careful of the rocks yeah?" I kept to myself that he knocked pebbles down on to me as he descended, it didn´t seem the time or place to be self-righteous.
Some more crouched walking and a final hole descent later - this one small enough to jump down in to - we had a final couple of minutes walk before we all took a seat in a small chamber.
It was nice to be sitting down in a room with such a low ceiling but Chocko explained that a low ceiling actually meant that it was less susceptible to cave-ins. He also pointed to what he called "the sticky" on the walls, which the miners also believed help make the mine stable. "The sticky" was actually arsenic, which he gave me a big handful of and told me was, "for your mother-in-law."
Chocko once again pulled out his "Whiskey Boliviano" and offered it around, explaining that though he poured a capfull of the stuff for himself, you didn't drink it all. There were a series of toasts to be made before drinking - to the Tio, the Pachamama, the minerals, the miners and to us.
Obviously the minerals, miners and us are pretty self-explanatory. The Pachamama is the mother earth of the native religions. You´ll find a lot of South Americans, particularly those native to the Andes, will pour a small portion of any drink out and toast the Pachamama. Though working in the mines was still exclusively a man´s job, belief in the Pachamama had previously kept women out of the mines altogether. The miners believed that the Pachamama was the jealous type and so forbid women from entering the mines for fear of setting her off. Obviously this had changed, possibly as belief in the Pachamama began to give a little to belief in the tourism dollar.
The Tio is the devil. Since the miners work underground they believe they are in the devil´s domain and so he is given number one priority. As Chocko put it, "out there, you believe in Jesus Christ, whatever. Once you are inside the mines you show respect to the Tio." The Tio was a creation of the Spanish conquistadors. After discovering silver in the Cerro Rico (the mountain the mines are in) they put slaves to work extracting it. The slaves believed that there was no rule underground so the Spanish told them of the devil to keep them in line. Originally called the "Dio" (as in God) the lack of a "D" sound in the Quechua alphabet saw the slaves instead refer to him as the Tio. The superstition is still very much alive and Chocko told us that the miners believe the Tio never sleeps, is always walking the mines and that when you are working alone you can hear the Tio speaking to you. As a former miner, he told us he had heard the ghosts of the millions of slaves who had died in the mines over the centuries when working on his own and that many people went mad working down there.
He also told us about the law of the mines (and there is only one law) - What happens in the mines stays in the mines. He said that greed saw miners push each other down massive holes or even attacking one another with dynamite. The dead bodies of miners would be taken out of the mines and would always be called "accidents", so there was never any action from the police. Though, as Chocko told us, the Tio knows everything that happens in the mines!
We had, at that point, descended to the mine´s second level. It was noticably warmer than where we had entered and I could feel my clothes under my waterproofs damp with sweat. Chocko told us however that the mine went down as low as 16 levels! At this depth the men worked just in boots and shorts, drank a lot of water and chewed a lot of coca. They continued to mine at these depths in a continued belief in the mountain´s "heart of silver". Despite centuries of mining, they still believe they have not yet tapped the mountain´s true potential.
From here we started our ascent out of the mine. One particularly hairy moment saw me, as the last of the group, pull myself out of a hole as Chocko and another miner held back a single large rock that, once let go, gave way to a small rock slide that would certainly have given me a hell of a headache.
We made it back up to the entry level but had two final stops. The first was to set off some dynamite! We went up in to a chamber where two miners were working and Chocko took a stick of dynamite, unwrapped it, squashed the TNT in to a more compact mould before sticking the wick and detonator in. He then disappeared down a tunnel for a minute before returning at a calm, measured pace. We waited, the Boss with the video player on the camera recording before BANG! There really is no other way to describe an explosion of that magnitude - BOOM implies a false length to the event. The explosion rocked me, possibly more than most, and I was a little embarrased to discover that I been so startled by it that my helmet had come off. Later on Chocko came up and said to me, "you were scared like girl! I told you I was making fireworks." I had a laugh with him - yeah, I was scared like girl. We got some photos with the two miners who had let Chocko set off the dynamite and gave them some juice and coca. The younger of the two was 19 - a veteran in a place where you could start work as young as 12.
Our final stop was only a few metres short of the entrance, where the miners had a shrine to the Tio. Chocko told us that all mines had one of these near the entrance of the mines - where the outside world ended and the Tio´s world began. Sculpted from the rock of the mine´s walls, he had horns and a large and reportedly fertility-improving dong. Sprayed above him was the blood of Llamas as twice a year the miners had a ceremony where they sacrificed Llamas to the Tio in hope that it would satisfy his hunger in place of human flesh. Chocko also told us about the sacrifices individual miners made to the Tio, saying that years ago they had dug the dirt at the Tio´s feet and discovered human foetuses but that these days they kept it to Llama foetuses.
We emerged from the mine a little sorer and a lot dirtier.
Casa De La Moneda
On the tour I had been chatting to a Yank named Ken who, after the tour, was going to check out the Casa de Moneda - Bolivia´s National Mint - and so I asked if he minded us tagging along.
First order of business however was lunch. We went to a restaurant downhill from the plaza called "El Fogo", which deserves a mention for the massive meals, the lasagna being served literally bubbling hot and me trying Llama for the first time (a tough meat, I´ll agree with the Peruvians that it´s the poor man´s Alpaca.)
We went over to the Casa to discover that the next English speaking tour was at 4:30. Being 4, we went our separate ways for a halfa and the Boss and I got a coffee from Cafe La Plata (another best of the trip - if you´re in Bolivia, go here!)
We returned to the Casa a little late to discover the office was empty. Eventually someone turned up and we caught up with the English speaking tour. The museum was fascinating, with equipment from the 16th Century (I may have made that date up) and places in the floor where people had stood in the one spot for so many years their foot prints were embossed deeply in to the timber.
There was also a small section on Bolivian archaeology with a giant armadillo, a whale vertabrae(!) and the creepiest looking baby mummies you´ll ever see. Buried in a church wall, they had been mummified by natural causes rather than man-made mummification, although why they then were put on display I´m not entirely sure.
The tour went for a little over an hour but for B$20 it was well worth it (although you did have to pay an extra B$20 if you wanted to take photos). We said goodbye to Ken and went for a wander around the city.
It really was a beautiful place. The Boss said the rambling streets reminded her of her home city of York and, based on my three days there in 2004, I had to agree.
In a little under 24 hours we had been on a fantastic tour, seen a brilliant museum, eaten good food, drank good coffee, stayed in a decent hostel and all of it had been at some of the cheapest prices in Bolivia. I was truly bummed to be leaving.
The Twist
We got to the bus station at a little after 8PM, checked our luggage, got a bottle of water and then boarded the bus. I put my laptop in the overhead compartment while the Boss sorted through her bags and then, when she had finished, asked her to hand it down to me.
"It´s not there," she replied.
"What?" I said, jumping to my feet.
"It´s not there."
She was right. My laptop was gone. I looked around and saw the two Bolivian women in the seat behind us with wearing smirks on their faces the size of Luna Park. Apparently the joke was on us - Bolivia´s Robin Hood had stolen from the evil gringos and now was surely going to give to the poor.
I told the Boss to stay put and ran off the bus, looking left and right for anyone with my computer bag. When I couldn´t see them I told the bus company´s baggage handlers as best I could that I had been robbed. They jumped in to action, taking me through to the main terminal where they ran me upstairs to the police. They explained to the police what had happened and the cop took me to another section of the bus station to the police office there so I could make a report. But I didn´t want to make a fucking report - I´d been robbed not five minutes before, we could still catch the bastards. But no one was particularly interested in that.
A woman from the bus company found me and pointed out the door to where the bus was pulling out of its bay. The bus stopped and the Boss was standing on the top step. We got all our gear from onboard the bus, our backpacks from underneath it, and stood dejectedly on the bay footpath.
Eventually I made the police report and they told me to stay in the city for 24 hours, assuring me that when they found the perpatrators they would email me. I agreed to stay for the 24 hours but wasn´t going to hold my breath for that email.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.168s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 9; qc: 48; dbt: 0.0438s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb