Mr & Mrs – A blog of our round the world trip travelling through South America and South East Asia » Gallery: The Pain of Potosi and its Sobering Silver Mine!

Gallery: The Pain of Potosi and its Sobering Silver Mine!

Posted by Steve on September 29, 2009, at 6:11 pm | Category: Bolivia, Photos | Leave a comment

If you’re seeing things… in your neighbourhood… who ya gonna call?

Potosi, or as we fondly recall the city that likes to punch you in the head, is the highest city of its size in the world at 4,070m. It is also dominated by Cerro Rico, the location of a working silver mine. It had been highly recommended by other travellers and a necessarily brief stop on the way north from Uyuni. It was also hopefully going to be a good opportunity to satisfy some pyromaniac tendencies by blowing up TNT. We’d even heard that our intended hostel had the most awesome book exchange known to Bolivia, which would be welcome after Lynette had to Ruth Rendell for a bus trip or two. But did we manage to explode any dynamite? Would we gain access to the fabled book exchange? And why did Potosi seem to dislike us so much?

Note: 1 GBP = ~11 Bolivianos at time of writing.

We arrived in Potosi after a 25 Bs bus from Uyuni that took about six hours arriving at the lively hour of one in the morning. Sleepily we stumbled into a thankfully available but rather expensive at 150 Bs double room at the Koala Den. Noting the free Wi-Fi, we tried to connect with the supplied password only to be denied access. After investigation with other travellers this is only solved by running Windows 2000(!?). Potosi delivers a quick jab to the ribs, its first blow. Nevertheless, the installed gas heater made the room nice and cosy and we soon drifted off to a very comfy slumber. The next day we planned to achieve the princely sum of not much, so turning up promptly five minutes before the end of breakfast the next day didn’t bother us in the slightest.

Cerro Rico – the mountain of gold! I mean silver!

The hostel had a number of computers in the included internet cafe, so we thought a day of browsing the book exchange and catching up on internet related bits and bobs would be welcome. The computers turned out to be slower than a fossil’s curling match and all three cabinets of the book exchange would remain locked for the duration, citing a suspectedly fictitious employee with (the only) key that never materialised. One traveller had been there for three days and never seen him. A left hook and roundhouse kick later we left the hostel, stunned at its unfulfilled promise.

On to our other jobs for the day, booking our Silver Mine tour (can be done in Koala Den Hostel but very expensive), dropping in some washing and helping out the budget with a hunt for almuerzos (a budget lunch in South America of soup, main course and juice for normally less than £1). The Silver Mine tour booking with Silver Tours went smoothly, at 60 Bs rather than the normal 100 Bs from the hostel. Washing was dropped off – that can’t go wrong. We then went searching for food, and found basically nothing. We did manage to get the battery changed on my watch for 2Bs, but no grub. Advancing one ratchet on the budget scale, we instead went for a broaster, which is an amount of fried chicken and chips.

It was here we noted that the principal labour force in Potosi seems to be children. Boys will shout the arrival of a Colectivo, and girls will sell food on the streets. In this case, the offspring of the broaster’s female owner were the waiter and waitress, and they didn’t have a clue. We waited for about 45 minutes as every other patron arriving after us was dutifully served, they brought us the wrong food, smiling gleefully and then taking it away again. Attempting to pay resulted in a fifteen minute wait for change. At this point our heads were starting to feel like a set of Tyson’s punch bags. So we headed back to the hostel, caught up on some X-Factor and hit the sack ready for an early start in the mines.

Lynette looking exceptionally pleased with the made to measure mining gear she’d just ordered.

The Potosi Silver Mine was a tour de force in South America in 1545 and the reason the city was founded. It is why the Spanish say ‘es un Potosi’ when something is very rich. In the 17th century Potosi was the largest city in South America, but after two centuries the silver supplies began to deteriorate and Potosi was virtually a ghost town. They then discovered tin, but the market became saturated, the price dropped through the floor and again Potosi was relegated to the third division. About thirty years ago, the government opened the mine to collectives; small groups of locals who paid an annual rent for their patch in the mine, tax on anything they produced and once again the mines were open. Some enterprising chap obviously cottoned on to this being a potential tourist attraction and that is why we came. Now about six thousand miners a day toil away earning about 60 Bs a day, miners includes men and children and evidently by our tour guide being female, women (all tour guides are ex-miners).

How a miner finishes his day, with four sticks of dynamite and some 96% alcohol!

Our first job of the day was to be kitted out in appropriate overalls, boots, hat and head torch. We then joined the throng of other plonker filled busses and headed to the miner’s market, a collection of shops where they sell the elements vital to a miner’s routine. This includes pick axes, boots, dynamite, coca leaves and of course 96% proof alcohol. The life expectancy of a miner is ridiculously low for many reasons. They don’t eat anything for the day, as in the mine the hazardous substances can coat your food so they munch coca leaves instead. They breathe in noxious gases. They also generally deal with all of this hard ship by getting slowly drunk all day. This ignores the safety record, which isn’t published but we managed to come out alive so it isn’t 100% (death).

One of the many entrances to the mines, where about 6,000 people work daily.

We then drove up to the mines entrance, where our guide’s true motives began to become clear. First, at the market you are pressured to buy gifts for the miners – this is fine and expected. At the market she demonstrated the miners’ lunch, coca leaves, and then dutifully carried on munching on these as though her jaw would wire shut the moment she stopped. Which made her speech a little unintelligible and on the main slurred. Her main priorities on the trip seemed to be saying hello to her ex-miner mates, and then rooting through our bags to pass over the presents we’d purchased for them. Which took the fun out of it a little, a bit like having to give out all your Christmas presents signed ‘anonymous’. Nevertheless, we forged on, having been mainly interested in the mine itself rather than how likely we were to get a sentimental hug from a miner.

Here’s some lovely stuff… naturally occuring asbestos! Not many filter masks were about either…

The mine itself was amazing, and horrifying, at the same time. We’d expected bad conditions, but when within minutes we saw the walls lined with asbestos and had to breathe through our overalls to avoid coughing up our lungs through dust inhalation our expectations had been met and exceeded. The miners work for a perhaps surprisingly short 6-8hrs each day as they simply can’t work any longer. The job is basically piling up rubble into a cart and wheeling it outside, where it is then sifted through for signs of silver. Occasionally you get to blow something up, but this novelty no doubt wears off and you’re more concerned with making it home to see the family than how many explosions you can make a day.

By feeding the Miner God booze and cigarettes, it helps to make their own lives longer.

It is perhaps because of these trials that they’ve gone a little mad. Towards the end of our frazzled guide’s tour she brought us to the ‘miner god’, where they make offerings to help guarantee their own safety. These are not your traditional offerings of a sacrificial lamb or even the head of a wretched native, but more appropriately miner offerings of a couple of lit cigarettes and a shot of 96% alcohol. He even looks a little bit like red horned devil himself. While our guide made her unique prayers to the plastic idol in front of us, we really did feel like we were interrupting something special. As we still had to leave the place, we placed a couple of coca leaves at his feet in an attempt to appease and backed out of his tunnel carefully.

She wouldn’t let us light the actual stuff ourselves; it had a two minute fuse! We were safe!

Once back outside, I reminded our guide that Lynette and I had one major tick box left that was currently empty, and pulled out a stick of dynamite that I’d purchased from the market earlier. Despite her protestations that it was the middle of the day, she’d lose her tour license and that it was dangerous, eventually she relented. We drove to the top of Cerro Rico, and she finally demonstrated her miner skills and almost completely redeemed herself in one swoop. Pulling apart the stick of nitro-glycerine, and mixing up an interesting cocktail of plastic explosives and TNT she then wrapped it back up again in the wax proof paper with the dexterity of a member of the A-Team.

Kaboom! There was a good amount of floor shaking here. We were happy. Such pyromaniacs. Job done.

She wandered off, planted her cherry bomb and leisurely strolled back. We waited, muscles tense, poised to photo and film the explosion with every sinew available. It was the longest two minute fuse we’ve ever waited for. Finally, it blew, and we had satisfying camera shakes to prove it. The briefest of flashes and a plume of dust mushroomed from the side of the mountain while crisp booms echoed around the valley. Satisfied we hadn’t caused a major land slide and the whole tour group was present and correct we jumped back in the minibus and headed for Potosi centre, job done.

Our ex-mining guide had two main aims for the tour. Munch Coca leaves, and chat to old mates.

But Potosi was not done with us yet, not by a long shot. The last two items on our check list were to pick up our hopefully complete washing and take a night bus to Cochabamba. I punctually arrived at 5:30 to pick up my washing; not ready, please come back. Three trips, a few harsh words and a sullen owner later our washing was retrieved, only slightly damp and with socks still stitched together. Potosi’s penultimate knee to the nether region. Limping slightly, we packed our bags and headed for the bus station for the aforementioned bus. Reasoning that Cochabamba wasn’t that popular a place, we had though it unnecessary to pay the 10 Bs agency fee for booking an advance ticket in town and merely turned up expecting to find a space. There were none. Potosi was readying the final knock out haymaker – the bookie was no longer taking bets.

Steve off to find a silver cache of his own…

In true Danny Le Russo style, we spontaneously conjured up a Plan B that we can thankfully say had a happy ending. By bargaining hard on a last minute spot to La Paz, and taking a competitively priced bus from La Paz to Cochabamba, we managed to get to our destination for only 10 Bs more each than we would have going direct. Yes, exactly the agency fee. Yes, it took about eight hours longer. But it didn’t matter; we could start the next stage of our trip on exactly the same day as planned which was very important with the rapidly depleting number of days we had left. So Potosi, you may have caused more pain and injury than mistaking hot chilli sauce for contact lens solution, but the last laugh was ours! We got to Cochabamba! And only lost the tiniest percent of our sanity!

Next stop, two weeks covered in monkey pee. Would we have any marbles left at all?!

The Silver Mines of Potosi Our brief stop in an oddly interesting tourist trap…
Lynette looking exceptionally pleased with the made to measure mining gear she’d just ordered.	If you’re seeing things… in your neighbourhood… who ya gonna call?	How a miner starts his day, munching Coca leaves and smoking a 15p pack of cigarettes!	How a miner finishes his day, with four sticks of dynamite and some 96% alcohol!	Potosi silver mine, closed 25 years ago and now home to some hard core collectives hoping to strike gold. I mean silver.
Damn – these guys did strike gold. Fools gold. Fools.	Each day basically involves fillng up one of these inside the mine, bringing it outside, emptying it and keeping your fingers crossed.	Each miner makes about 60 Bs, or £5.50 a day.	Here’s some lovely stuff… naturally occuring asbestos! Not many filter masks were about either…	Some copper is somewhere on this apparently..
Our ex-mining guide had two main aims for the tour. Munch Coca leaves, and chat to old mates.	A big hole to nowhere, and more asbestos crystals to help abrase your fall. Yum.	The winch that pulls up their hauls from the depths. On the right, some rum and coke for while they wait.	Lynette worrying about how she’s going to remove that pick axe from her ear.	Steve off to find a silver cache of his own…
One of the miners changing the compressed air feed that powers much of the pneumatic machinery in the mine.	Drilling a hole for a dynamite explosion later that day.	Me giving them a hand – or perhaps a hindrance! – in hauling up some quantum rocks.	Clambering down into one of the many impossibly small tunnels that these guys work in each day.	He’s quietly imagining the limitless possibilities his life could hold if this wheel barrow actually had something useful in it.
Another hole, another winch, another pile of rocks.	You constantly have to dodge these trucks as they career through the tunnels. Worse when they are going downhill.	If you see Indiana Jones, duck. He is probably being chased by another cart full of shooting Germans.	Excitingly, we hadn’t died from toxic fumes, heat exhaustion or asbestos inhalation by this point. But we didn’t work here every day for ten hours a day shifts.	The rest of the group having just dodged a speeding miner’s cart, noting how close it came to taking off their toes.
Hot, sweaty and definitely not pleasant work. They would definitely like to have a nice cushy office.	This is the Miner’s God, and a sure sign they’ve gone loco.	By feeding the Miner God booze and cigarettes, it helps to make their own lives longer.	One of the many entrances to the mines, where about 6,000 people work daily.	The giant air compressor, which powers many of the tools that are used in the mine.
The entrance to the silver mine, with Cerro Rico (The Rich Mountain) in the background.	After much cajoling, our guide was convinced to set off some dynamite for us.	She wouldn’t let us light the actual stuff ourselves; it had a two minute fuse! We were safe!	Our guide setting off to a suitably safe distance to blow something up for the sake of it.	Kaboom! There was a good amount of floor shaking here. We were happy. Such pyromaniacs. Job done.
Cerro Rico – the mountain of gold! I mean silver!