Potosi explosi

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Down the ladders

Fire in the hole!!

Heading in.

Trolley coming!!

Dusty

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Well you can’t visit the famous silver town of Potosi without visiting the mines ….can you?? Well, maybe after you’ve read this, you might understand why some people decide against it…


Potosi’s historical wealth has certainly come at some considerable human expense, with an estimated EIGHT MILLION plus Black and Indian slaves dying whilst working in the mines from 1545 to 1825 and the 4824m Cerro Rico overlooking the city deservedly earning its nickname of ‘The Mountain That Eats Men’.


To be honest it didn't sound like conditions had improved much and would no doubt be completely unacceptable anywhere in the ‘developed’ world. It does apparently depending on which mining cooperative you visit as standards varies widely , from completely hand powered operations, to those with electric lifts and lights and proper ventilation. Today it’s not silver, but zinc that makes the money, but that doesn’t change the fact that a miner working today is not expected to do so for more than 15 years before succumbing to silicosis pneumonia. Anyway, we decided to brave just a few hours down one of Cerro Rico’s oldest mines and after a cup of coca tea, armed with a pair of wellies, a boiler suit and a dodgy head lamp we headed off, guessing that this activity wasn’t going to be covered by our holiday insurance....


First stop before the mine itself was the miner’s market for some essential supplies… Maybe you’re thinking a pastie or a couple of sarnies maybe?? No. Bags of coca leaves, cigarettes, fizzy drinks, 95% alcohol, Dinabol (dynamite), ammonium nitrate and detonators… and all that for a few bucks too..
These were gifts customary to give to the miners as you make you way around and aimed at making their lives a little more bearable.


Miners spend a few hours socialising and chewing coca leaves before starting work as part of their daily routine and a wad of this mush is kept in the mouth between their cheek and teeth for most of the day. For those of you who have had a slightly more sheltered life, coca isn't the plant they make hot chocolate from, but rather the raw ingredient of cocaine production. Having said that, chewing natural coca leaves gives a buzz along the lines of strong coffee, a world away from the addictive and damaging affects of the chemically extracted hard drug. Either way, the miners attribute their strength to the coca leaf and will not work without it, spending about 15% of their income on the stuff.


Then there is the 95% alcohol, sometimes mixed with soft drinks, but also drunk neat to achieve the aim of passing out after a hard week at work… This business is not for the faint hearted! I’m not sure what type of dynamite I bought, but apparently only the Argentinean and Bolivian stuff is any good, with the Peruvian rubbish being left for other purposes like fiesta celebrations, killing people and riots amongst different miner cooperatives and with the police! As we purchased our presents, the idea of encouraging alcohol and drug abuse amongst miners was slightly disturbing, but it was more worrying that these guys were in charge of large amounts of dynamite and detonators and we were about to go and meet them underground!


And so to the mine entrance, where we had a quick meeting with some of the younger kids who shift the ore once it is brought out by the miners. Thankfully they were only given the soft drinks. Heading into the darkness of the unlit entrance tunnel with dynamite and detonators stuck down the front of my jacket, it felt like we were entering a real life version of the many disused Victorian mines we had poked our noses into in New Zealand… Any photos here that look bright are purely lit up by the camera flash as there were no lights apart from our already fading head lamps!


A short distance in we took a short side tunnel to pay homage to El Tio, ‘The Uncle’, a devil like figure that ‘owns’ the mountain and that the miners have to appease ever Friday with gifts to allow them to safely take his precious mierals from him. Keep him happy with a few fags and some booze and everything will be fine....


As we walked in along the trolley tracks, through mud, water and past dodgy looking wooden supports dripping with water, slime and stalactites, the previously cold 4000m air started to warm up. Occasionaly the spooky rumble of an approaching trolley pinned us to the side of the tunnel as a couple of miners pushed a couple of tons of ore out toward the entrance. When they realised we were there in the darkness they would hang off the back of this weighty object and struggle to slow the thing down, normally having to walk back to us having slid straight past. After a few words with our guide and a couple of gifts they were on there way again, no slacking around here, no ore - no money.


Miners work as part of collectives, in other words they are working for themselves and get no support or welfare from the government. If or rather when they fall ill, they rely on the remaining working members of the cooperative to support them. Despite the dangers and inevitable illnesses, miners accept their fate to die young, as they have the potential to earn much more money relative to other jobs in Bolivia.
I can’t say that I felt comfortable with a stick of dynamite down the front of my jacket, but it’s apparently quite ‘safe’ and you can drop it or hit it with out fear of it exploding… I have since read however that the detonator charges we were also wandering around with are not so docile and messing around with them would have caused some serious damage!


Anyway we had other things to worry about, like the flight of 3 wobbly vertical (and over vertical) ladders that we had to descend 30m to the next level down. These rickety things were tied to the wall with bits of old tyres and hence they didn’t feel overly secure. That combined with the fact it was pitch black, noisy and that she doesn’t like ladders at the best of times, Lexa coped amazingly well. I have to say at this point that one lady had already turned back with her husband, because our mine was of the no ventilation, no electric light variety and the atmosphere and claustrophobic feeling of the place was too much for her.


Once safely down the ladders we walked to and over a recently mined area to look at the veins of minerals that were clearly visible in the rock, including a rather disturbingly large amount of fluffy asbestos…. and then to a blast face where fresh charges had just been laid. As I said before the miners work for themselves and with no special prospecting equipment the make or break business of finding a decent mineral seam is based on good old luck and judgement. In fact some have done very well and drive around Potosi in flash 4 wheel drives, but most have a meagre existence to look forward to and early death from silicosis at 40-50. To give you some idea, there is a fixed rate of 50 Bolivianos/day for people pushing the trolleys (about £5), but others on piece rate, maybe earning up to 100 bolivianos per day (£10) if they hit a rich seam - a very good wage for the area.


After 20 minutes or so in the heat of pneumatic drills and high pressure hoses we retreated to the calm of the next level up and waited for dynamite to be detonated. As we crouched in the darkness, we wondered if it was a sensible to still be underground with a bunch of explosives about to be set off. In addition the knowledge that the mountain is a labyrinth of unconnected and unmanaged tunnels created by different cooperatives made us wonder how close the ‘oppositions’ excavations might be! It is difficult to describe the noise of the blasts. The sound wasn't very loud, but resonated through our chests, vibrating the whole mountain and making it ring almost like a huge bell and all that to remove only 1.5m of rock. I have added a video clip of the explosion, but it doesn't do the real sound justice.


Soon we were back in the blinding daylight, feeling like we were back in the real world and thankful that we had relieved ourselves of all explosives (although we could quite easily have walked away with whatever we wanted).


It was an amazing experience and in our opinion not to be missed, but it’s easy to see why it is more than some people can cope with and we only have to survive it for a couple of hours.

Returning to town, Brian and I headed off downtown to the bus terminal to book tickets to Sucre, which turn out to be rather difficult to come by, but eventually get some for the following morning.


That evening we heard music in the distance and headed out in search of where it was coming from. We found a huge congregation of dancers and musicians parading along in front of crowds of locals. When I say locals, I mean we were the only Westerners, hence the lack of photos as with increasingly drunk men and women as the night progressed we were trying not to draw too much attention to ourselves. I don’t want to give the wrong impression as we had no trouble and many people were friendly, it was just one of those occasions where it paid not to stick out too much and flash expensive gear around. Anyway, you will have to make do with my description of bands of colourfully dressed Bolivians dancing in time with one of many competing bands and one young Minas Cooperative prancing around in time with the music complete with fake dynamite and wooden hammers to hit the ground with.

And so that was Potosi, an amazing past, interesting present and all with a backdrop of Spanish colonial architecture and lovely rooftop views - highly recommended if you’re ever passing through the area…

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Comments

[kadi]

wow, very exciting! i laughed with you and got scared for you. i will be sure to ask about lighting and ventilation if i ever get the chance to mine!