View Larger Map

The Witches’ Market – Thomas Carroll encounters strange luck charms in La Paz’s famous market.

Sweet Like Sucre - Esther Press  meets some young entrepreneurs, has a bargain lunch, and takes a ride on a “Dino-Truck” in the southern Bolivian town of Sucre.

Diggin’ Deep . . The Potosí Mines – EPress buys some gifts for the Cerro Rico miners and blows up some dynamite in Potosí.

The Bolivian Salt Falts: Mother Nature’s Watercolor Playground – Uncornered Market has a photo essay on the surreal Salar de Uyuni.

Bolivia by Boat – Tom Dibblee meditates his way down a river in the Bolivian Amazon.

I’ve Been Up the Mountain and I Had a Choice – The trek up Huayna Potosí bends, but not breaks, Michael Bonnet.

Rainforest Could Be Traded on World Market – BBC reports on the collaboration of private energy firms and environmental groups in conservancy projects.

06.November:
We got picked up at the hostel at 9am. It was time to dig for that shiny metal in the mines of the the highest city in the world – Potosí! Potosí is located 4,090 m above sea level. But first off we had to get dressed for entering the mines with a helmet, head lamp, pants, jacket and sturdy boots. Then it was time to buy the miners some gifts. We bought dynamite, fuses, explosive powder, coca leaves, chewing tobacco, juice, and 96% alcohol on plastic bottles.

some of the gifts for the miners

lots of dynamite gifts for the miners

We drove up to the mines at Cerro Rico (rich mountain), peaking at 4,824 m, in a shuttle bus. Inside Cerro Rico there are 90 km of tunnels! They have been mining in the tunnels within this mountain since 1462, but during the colonial times the Spanish took almost all the silver (7000 tons). Now they are mining tinn and zink.

Cerro Rico

At the start of the trip we had two guides who were former miners, but before entering the mines we split into two groups. The large group being lead by the 45 year old strict Julio with a slight ADHD tendency, while the small group (Kris, MAry, me and an Engish girl Itiou) was under the supervision of the 25 year old guide David.

We entered the mines through Santa Rita – one of the main entrances to the mines. We went down 130m into the mines! However, the mines continued about 800m beneath ground level!

a hard days work at the mines

some miners at the Santa Rita entrance

somewhere deep inside the mines

During our trip in the mining tunnels, we visited mining areas of three different companies; Santa Rita, Pailaviri and Bolivar. While walking around in the mines we quite often heard loud bangs from dynamites going off somewhere inside the mines. After visiting Santa Rita and Pailaviri (that is after about two hours) we met a couple of guys sitting in a little shed dedicated to Tio Benito drinking what they called Bolivian whiskey – orange juice and 96% alcohol. They explained that they were sitting in there along with some sculpture portraying Tio (the devil) in order to sacrifice to him hoping that he would grace them with better mineral findings within the mines. For every drink, they poured some on the ground or on the Tio figurine as a sacrifice for good luck. It was common to believe in Tio within the mines, but he was never praised outside. On the outside they turned to the god of heaven. To them the heavinly god, Tio and the god of the earth – the Patchamama, were all very important.

After leaving these guys, we went further down the mines. All the time we had to keep our heads low and be careful not to touch or come near a metal wire going along the roof of the mine. This wire had a diameter of about 1 cm and was leading electricity. The miners used a metal handle to connect to the wiregav them extra power to move the carts filled with stone and dust through the mines on small rails (kind of like a “trikk”). This contraption also remineded me of the Norwegian show “Hugo’s hule” and I felt a sudden urge to jump into one of those carts Back to reality; We were told that if we came near this wire with one of our hands or touched it with some other body part covered with skin, we would be electrified and die! Obviously HMS was not prime focus in this mine and a lot of accidents had happended in the past. So, we had to move very carefully and most of the time I had to crouch a bit while walking as a I were more than a head taller than the average Bolivian man.

After walking for quite a while, we came to a massive room where we met Felix – a fat guy with probably the easiest job in the whole mine. All he had to do was to operate a couple of sticks inside a small house to control an elevator for transporting people according to some traffic lights and morse signals indicating the floor he should send the elecvator off to. Additionally, he only worked seven hours a day, compared to the other workers that often worked 12-, 16- or in some cases 24 hour shifts! His easy job might be defended by the fact that he was 54 years old, which is eight years lower than the average life expectancy for men in Bolivia. However, Felix looked much younger and ore healthier than most of the miners we met during our trip in the mines.

At this point we hd given away our dynamites and the juice we brought as gifts. Butwe still had lots left. I gave away my last dynamite fuse, and we handed over a bag of coca leaves to Felix who instantly came in a good mood. We also had some alcohol to give away and David started mixing in a juice bottle. We were told that it was respectless to refuse to frink with the miners and that since we were only in there for a 3-4 hours, while they were in here almost all the time everyday, we had to go by their rules, which was fine by us. David cut of a bit of a plastic bottle and this served as a our cup. We then had a glass each as the bottle was passed around. For each time it was your time to drink, you had to pour some out as a sacrifice to Tio and then say Salud out loud and be sure to look everyone around the table in the eyes before taking the whole drink in one sip. After a couple of rounds, David was getting a bit tipsy. We gave them some more coca leaves and joked around for a while. By this time the bottle was almost empty and I mixed a new and stronger bottle while David was paying close attention to my bartender skills. We went for some new rounds and Felix was especially happy with my new mix. It seemed that we as sturdy Norwegians who were used to party a lot over the years handled the alcohol a bit better than the local miners and certainly our guide David who was getting more than just tipsy! We had heaps of fun and talked about all kinds of stuff while David kept flirting with the English girl in our group hehe. Then we realised that we were on overtime and we started walking back.

David is getting more than just Tipsy

On the way back we met guys in the shed who were hanging out with the Tio Benito figurine. At this point they were pretty wasted and really happy to see us again. We then decided to give the rest of our gifts – one big bag of coca leafs, explosive powder (maybe not so smart afterall) and the rest of our alcohol. David had also brought the rest of the alcohol mix I made sp there was quite a little party in the shed. More miners came by and I started handing ot coca leaves to every miner I saw from my bag. They were really grateful and now were a great bunch of guys next to the Tio shed. We took heaps of photos and some group shots after half the guys left as they were too many to fit into the picture.

the miner gang outside the Tio Benito shed

We aid goodbye to all the workers and shaked the hands of the guys in the shed about five times. They were so happy. The whole shed was full of gifts and they were left with heaps of alcohol hehe. We then started heading for the free air once again. At this point our guide David couldn’t walk straight anymore. It was quite a sight seeing him waiving from side to side while trying to look after us and leading the way through the mines.

After spending about 3.5-4 hours down in the mines we saw daylight again. I have to admit that I actually thought it was great in the mines. Very cosy actually. In a way I almost felt at home. If it wasn’t for the fact that just breathing the dusty asbest air down there could congest your lungs in no time and make you develop asthma, or the extreme danger of being electrified, hit by a mine cart or by rocks falling from the walls or the roof, I could actually have worked there;) maybe a future career, if everything goes down the drain, who knows…

We were now outside the mines and it was dynamite time! As a keen bomb enthusiast I was excited as hell Normally they only used about one fourth of a dynamite to demonstrate for the tourists, but as David (our awesome guide) was a tipsy we were now using the entire dynamite stick. He broke it into three pieces to concentrate the blow power even more and jammed the fuse into it. He immediately put it on fire, which came as a bit of a shock to us as we were standing 1 meter from him filming the whole thing. We then realised that the fuse was burning rather slowly and realised that it wouldn’t go off any minute. We then started playing aroujnd with the dynamite while the fuse was on fire. I put into my mouth and we passed it around. The fuse started to get smaller and David took over, and went some 30 meters away to bury it under a pile of rocks. About 10 seconds later it went off with a great bang and lots of smoke while small rocks and dust came raining down over our heads. It was awesome and best of all, we got the whole thing on tape!

playing around with a lit dynamite

All in all, I can mos def recommend the trip through the mines as it was truly unique, heaps of fun and lasted for a very long time, thus giving you lots of bang for the buck especially considering the redicuously low price of 80 bolivianos (64NOK)

nothing heard, nothing seen, nothing bad said avout the mines in Cerro Rico

after a long hard day in the mines

Cerro Rico, Potosí, Bolivia

At 4090m Potosí is the world’s highest city and a Unesco World Heritage site since 1987.  Its impressive colonial architecture is set against the backdrop of the Cerro Rico, or rich mountain.  Potosí was founded in 1545 following the discovery of ore deposits in the mountain.  From 1556 to 1783 45,000 tons of pure silver were mined from Cerro Rico by  millions of indigenous and slave laborers who were forced to work in the mines.  By the end of the 18th century the city had grown into the largest and wealthiest city in Latin America.  After 1800 the silver mines were depleted leading to a slow economic decline. 

Today Potosí is severely polluted and thousands of men and boys continue to work in the mines to extract minerals.  Working practices are medieval, safety provisions nearly nonexistent and the mines lack proper ventilation.  Work is done by hand with basic tools such as pickaxes and shovels.  Temperatures in the mines range from below freezing to more than 100 degrees F.  Silica dust in the air causes silicosis pneumonia, and most mineros die within 10-20 years after starting work in the mines.  The Cerro Rico has been mined continuously for 400 years.  With hundreds of tunnels running through it experts agree that it’s only a matter of time before it collapses.

The miners who enter the mountain each day, some as young as 10 years of age, work the mine as a cooperative venture, with each miner selling his ore to a smelter through the cooperative.  The mines are dangerous and nightmarish places with unexpected explosions, falling rocks and runaway trolleys all resulting in frequent injuries and deaths.  Potosí’s ever expanding cemetery is a testament to this fact.  To protect themselves from ’The Mountain That Eats Men’ the miners worship their devil, Tio, a wooden figure housed deep inside the mine.  They visit him regularly with offerings of coca leaves, alcohol and cigarettes in an attempt to ensure their own safety. 

Tours of the working mines are popular among foreign visitors to Potosí.  Tours begin at the miners’ street market buying gifts for the miners, continue through the mines scrambling and crawling in low, narrow and dirty mine shafts, and end with tour participants holding lit sticks of dynamite.  Tour companies advertise the tours as, “an opportunity to crawl around inside the terrifying but awe-inspiring labyrinth in which over 200 miners are working.” Participants and tour operators alike will swear that the tours are not exploitative.  Unfortunately, the money generated by running the tours, around $10 per participant and more than many miners make from an entire day’s work, only benefits the tour companies.  

As for us, we opted not to take a tour of the mines, though we talked to several people who had and they all had the same response, “Eye opening, terrifying and unforgettable, but never again.”  Instead, we attended a screening of the documentary film The Devil’s Miner.  Produced in 2005 the film accurately depicts life in the mines and tells the heartbreaking story of a 14 year old miner.  It’s a must see for anyone interested in learning more about the horrific conditions of the mines, the plight of the workers, their fascinating traditions and beliefs, and the extreme poverty and desperation that plagues Bolivia’s indigenous majority.

Leo el blog de Ander y vuelvo a oler a polvora y orin. El mismo olor con el que recorrí durante cinco horas las minas de Potosí, Bolivia. Ander nos trae la historia de Abigaíl, una niña de 14 años que vive su adolescencia trabajando como minera en el Cerro Rico. En 2006, durante mi viaje por Bolivia, conocí a Julio Cesar, también de 14 años. Ambos, Abigaíl y Julio Cesar, han experimentado ya cuál es el precio de nacer pobre en un país pobre. Esto fue lo que entonces escribí:

El pequeño Julio Cesar Gutiérrez no sonríe pese a estar de vacaciones y tener nombre de emperador. Lleva cinco horas trabajando en el Cerro Rico de Potosí, Bolivia, a 4.300 metros de altitud pero bajo tierra. Y a los 14 años son muchas horas de picar piedra, respirar cinc y esquivar explosiones.

Su padre tampoco sonríe. Acumula 30 años de maza y cincel, demasiados también para sonreír. El “bolo” de coca tampoco le deja espacio en la cara para muchas muecas. Lo mastica con fuerza y se aferra al jugo de “la planta mágica” como al martillo: con fuerza. Es el líder de una de las 57 cooperativas que operan en esta mina con más de cinco siglos de historia y de la que dependen todavía hoy los ingresos de 12.000 familias.

Son las dos de la tarde. El sol pica y comienza la aventura del visitante en la mina. Cinco horas bastan para que el olor se tatúa en sus manos, en su ropa, en su cara. El frío del altiplano pronto se convierte en un pesado calor húmedo. La oscuridad lo inunda todo. Estamos en la mina. A los pocos minutos de caminar por un largo pasadizo aparece el primer grupo de mineros. Uno es el hermano de Julio Cesar, que sí sonríe. Se quita un guante de lana marrón. Primero estira de un dedo y luego de otro. Le faltan dos falanges. Su sonrisa se vuelve ahora macabra. Tiene 21 años y un hijo que alimentar. «La mina es nuestra única fábrica», ironiza Teodoro, el padre de estos dos jóvenes con apariencia de ancianos que desde pequeños les ha quedado claro cuál es el precio de nacer pobre.

«Sólo nos queda este infierno, nada más, el resto que tenemos es pobreza»

Aprovechan el encuentro con el visitante para pedirle refrescos, coca y alcohol. El precio de visitar la mina. Un pacto alcanzado entre las cooperativas y los guías que acompañan a diario a varios grupos de turistas. «Coca, coca», gimen todos entre sudor y polvo. De sus caras redonditas y morenas tan sólo se logra ver en la oscuridad sus dientes, que brillan como la esmeralda, verdes. Verde coca. El visitante cede. De su mochila saca una gran botella de cola, Cuba, se llama. Y seguimos el camino. Atrás quedan estos cinco hombres, el joven Julio Cesar entre ellos. Vuelven a su pozo, a su esquina, a su oscura pared. Les quedan todavía cinco horas de trabajo. No hay tiempo que perder. Cuando ellos marchen llegará otro grupo y si han tenido suerte y han dado con una buena beta de cinc, están obligados a terminar con ella. Si no, los que lleguen a su regreso lo harán por ellos (…)

El viajero con cara de susto después de vivir dos explosiones de dinamita y correr por varias galerias a oscuras para esquivar los desprendimientos.

Not knowing anything about Potosi before i got to Bolivia, (except the fact that it was the worlds highest city) the two days i spent there turned out to be alot of fun, it was also nice to stay in a smaller and quieter hostel after being at Loki and the Point hostels.. the latter just being awful.

One of the reasons for me coming to here was to see the Mines, you could get guided tours through them and get to see how the minerals are sourced and collected. The Cerro Rico (Meaning Rich Mountain) overshadows the small city, and can be seen from the approach and from all over the town.

Back in the 1500’s Potosi was one of the most wealthiest and biggest cities in the world, home to over 200,000 people at one time it was a mix of African slaves and indigenous people, attracted to the town for the labour, at one time African Slaves were known to replace Mules as transport in the mills and it is reported that millions of people have died working in the mines.. but no tourists have. Money and wealth still come from the Cerro Rico, but another big source of income is made from the thousands of backpackers that pass through Potosi every year.

The mines started to become depleted of silver in the 1800’s, but even with the long hours, harsh working conditions and unsafe conditions is still mined for silver and other minerals to this day. We were given a chance to speak to some of the miners with, ranging from 14 year old boys to men in retirement age by western world standards. It was quite an amazing experience climbing through mines, and i mean climbing through, at times i thought i was going to pass out from either the heat, confined spaces or the dust that we were breathing in. It gave me a real insight to how harsh the conditions really are, men spending up to 20 hours at a time for just 10-15kg of Silver, it was quite insane.

The town itself is pretty, not as beautiful as Sucre.. but i didnt come here for the churches or squares, i came here to see the mines and eat some good street food.. and thats what i did.. Oh and i learnt a thing or two about silver mining, mission accomplished and onto the next!

The Cerro Rico, seen from the streets.

Pretending to throw Dynamite into a crowded Bolivian Market.. Do not try this anywhere outside of Bolivia!

BYO PPE, 80 Bolivianos does include a mask!

The Main Square, Potosi at Night.

Salchipapas... Step right up!

I went with Koala Tours and stayed at the Koala Den Hostel.. Patriotic??.. No just coincidence!

For a few dollars more than the lumpy bus prices, you can hire a cab to drive you the 3 hours to Potosi.  In what felt like a race car we barrelled through the cordillera de los frailes past wide, dry rocky riverbeds and washes under arid mountains, upwards to over 4,000 meters.  Potosi was once the largest city in the western hemisphere, once one of the richest cities in the world, and remains the globe’s highest.  Having discovered an abundance of silver in the Cerro Rico, the Spanish used indigenous laborers and later African slaves to exploit the mountain’s riches in what would be the most productive and lucrative silver mine in history.  It is estimated that at least 6 million workers have died in the mountain as a result of this push for metal.  Eventually the Spanish were ousted and the mountain began coughing up only tin, lead, zinc and fool’s gold, so Potosi quickly became a forgotten world metropolis.

All the colonial money flowing through the city, however, left a mark.  When expecting a dusty, dirty, poor mining town high on the Altiplano, we were more than pleased to discover that Potosi might just be the best looking city yet.  Plenty of colonial architecture, narrow arching streets, cobbles here and there, urban piazzas in unexpected places – it reminded me a lot of Naples.  The main plaza was muy tranquilo and a few cathedrals and churches made for a good look around.  The clay-tile roof we got to climb on at the Convent of San Francisco had an outstanding view of the condense city, the barren deserted landscape beyond, and the Cerro Rico, pocked and emaciated, looming overhead.  Good food in Potosi, too.

Easily the most interesting thing we did in Potosi is take a mine tour.  The mines are still active after all; about 7000 miners work the Cerro Rico on any given day, in hundreds of different mines, many of which are co-ops, collectively owned by those who dig.  We joined up with our guide Juan, a former miner himself, and went to the Candeleria co-op after lunch.  First we had to stop at a shanty complex to rid ourselves of excess layers and throw on baggy pants and jackets and grab hardhats, boots and electric headlamps.  It was next to an area of town that caters to the mining industry where we bought gifts for the miners we’d meet in the mountain, as is customary.  We picked up some soda, a few sticks of Bolivian-made dynamite, and the all-important coca leaves, which miners depend on to ward off hunger and sloth during their long shifts underground.  We also tried their drink of choice, which is 95% alcohol, essentially rubbing alcohol, where only a few drops made my entire mouth burn.  Miners apparently down this stuff every Friday to celebrate another week alive in the mines.  Why waste time with vodka? 

We arrive at the mine and waste little time before entering.  The entrace is what you might expect, a small muddy hole in the hillside with a lumpy rail track exiting into a collection of crummy shacks where a few miners are hanging out.  We enter the darkness and switch on our lights, ducking to avoid rock overhangings and partially collapsed ceiling.  Splashing through puddles we’re told that a pit is hidden underfoot and to take care when walking, so at times we are balancing on the rails only.  The air becomes harder to breathe, dusty, and warmer.  Everyone scampers to the side of the tunnel as a couple of heavy carts loaded full of ore rumble past on the tracks.  As the tunnel goes deeper, the overhead sometimes has us crawling; we eventually begin climbing and sliding down a tunnel to what is known as level 2, if the entrance tunnel is level 1.  Miners are crawling past us with small bags of heavy ore, saying hello and asking Lisa if she’s married.  At level two, the air is hot and dusty; we do have simple medical masks but we’re still coughing.  We reach the end of a rail track, following a heavy cart pushed and pulled by men who do not look like they are enjoying it.  They dump the rocks in this small cave cul-de-sac and return down track for more as two men begin shovelling rocks into large round rubber jugs, which are then hauled up a slanted shaft to level 1 by some unknown hands.  They will unload 30-50 carts here per day, and fill over 500 of these jugs per day with rock, akin to shovelling snow from all the driveways of the entire town of Marblehead after a heavy February nor’easter.  Every day.

Here we learn about the professional structure of the co-ops, the system of heirarchy and various jobs, some of which are filled by kids as young as 10.  Children in the mines earn a small salary and are given basic jobs of fetching tools and supplies; they are quick through the tunnels.  They still work full days, 8 hours minimum, very often much more.  By teenage years, they’re outright miners, earning whatever they dig up.  On average, an adult miner here earns about $150 a month, many work shifts as long as 24 hours, as day and night doesn’t exist inside the Cerro Rico.  There are no proper engineers planning these mines, they just dig whatever way they deem appropriate, at times crossing paths with other tunnels of rival mines, often resulting in outright war – fistfights and dynamite, sometimes death.  The average miner will live to be 40 years old, dying of silicosis pneumonia, having been breathing absolutely terrible air for decades, arsenic, asbestos, among other nasties.  40, I should say, if they don’t die younger in a tunnel collapse, botched explosion, or by carbon monoxide poisoning, as two did here last week.  Newer electric lamps provide no warning as old-fashioned acetelyne lamps (or parakeets) did.  Jim Henson never mentioned this in Fraggle Rock.

It is a terrible existence.

From level 2, we descend a small pit down a rickety ladder to an unofficial level 2.5, a mezzanine as it were, and we spend some time with a miner on break.  Don Martin Ortega, age 37, working the mine since a teenager, has met his personal quota for the day early, and is packing his cheek with coca leaves before his final ascent with a bag of heavy ore.  He sits in a dead-end cave, a tunnel-in-progress, and speaks softly, staring blankly at his boots and his coca, never turning his head to look at us, as if an ashamed child caught doing something wrong, or as if incredibly resentful of his lot in life in stark contrast with we curious opportunity-having gringos.  Or he’s just fucking tired as hell.

Climbing back up to level-1, we visit the Tio, a devil-like statue deity who the miners pay homage to every morning before work.  He creepily sits in a chair down an unused tunnel amidst donations of beers, sodas, condoms and coca leaves.  Because this is the underworld, the evil Tio owns the rocks the miners take to the surface, so he must be appeased.  It is Tio who brings collapses and riches alike.  Llamas and goats are also periodically sacrificed at the mouth of the mines, their teeth and bones can be seen in the dirt underfoot. 

As we head for the exit, the air becomes easier to breathe and cooler; at last we see light, and exit into the late afternoon sun, Potosi extends below us.  With one last stick of dynamite saved, a miner shows us how to use it, breaking up the stick into thirds, re-wrapping it in paper with the meter-long fuse now attached, adding deisel pellets to add strength to the blast and balling everything up in the plastic bag it was purchased in, then lighting the fuse.  We pass the lit dynamite around, okay I’m holding lit dynamite, no problem, and then the miner takes it and sprints away down the dirt road, places it by a rock in a field, and retreats.  We watch and wait.  And boom goes the dynamite, a very satisfying low-resonating blast sending a cloud of white smoke into the air.  And so ends our visit to the Candeleria mine on Cerro Rico in Potosi.  Puts those fanciful material purchases of flashy jewelry in perspective, don’t it.

As well as great human suffering in Potosi, and Bolivia as a whole, the environment has paid a heavy price for centuries of mining. Potosi is now one of the most polluted places on earth! The water, the air, the landscape…things that we in the West take for granted as a fundamental human right…are toxic here.

The water is choked with lead, cadmium and arsenic that have leaked out of the mines. Running water is tinted grey. The pollutants have inevitably entered the watershed causing health problems for the wider community and the presence of heavy metals in crops downstream. This resulted in considerable damage to the region’s agriculture. This is because there is no effective mine-drainage treatment system and environmental-law enforcement has been cavalierly disregarded for decades. All eyes are on the profits.

Silica dust in the air causes blackened lungs and silicosis. Few miners live longer than 20 years after starting work in the mountain. Health care, just like environmental law, is nonexistent here.

The mountain looks devastated like its people. The surrounding landscape is still dominated by the imposing shape of Cerro Rico as well as a strange yellow and orange tint. That is the colour of toxicity. There are heaps of slag and shavings dumped all over the hillsides have created toxic mounds of contaminants hundreds of feet high. The holes of dozens of air shafts and the entrances to the mines pockmark the mountain face whilst the scars of deforestation and the resulting landslides are everywhere.

Money and economics are the only things that seem to matter here.

Until investment is put into the local community and the environment both will inevitably deteriorate further. The government has vowed to implement remedial action to combat these  problems. These are empty promises. Nations throughout Latin America have been left with ravaged landscapes, polluted crops and extensive health problems because of a long history of irresponsible mining practices.

This brings me back to our basic rights as human beings. Surely clean water and clean air for these impoverished miners is the least we can do? Basic rights not commodities!

Following on from my last post it is worth examining what mining conditions are like in Potosi today, the environmental consequences and what role tourism plays in the future of this area. And…what on earth was I doing  down an asbestos filled mine in Bolivia?

My whole experience of Potosi is somewhat spine chilling when I look back. I actually feel guilty that I partook in this ‘tourist’ excursion to Cerro Rico. Was I conned into thinking that I was actually helping these miners by giving them some extra bolivianos to top up their measly wage? It was described as an experience of a lifetime. We were further lured in by the promise of being apply to buy dynamite, as if it was a toy, and set off  explosions on the hillside. In reality I was a naïve backpacker giving my money to western based tour companies for the pleasure of crawling on my hands and knees in the pitch dark for three hours.

The dynamite stick I bought from a miner. Shortly after this picture was taken we set off a series of explosion on the hillside - all part of the 'tourist experience'. Potosi is the only place in the world where you can buy dynamite over the counter. (Potosi, Bolivia 2007)

First we were given a history lesson by our tour guides…Cerro Rico silver paved Potosi’s streets, fuelled the European Renaissance and helped fund the Spanish Armada that sailed against England in the sixteenth century. It is hard to believe this was once the richest city in the world. As the tour went on we all seemed to develop a conscience. To me this is a powerful example of dark tourism like a tour around a necropolis, or the Cambodian Killing Fields or Auschwitz. Tourists seem to be driven by some kind of sinister voyeurism or a taste for the macabre. I began to question what I was actually doing.  The line was being crossed between what was acceptable tourism and what was not. Is this actually cashing in on tragedy? Is death being commodified? (Well that’s another posting all together!)

Today Potosi is dying a slow death. Although this is the largest silver mine in the world, deposits are running out and the city’s 12,000 people have few other forms of income. The impact of this brutal mine on the local people is visible everywhere. Children as young ten work in the mine with a life expectancy of just 29. Adult miners work 10 hours days fuelled only by their bags of coca leaves. Two-thirds of the population have respiratory ailments. The infant mortality rate is 135 per 1,000 and more than 30% of the population are illiterate. Women and children beg daily on the streets. This is the lasting legacy of the Spanish colonisers who stole this city’s wealth and left it to die.

Miners shovel buckets of rock for upto 10 hours a day. Photo taken during my tour of the mine.

So is tourism actually a life line to this city? An alternative source of revenue? A source of hope?

Unesco is backing restoration projects for the city’s colonial buildings and is monitoring the conservation of the Cerro Rico as it is now a World Heritage site.  I’m unconvinced.  Firstly because of the way that this form of tourism is operated. Miners are portrayed by tourist literature and western marketers as a primitive other and a throw back from a bygone era that can now be commodified. The story of human tragedy is being manipulated for profit. Secondly because Potosi is one of the most polluted places on the planet and the health ramifications are shocking.

It is worth examining the way that the media and tour providers portray miners in their literature. It soon becomes clear that imperialism is very much still alive here.  Descriptions of a ‘labyrinth of tunnels’ and ‘primitive tools’ and the opportunity to ‘step back hundreds of years’ dominate the tourist brochures. The promise of dynamite as well as ‘unforgettable memories of Potosi’s fortune and tragedy’ make the experience sound like it’s some kind of Hollywood blockbuster. 

 Lets not forget, El Tio, a kind of devilish goblin who lives underground and supposedly watches over the fate of the miners. Well he’s not been particularly vigilant with millions of miners dying over the centuries. Again this plays on the idea of primitive practices, superstitions and ‘mysterious’ folklore which legitimated imperialist ideology for centuries. There have been various films and documentaries made about the plight of these people. The Devil’s Miner  and Grito de piedra  are particularly chilling.

In my opinion the world acknowledges the past and present brutalities of this mine but nothing is done to put a stop to it. Eduardo Galeano’s (1973) ‘The Open Veins of Latin America‘ is a must read and powerfully sums up the wider debate about the imperialist legacy and the ongoing exploitation. It is an example of a very short list of investigative journalism to come out of Latin America. John Pilger’s (2006) ‘Tell me no lies’ places Galeano’s book in the wider theoretical context.

I regret paying my 210 bolivianos to go down the mine and see teenagers with blackened faces and mouths full of coca leaves struggling with their pick axes and shovels. My money went straight into the pockets of the tour operators who are owned by fat cats in the western world; the money is subsequently re-invested in advertising these kind of socially irresponsible tours which attract naïve backpackers like myself. The cycle keeps going round.  Romanticised images of the life of a miner, emotive descriptions of tragedy and courage and a play on the splendour and opulence of a bygone era – are all manufactured to bring in the tourists. Little if any of the money generated goes to help these miners. One last rant…the Lonely Planet is just as bad for recommending these tours and sending more hapless backpacker’s down the mines. 

So is tourism Potosi’s lifeline? I think not. It’s just imperialism and exploitation by the global north in a different guise. My next blog in this collection of posts focusing on Bolivia examines the environmental implications of Cerro Rico…

Imperialism lives on in many Latin American countries in their often uncomfortable relationship with the West. See here for a lively debate on the imperialist legacy. As my last post illustrates in recent decades indigenous communities have been fighting back. There has been a transition of leftist movements from the streets and into political office in. Indeed it was the power of local social movements which paved the way for Evo Morales, the first indigenous leader, to become president of Bolivia in 2005.

The question I pose is can countries like Bolivia, one of the most impoverished on the planet, ever break free from the legacy and scars, both physical and cultural, that colonial rule has imposed? See here for more on the imperial paridigm and how the developing world is combating it’s legacy.

The mined landscape of Cerro Rico, Potosi, 2007

Bolivia’s experience with the darker forces of globalization began centuries ago in Potosi, once the most opulent and richest city in the world. Today, it’s reduced to a  dilapidated town haunted by the imposing Cerro Rico and the lives it’s claimed. For nearly three centuries Spanish colonialists mined Cero Rico of enough silver to virtually bankroll the Spanish empire.

These colonisers left behind eight million corpses. Slave miners were sent into the pitch dark for as long as six months at a time. Many of those who survived went blind from re-exposure to sunlight. Others died from mercury poisoning whilst thousands were crushed to death because of shoddy safety regulations and a disregard for human life. For every miner that died there were ten more desperate to benefit from the silver rush even if it meant loosing their lives. Child labour was and still is commonplace.

The cruel irony is that Potosi was one of the largest single sources of mineral wealth in the history of the planet and yet Bolivia has ended up the poorest nation in South America. This kind of exploitation  lives on today. This time it is not the Spanish but the third world elite who are following in the footsteps of their colonisers in their relentless pursuit for wealth. Bolivia is still manipulated by the west.

This all sounds very opinionated and perhaps extreme. The truth is I have seen this all with my own eyes. I’ve been down the mines in Potosi, I’ve seen child miners as young as twelve emerging from 16 hour shifts and I’ve felt the wave of discontent and sheer desperation amongst miners. The saddest thing is that not much has changed for these miners over the decades. Apart from the arrival of the naive backpackers. 

This is the cruel and exploitative face of globalisation.

Cramped conditions in the Potosi mines (2007). The mask is to protect against asbestos. The miners couldnt afford this luxury.

An audio slideshow telling a short history of the Cerro Rico mine in Bolivia, once South America’s richest mine, and now one of its poorest:

The photos were taken by me on my gap year trip to South America in 2004.

The mountain is called Cerro Rico, and it was once the centre of the world. The city at its base, Potosi, once had the largest population in the world, exceeding Paris and London, all because a shepherd boy, sheltering in a cave during a storm, discovered a vein of silver.

Cerro Rico, Rich Mountain

Today, the numerous mines burrowed into the sides of the mountain, has a reputation for being one of the harshest environments to work in. There are very few laws governing the management and working conditions of the miners – of the 12,000 miners about 2,000 are underage. The vast majority will die before they are 40, mostly from lung disease after a lifetime breathing the poisonous air.

When we visit with our guide the air is thick with dust, asbestos and an almost overpowering chemical smell. The flimsy protective gear we have been given does not make me feel safe. In the plastic jacket and elasticated trousers with a handkerchief tied around our mouths, we resemble a chorus line from a gay musical about outlaw miners. Still it is more protection than some of the miners are wearing.

The one authentic item is the live stick of dynamite I am carrying, and even that is white and not the red usually associated with the westerns I grew up on. In my other hand I am holding a bottle of the 96% pure alcohol that the miners drink after work.

A Stick of Dynamite and A Bottle of 96% Alcohol To Go Please

Both items, and a bag of coca leaves, were purchased that morning from the Miners Market. Here we were encouraged, by our guide, to buy gifts for the miners we would encounter in the tunnels. Our group buys some cheap yellow and orange bottles of soda, alcohol and loads of dynamite. It´s cheap – and there´s the promise of exploding some at the end of the tour. In the miner´s market it is legal for anyone, including a child, to buy dynamite – no questions asked.

Before we enter the mine we all stand in a circle and, following our guide´s lead, drink a capful of the alcohol – to appease Pachamama, the earth goddess. The miners are a superstitious lot and believe that once they enter the mine they are in the devil´s domain (they call him El Tio, or The Uncle) and need to placate him. They do this every year, in a festival where Llamas are ritually sacrificed and their blood daubed on the mine entrances and on the faces of the miners. This is to satisfy Tio´s bloodlust and prevent the miners from losing their lives in accidents in the deep tunnels.

I suspect the pure alcohol will kill them if the accidents or lung disease doesn´t.

The mine we tour is one of the oldest and the first level has evidence of proper construction techniques. We visit a shrine to El Tio, with a horned statue of the devil covered in Coca leaves and stained red. Every mine in the mountain has a similar shrine. To get to level two and level three we descend a steep path, scrambling on hands and knees. At this altitude (Potosi is the highest city in the world) it is difficult work and by the time we get to the next level our lungs are burning and we are gasping for fresh air. There is very little of that down here. Deadly asbestos dust is everywhere and our guide shows us the green and yellow lumps of arsenic and other poisonous chemicals hanging from the ceiling and walls. The air is acrid. Every so often there is the rumble of wheels, as wagons full of rubble are pushed, on tracks, to be hauled up to the next level. We squash against the walls to avoid being run over.

Room To Move?

On level three most of the miners are shoveling mounds of rocks into the wagons. The rubble is taken to a processing plant where the silver content is analysed and the miners paid based on the results. We are not allowed to descend to level 4 as that is where all the drilling and dynamiting take place. It is dangerous work. Even on level three the ceilings are regularly propped up by a single wooden beam. ´Make sure you don´t touch that beam or the roof may cave in´, our guide says at one point.

The miners work from early in the morning to late at night, not even stopping for a lunch break. Instead they chew the coca constantly, their bulging cheeks masticating the energy from the leaf. Our gifts are gratefully received.

Getting back up the levels to the entrance is extremely hard going as the confined tunnels are steep and the roof often low.

Back outside our guide preps the dynamite, lights the 45 second fuse and stuffs a stick into Vicki´s hand. ´Quick take a photo and pass on´, he says while lighting another stick. With 15 second to go he grabs the two sticks and sprints off, placing the dynamite sticks on the side of the hill. A sleeping dog does not even open his eyes when the twin explosions happen.

Vicki´s looking surprisingly calm considering that the fuse has 45 seconds to burn before going KABOOM!

Silver Dust Facepaint

Puno, Peru
Kaizers Orchestra – Knekker deg til sist

Bolivia hadde saa mye aa by paa at det ikke ble tid til oppdatering foer naa, halv syv paa kvelden i Puno, Peru, 10. mai 2008.  Men then again, saa mye dere har aa glede dere til

Salar de Uyuni
Verdens stoerste saltflate ligger 3600 meter over havet og oensker deg velkommen med -10 kuldegrader om natten.  Og en soloppgang som fikk Ymse og Lillepus sine taarer til aa trille. Vi dro paa en typisk tredagerstur fra 23. april til 25. april. Inkludert var en dag i saltoerkenen, en dag med besoek av et ukjent antall laguner, og siste dag med geysirer, varme kilder og en laaaaang vei tilbake til Uyuni. Turen var herlig, turselskapet elendig – med en uengasjert guide som ikke visste hva ting het og generelt sett snakket saa lite som overhodet mulig med oss og var mest ivrig paa aa komme avgaarde til neste sight. Vi var 6 stykker i en jeep, Ymse og Lillepus, Andy fra Australia, Noah og Nimrod fra Israel, og Rafaela fra Sveits. Pluss kokk og guide, og en stereo kun for kasett, og eneste kasett var boliviansk folkemusikk.
Sammen klarte vi aa gjoere turen til et herlig minne, selv om det kanskje ikke hoeres herlig ut aa staa opp fra saltsengen klokken 5 for aa se soloppgangen, og klokken 6 fra sementsengen dagen etter for aa se soloppgangen over geysirene Sol de Mañana. Men det var saa verdt det, og vi har masse bilder aa vise dere naar vi kommer hjem Og mye mer aa fortelle

Potosí
Fra 26. april til 28. var vi i den hoeyst liggende byen i verden. Og kanskje med den mest forferdelige historien.  Byen ble grunnlagt i 1545 av spanjolene etter at de oppdaget at fjellet bak byen, Cerro Rico, inneholdt store mengder soelv. Og vi snakker store mengder: verdens mest rike soelvaarer har blitt funnet her, og byen var den rikeste i Latin Amerika paa 1800-tallet. Foer spanjolene sa seg forsynte (de fant ikke mer) og trakk seg ut.  Det jobber fortsatt folk i fjellet (leter etter mineraler), de fleste doer mellom 35-40 aar gamle paa grunn av lungesvikt, og man regner med at rundt 8 millioner mennesker har doedd i Cerro Rico – mesteparten under spanjolenes tvang – indianere og afrikanere. Derfor kalles fjellet ofte ‘The mountain that eats men’.
Hvis man ville saa kunne man dra paa ‘minetur’ og klatre rundt inne i fjellet, gi kokablader til minearbeiderne og ta bilder. Ymse og Lillepus likte ikke tanken paa daarlige stiger, daarlig luft, klaustrofobiske ganger og masse stoev. Saa vi holdt oss unna, men saa ‘The Devil’s Miner’. Tyskprodusert dokumentar om en 14 aar gammel gutt som jobber i fjellet og forteller dets historie. Must see.
Byen Potosí er full av kolonialbygninger og pene terasser, plazaer og kvinner med lange fletter under bowlerhattene sine. Ingen supermarkeder. Generelt i Bolivia – alt maa kjoepes paa markedet. Vi brukte en dag paa aa tusle rundt og see, kjoepe kokablader og finne billetter til en tribute til Pink Floyd konsert. ‘Oh Menaje!’ kaller seg for bolivias offisielle tribute til Pink Floyd band, og var i Sucre samme dag som oss. Saa vi dro. Og satt blandt 1000 bolivianere og sang at vi ikke trengte utdannelse Herlig
Vi ble ogsaa en attraksjon i oss selv: En bil runder et hjoerne. Kvinnen i passasjersetet ser oss, sperrer opp oeynene foer hun hiver seg rundt og skriker til de som sitter paa lasteplanet: ‘Mira! Blondes!’ (Se ! Blondiner!). Naar vi titter inn paa lasteplanet sitter det to menn og stirrer paa oss slik som vi ser paa sights naar vi er paa sightseeing.
Testet ogsaa ut kokablader, de har en ganske besk/syrlig smak og er ganske greie og ha i munnviken naar det nesten er umulig aa finne tyggis. Tilsett den greien som forloeser alkalinene, saa skal man faa minsket sultfoelelse, justere seg bedre til hoeyde og temperaturer, og kjenne en liten lammelse i kinnet. Lillepus fikk det til, Ymse var ikke like flink paa droevtyggingen av bladene. Heldigvis kan vi oeve oss gjennom hele Peru ogsaa

Sucre
Saa dro vi til Sucre, en av de to hovedstadene i Bolivia. Hoveddomstolen har fortsatt sitt sete her, men La Paz er den styrende hovedstaden. Fra 28. april til 2. mai tuslet vi rundt i en by enda mer preget av kolonitiden med store hvite bygninger overalt, nydelig dekorert. Og et ukjent antall kirker. Vi gikk opp til toppen av byen for aa spise frokost og see utover de roede takene som laa som et teppe i dalen. Vi var paa museum og laerte om historien bak veveteknikker, og spesielt to stammers veveteknikker. Ble selvfoelgelig helt forelsket og kunne sikkert kjoept oss et helt sett med draktene deres hadde vi hatt raad. 30. mai feiret vi bursdagen til dronningen av Nederland, ikke natt til 1. mai slik som hjemme. 1. mai fyrte de av dynamitt i hele byen for aa feire og ingen busser gikk til La Paz. Saa vi maatte dra dagen etter.

La Paz
Fra 3. til 7. mai var vi i superhovedstaden i Bolivia. Og det startet ikke saa bra: Lillepus fikk betennelse paa ene oeyet, Ymse ble syk i magen – igjen. Saa det tok et par dager foer vi kom i gang med det vi skulle i La Paz: shoppe gaver til dere der hjemme (og oss selv). Vi bodde paa et partyhostell og sov ganske daarlig i de gode sengene hver natt, fordi vaare kjaere romkamerater vekte oss med lys, skriking og forsoek paa aa dra oss med ut paa byen klokken 2 paa natten. Ikke akkurat det vi var  La Paz for, og de virket ganske fornaermet over det og syns vi var litt rare som ville sove om natten slik at vi kunne faa med oss dagen. De var eldre enn oss, men det foeltes som om vi hadde havnet midt i en russefeiring.
Anyhow, vi fikk handlet det vi skulle og i skrivende stund er 13,3 kilo med kjaerlighet paa vei hjem til Norge med skip, og vil ankomme om rundt 2 maaneder. Vi haaper at toll og saann ikke er saa ille med slike sendinger, mennesker som vet noe om dette bes om aa informere oss.

Copacabana og Isla del Sol
7. til 9. mai var vi i Copacabana. Ikke den kjente stranden, men en by ved Lake Titicaca: en innsjoe som de fleste synes aa mener er den hoeyest liggende (3 812 moh) navigable (?) innsjoe i verden, de strides litt. Den er hvertfall den stoerste i Soer-Amerika, og huser oeyen Isla del Sol (soloeyen). Inkaene mente at det var her solen ble foedt og at de foerste inkane oppsto: Manco Capac og Mama Huaca. Ergo er det ruiner der, ergo maa man jo ut og se. Vi putret ut halv ni om morgenen og kom tilbake rundt 4-5 tiden, etter en dag full av sol og feiring av kristihimmelfartsdag.
Ikke som hjemme i Norge dere. Menn i kostymer med paljetter og knaesje farger, inkadamer kledd i penskjoertet og sjalet, alle dansende til heftige trommer og trompeter. Lillepus klarte aa hoere at det var en salme de hadde bygget all den livlige musikken rundt. Kjempemoro, vi kunne sett saa mye mer paa dem. Vi hadde helt glemt at det var kristihimmelfartsdag, men flaksen gjorde at vi fikk et bord paa restauranten vi ville spise paa hvis vi kunne bli ferdige foer 8 – da var det nemlig reservert paa lik linje med alle de andre bordene i restauranten. Mens vi spiste ble det skikkelig uvaer med lyn og torden, regn, vind og stroembrudd. Men det roet seg i det vi gikk ut Copacabana er en helt grei liten by, men det er veldig tydelig at halvparten av aarsaken til at den overlever er alle gringoene som kommer for aa besoeke Isla del Sol.

Og det var Bolivia for dere. Et herlig land som vi begge forelsket oss i. Det er det fattigste i Soer-Amerika, men hittil har det vaert det rikeste paa kultur og erfaringer som er helt ukjente i vaar vanlige hverdag. Landet ga oss vaart foerste kultursjokk, og har sagt klart ifra at fra naa av kan vi bare venne oss til at det er vi som er minoriteten med hvit hud, rart lyst haar og alltid minst 30 cm hoeyere enn lokalbefolkningen. Det laerte oss ogsaa at det tannloese smilet til en inkadame aldri er veldig langt unna

Puno, Peru
I gaar dro vi over grensen til Peru, en smertefri grensekrysning som var som en droem etter den fra Argentina til Bolivia. Her bruker man Soles aa betale med, og 1 dollar er for tiden 2,8 soles. Dette liker vi ikke, saa vi haaper paa at dere der hjemme kan gjoere noe slik at dollaren blir litt svakere. Peru er nemlig litt dyrere enn Bolivia, men ikke like dyrt som Argentina og Chile.
Puno ligger ogsaa ved Lake Titicaca, Boliva og Peru deler innsjoen. Hva Peru har som Bolivia ikke har, er flytende oeyer og flere indianerstammer.
Det er Uroene som bor paa de flytende oeyene. For rundt 3000 aar siden saa de seg lei paa de krigerske stammene Collas og Inkaene,og bygget rett og slett sine egne oeyer ut av sivroer kalt totora, og floet avgaarde. I dag er det rundt 20 oeyer med uroer, en halvtimes baattur fra Puno. Vi tok turen i dag og bouncet rundt paa en utrolig myk bakke og forelsket oss i disse smaa indianerne i de fargerike klaerne sine. Saa dro vi videre til Isla Taquile, er oey bebodd av en annen indianerstamme, hvor guttene gaar rundt og strikker fra de er 6 aar gamle og kun baerer med seg en veske med kokablader, mens jentene vever, passer aaker, passer unger, lager mat, og baerer unger, utstyr, mat og alt annet som trengs i et slags stort sjal paa ryggen. Litt annerledes enn hva vi er vant med

I morgen tidlig reiser vi til Arequipa, ‘den hvite byen’. Der skal vi proeve aa finne en enkel tur i en av verdens dypeste canyoner, Canyon del Colca. Deretter maa vi komme oss til Cuzco saa fort som mulig, for 15. mai legger vi ut paa 4-dagers tur til Machu Picchu! Inkastien er utsolgt til september, saa vi har valgt en alternativ rute som skal vaere veldig fin. 17. mai blir derfor feiret ett eller annet sted i skauen paa vei til en av verdens syv underverker. Ymse gruer seg litt, for med mange meter over havet blir luften tynnere – og det har vi allerede merket hver gang vi har gaatt i oppoverbakker, vaaknet om morgenen, eller vaert ville&gale og LOEPT. Men det gaar nok bra – for hvis fete engelske turister kan klare det – saa kan Ymse&Lillepus klare det ogsaa

Lillepus har lagt ut bilder fra Mendoza i Argentina, og fra Santiago i Chile. Og alle de andre sidene paa denne bloggen er oppdatert

Etter Cuzco skal vi rett ned til kysten, for naa er vi lei av aa sove med ullsokker og superundertoey om natten, og bruke fleece, skjerf, lue og votter naar solen ikke er paa sitt hoeyeste. Det er kaldt oppe i hoeyden, vi sitter faktisk og er litt misunnelige paa dere som har vaar naa, med utecafé og shorts.
Vi misunner ikke alle dere som har eksamen, men oensker dere lykke til i sekkevis Og er dere ferdige, gratulerer med vel overstatt