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What a beautiful (and strange) town! The old colonial architecture mixed up with new office buildings and factories processing metals, all just hundreds meters from the Cerro Rico - once the richest silver mine in the world. The mine is still operating; in fact 15,000 miners every day enter the dusty, gassy, and extremely narrow shafts to make their living...
The bus journey to Potosi, the highest city in the world (over 4,000 masl) was interesting, but painful. I again was suffering from stomach problems and the road was bumpy, but most importantly even though the bus was completely full we kept on taking more people on the board! Soon I was surrounded by old ladies that at times were sitting on my lap or if I was lucky just hitting me with their babies or their long hair hanging on their back, as the bus took a sudden turn. After a 7-hour journey through the mountains we finally arrived in Potosi.
The altitude was obvious and hard to ignore - just climbing the stairs with the backpack presented a challenge. We took the first day off and signed up for a tour of the mines for the
next afternoon. My guidebook warned that the visit can be an unpleasant experience with the mine shafts full of dust, poisonous gases, and mine trolleys speeding with their heavy load in the narrow tunnels. But I knew we had to go. The miners work there all their so life and one day of our “suffering” did not sound that bad after all. Following the instructions from our guides (mostly ex-miners), we stocked up on dynamite, 96% alcohol, coca leaves, and water purchased at the miners market, and headed for the Cerro Rico. The items we bought were gifts for the miners. Before entering the mine we blew up some of the dynamite, put on the helmets and lights, and entered the silver hell.
It turned out that we had a lucky day - it was the first Friday in a month - the biggest party day for the miners! The miners were ecstatic as we gave them the booze and coca leaves, and many insisted that we drink with them. I made up that I could not drink for religious reasons so that they did not lynch me for not partaking in their festivities. Drinking in the altitude of
4,200 m just did not seem prudent to me. Before each drink, the miners sprinkled some of the drink on the ground, to share their drink with the Tio, the devil that lives in the mines, and Pachamama the mother of the land. Here they do not believe in the God. In the mines, the devil was the one to be feared and venerated. We moved in deeper, often climbing or descending into new levels, jumping to the side to avoid a crash with a trolley full of mined ore, and sometimes crawling since some of the shafts were just half meter high. Good thing that our guide was quite chatty and often stopped to share information about the mine with us and so were able to catch breath before moving into a new level of the mine.
The surrounding was unbelievable and equally so the people that worked there and the history of the mine. The hill has been mined since the 16th century - at that time making the mountain the richest silver mine in the world and the reason for economic progress in Bolivia and Spain - and it is still the main economic engine in
the Potosi region. Ironically, while being the source of extreme wealth and reason for an amazing growth in the population of the city to up to 160,000 in 17th century, it was also the reason for the demographic collapse in the Potosi region. At least 9 million miners died in this mountain since it was discovered, forcing the Spanish crown to import slaves from other parts of South America and as far as Africa to replace the diminishing local indigenous. Even today, 15,000 miners enter the mines every day to face extreme conditions and high risk of accelerated death.
Contrary to all statistics, the miners that we met seemed to be very proud of their vocation and did not seem to be too bothered by the conditions they were working in. They even stayed in the mine after their work was over - to drink and party. But perhaps they did not know any better? At least now the miners work for themselves, in cooperatives. After they cover their own expenses (mostly dynamite, electricity, and processing of the ore) and pay the government 25% tax on their proceeds, each miner can make $3,000 per month - not bad for
Bolivia. The catch is that many miners die young or become severely ill too early to enjoy the money that they make. Sadly, the average life expectancy for the miners is just 15 years, and boys as young as 13 years come here to live the dusty dream. Many come here out of necessity, but some join simply because it is part of their tradition or so that they can afford a luxury car or fancy shoes. And thus, even today, just as 500 years ago, Cerro Rico keeps eating the miners as they eat the mountain. And so does it eat the land around it. While Bolivia has recently adopted a strict environmental law, it mostly pertains to new projects. This mine was obviously excluded. The waste from the processing plant flowed directly into the river, making it absolutely unusable for drinking or even irrigation - a price accepted for keeping the city’s economic engine running. It was quite obvious that without the mine the city would not be able to survive - in 4,000 meters and in semi-desert, there were not too many alternatives for economic development. And thus, people keep on mining.
After 2 hours of
one of the most intense experience in our lives, we left the mine. By then all miners, most of our guides, and many of my fellow travelers were completely drunk, hardly able to articulate. On the way back to the town, one of the guides shared with me that some time ago, he had met a Czech couple who visited Bolivia on their honey moon and got drunk with the miners. He had similar expectations of me. I politely refused to join him at a miners bar at later hours, ruining the reputation of Czech people for him. Curiously, he did not come to dislike me and shared some interesting facts and advices with me. Did you know that a condom made out of donkey intestines can withstand as many as 20 uses and makes a man perform longer? Who would have thought. No wonder why we saw so many donkeys by the road - the demand must be huge! Curiously, “donkey” or “osel” was the only word this man remembered in Czech.
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