Potosí: history, mines, and dynamite!

About a week back, thankfully, Markus arrived safe and sound in Uyuni. He had gotten a bit sick one day while I was holed up in bed, but it wasn't as severe as what I experienced. We took a day trip to the Salar, 30km out and 30km back. It was quite the surreal experience, since when you get into the world's largest salt flat, you see nothing but white salt for as far as the horizon spans. Traveling around is quite easy, just pick a direction and go! There are some pathes that the cars take, in which the ground is a little more compact than the regular salar, so we try to take those when possible. However, sometimes it was just fun to just change your vector and ride at a given angle away from the others. As soon as we had gotten out far enough, we set up 'camp' and started taking the obligatory perspective pictures (to be posted sometime either by me or Markus). While the Dutch were holding their bicycles in their hands, Markus was the missing primate link next to the cover of Darwin's 'The Descent of Man'. Later we were all standing on a banana, but not before Gudrun was holding Jan Willem in her hand who was pinching Markus like a pixie between his two fingers, who I was subsequently punching. Unfortunately during this time, I had forgot to apply sunscreen and the reflection was certainly doing its damage. On the ride back, instead of heading back to the road to Uyuni, Markus and I just rode along the salar. There are various types of salt, some are nice and smooth, while others have little mounds or bacon-like waves of salt that crunch or pop like popcorn. We came across a little bubbling spring in the Salar, and later some dead flamingos with single eggs sometimes lying on the ground (I found 6 of them). We arrived shortly before sunrise, and ate llama steaks that night along with a burger at the corner stand. Total cost: $3.



The next day, instead of riding out toward Potosí as the Dutch did, Markus and I (mostly my decision) decided to stay another day. My face was blistering from the salar sunburn, so I wasn't in any rush to really get back on the bike and in full view of the solar radiation raining down at us near 4000m. The following day, we did set off on what would become a 3.5 day journey up toward Potosí, one that was ladden with significant passes (5+ miles in length, going up the mountains). To be honest, I was sick of them by the third day since every descent into a valley, however beautiful and colorful the formations were, meant another climb right out. The roads were surprisingly good, with only some sandy parts in which we had to get off the bike and push. The tailwind almost the entire way also helped quite a bit, so I really can't complain there. There were many small villages, various houses with llama heards, and ruins along the way in which we camped each night. The first two nights were quite warm, the third night froze the water bottle inside my tent. However, my new blanket purchased in Uyuni certainly meant nights were quite toasty in comparison to Laguna Verde. On the last day, we had to cycle only 30km into Potosí. Even though my first sight of the city was one in which my neck was craned upward (Potosí is the highest city in the world, depending on the definition of a true city, of course), I was quite excited to pedal up to the center because I saw pavement for the first time since Chile!



I must say, Potosí is my favorite city in South America thusfar. It's history dates back to the Spanish colonial times in which at one point, the Cerro Rico (rich mountain) was the heart of the Spanish crown's wealth. There in the hills, silver flowed out of the hundreds of mines that were dug over the years. Though coins were created and shipped to Spain, it was said that the cargo was really the blood and tears of the native and slave miners forced into labor. Thousands of people had died inside and because of the mines, and many more continue to do so today. At the Casa de Monedas, a museum the size of a city block, many of the minting machines from the various years were preserved and set up for display, among other exhibits. We saw how coins were first stamped by hand using a hammer, which I also did at the end using a brass blank purchased from the gift shop, to more modern and uniform methods of production when Bolivia gained its independence in the early 1800s, and other exhibits displaying artifacts from around South America including child mummies. Today, Bolivia money is created by Spain, France, Canada, and one or two other countries. Ironic how Spain robbed Bolivia blind, and now Bolivia purchases its own currency from Spain. Given its history, once the world's richest city because of the mines, it really has a European feel with narrow streets and architecture that pre-dates the last century.

The highlight of the trip into Potosí so far has been the tour to the mines. This isn't one specifically and only designed for tourists, rather it is one that visits a working mine. We met the miners who had been working underground for generations back, often many of them starting when they were 13 years old (I saw more than one child working) until their death usually around 45 years of age. It's almost a curse to be born into a miners family, for the boys will work with their brothers, father, and uncles, while the girls will eventually marry and become young widows. The mines are privately operated, with claims passed down through generations, and the ore sold to companies who extract the silver, zinc, and lead, which is then sold around the world. As such, safety is in the hands of the miners themselves. Cave-ins and succumbing to poisonous gasses from the dynamite are not unheard of. Before arriving at the mine, we bought coca leaves, 2L bottles of soft drinks, and dynamite from the miners. Yes, you can buy dynamite off the street. With each miner we talked to or came across, a little gift was given by one of the 'gringitos' on the tour. Entered the blood-stained mine entrance (llamas are sacrificed every once in a while), it wasn't long before we were ducking and soon crawling through the shafts to get down to the lower levels in this one particular mine. El Tío, or the devil, is actually honored and paid homage to since he owns the minerals and he controls the fate of the miners. When certain miners are extremely lucky in finding rich deposits, the other miners say that particular group made a pact with El Tío. Randomly during the tour, brothers would come by dragging a mine cart along the track, at least one of whom was 13 or 14. We gave them a 2L as they went by. Descending deeper and deeper, the air became hotter, and the dust made breathing a conscious task. Thankfully, nobody had a bought of claustrophobia, because we would have been in trouble otherwise. The miners typically eat 3-4 plates of food for breakfast, and then again at night when they come out. Inside the mines, they chew coca leaves to keep them awake and their throat lubricated, important because of the dust in the air, the same dust that will eventually kill them. When we were sitting to take a break, we heard some shouts in Quechua (sp? the Inca language) from a shaft no more than 20m away. About a minute latter, a large explosion was simultaneous heard and felt by each of us. The dynamite created toxic gases that rendered that particular area a no-go zone for an hour. So when the old miner who had been working for about 40 years came out, he told us through our guides that he had to scramble up from level 4 to level 3 in the minute it took the fuse to detonate the dynamite. There, I gave him the rest of my coca leaves, which he sat chewing until we left. I must admit, I was not sad by any means to start ascending toward the surface, to breathe fresh air and to see the sunlight again. I'm pretty sure the others on the tour shared the same sentiment. Would I go back? No, but it was an experience well-worth it nevertheless. At the surface, we had the opportunity to blow up the dynamite we had purchased for ourselves. We learned how to prepare the dynamite including the detonator, fuse, and ammonium nitrate to give the explosion extra power. When the fuse was lit, we passed the dynamite around quickly taking pictures before our guide sprinted off, and sprinted back. Then we waited for the explosions to occur about 50 yards away, just down the hill from the mining area. I couldn't help but think of Iraq after hearing the explosion and seeing the dust cloud rise 30m into the air. Back in town, Markus and I found the local market and purchased fresh fruits and veggies, chocolate and candies, wonderful goat cheese, and some baked sweets from a street vendor before wandering through the maze of vendors selling everything from underwear and shoes to facial products and perfume. Bolivia, if you can stand the cold, offers one of the most colorful and stimulating experiences in South America. I really wish I could stay longer in Potosí, but tomorrow we leave to Sucre, which is supposed to be even more beautiful with its whitewashed colonial architecture. It's about 4000ft lower in elevation too, which means that much warmer. Woohooo!!!