Silver Mines of Potosi

Our 3 hour drive from Sucre up to the world´s´s highest city of Potosi was a journey full of some truly stunning views. The outlook from our bus window had a picture of desolate jagged mountains carving between rolling green hills dotted with sheep, cacti and the odd lonely farm worker. In comparison though, as we began to pass through the outskirts of the city, the beauty soon turned into a bombshell of ugly orange-bricked building sites with roads coated in graffiti and trash.

However, after catching a taxi from the space station like bus terminal we reached our accommodation which was nestled in the corner of a gorgeous narrow street about a minutes walk from the plaza in which we soon strolled up to. We were instantly greeted by the towering white cathedral surrounded by some magnificent colonial architecture. Huge, wonderfully decorated mansions with doors so thick and impressively tall that they must have been made for giants. There is a giant amongst the city, and it stands tall, looming above every street in Potosi- the gigantic multi-coloured mountain of Cerro Rico.

With us reaching an altitude of 4060m high we were feeling like we´d just been given a good couple of shots worth of vodka and were stumbling up the roads at a slow drunken pensioners pace. My breathing was a bit erratic too, so we decided not to make any plans for the next day so we could adjust ourselves to the climate.

Sitting in a chilled out cafe getting a late lunch for 5 pounds was a suitably delicious and easy start. Bellies full and having a quick lay down back at our hostel was a grand follow up until our double bed literally collapsed beneath us. My skinny frame and Laura´s petite rear surely couldn´t have done this and whoever thought they could repair a broken bed with cello-tape is seriously deluded. There was no option but to change rooms and to our disappointment we were moved from our warm lit and spacious pad into a cold, dim and depressing corner of the hotel. All was forgiven when we saw the bedsheets were designed with Harry Potter on though.

That night we explored some further streets in Potosi trying to find another good place to eat but eventually ended up returning to our previous cafe for another brilliantly priced slap up meal. For no real reason we were feeling exhausted after that and went to get under our 5 layers of blanket warmth for a great night´s sleep.

Well I got plenty of rest anyway, as Laura had been subjected to one of the snore monsters finest moments rattling the walls and shaking the bed to her immense dis-pleasure. No harsh words, punches or kicks could stop me and I wasn´t a popular boy in the morning. I blame Harry Potter.

We didn´t have much planned for the day and after one of our most hideous breakfasts consisting of stale white bread and grimy coffee we didn´t have much motivation either. The high altitude was still playing with our ability to move a couple of steps without running out of breath and throughout the day we seemed to get far worse ending up with our heads collapsed onto numerous cafe tables. What we did have organised was to spend time taking photos of the astonishing scenery around us, but just as we were ready to do so the afternoon took a turn for the worse with rumbling, rainy black skies. The darkened clouds did actually allow for some good shots as they crept over the orange washed city, but we soon retired to our room and with the strobe-like-lightning-flashes hitting over our walls we were almost hypnotised to a ridiculously early 8.30pm good night all.

Thankfully not from my bird meet walrus wailings this time but rather an early mornings run to spew up her digested bile down the toilet, Laura had had another rough night´s sleep and was looking even more delicate the next day. That morning we had planned to attempt one of our most fearful challenges of not only Bolivia but our whole trip. One way or the other, there was no way that we could leave Potosi without a visit to the deadly cooperative mines. This expedition has had more serious warnings of danger written about it then any other tour we have read about and we were certainly feeling a little jittery about it all (especially when we signed a disclaimer in the booking office saying that the company would take no responsibility for injury or death).

At 1.30pm 15 of us were driven up towards the Cerro Rico mountain where we would enter the mines for approximately 2 hours worth of shuffling around on our hands and knees in the dark with only our headlamps to see the way ahead. Halfway there we stopped off to get kitted up in all the right gear from well dented hard-hats, ancient dusty jackets, tasteful burgundy baggy trousers and thick black welly boots that were about 20 years old, worn by thousands and still in perfect wear. Now dressed up we were split into two groups and a decision had to be made on a team name- we became ´The Sexy Bombas´.

Next up our guide who I should now introduce as being named ´White Peter´ (or Pedro as his real name) took us to a shop where we could buy the workers in the mines a gift. This could be anything from 96% alcohol to which we were all given a throat piping slurp of, a choice of dynamite from Peru, Argentina or the obvious best being Bolivian, to simply buying a big bottle of fizzy juice. We all obviously chose the explosives complete with fuse, detonator and an extra tube which would make the blast even bigger (to me it just looked like it had been filled with the insides of a bean bag).

We were then driven to the factory where they mix the minerals from the mines with water and various solutions to extract the silver, tin, lead and most commonly being zinc. It was an interesting if quick look around fast spinning machinery that could easily splice you in half given the chance but it must have been here for donkeys of years judging by the rusty worn state of it all.

It was now time to enter inside the mines, and just before we took our first step into the shaft we were warned to to touch the piping or wires that ran alongside the tunnels otherwise we might get a nasty electric shock- with us all a bit on edge this really didn´t help much but it was nice he told us I guess. With head lamps now on we walked though. The beginning started off easy enough with us just having to notch our heads 90 degrees in order to dodge the sharp chunks of rock and broken pieces of wood that were meant to be supporting the ceiling.

However 15 minutes on, just having missed a cart speeding past us at an alarming rate, we reached a point where some workers were drilling a thunderous racket into the wall bringing an extra thick layer of dust making it almost impossible to see or breathe. Pedro took us right up close to the miners and after putting down their drills they then began to plant hand-fulls of dynamite right above our heads. For about 5 minutes we nervously watched on and then suddenly were shouted and pointed at by vigurously fast moving fingers to move back (to which we weren´t going to wait around a second for in fear the detonation would rip apart the walls and completely cover us). We gratefully didn´t hear a bang but did end up in a red smoked filled room that had a collection of freaky human sized statues staring at us- we swiftly moved on.

We took a small break outside the entrance to an eerie low hole that we would squeeze under once our hearbeats had returned to a half normal rhythm. Whilst the sweat poured off us with most people in the group already coughing and spluttering Pedro gave us a lesson in the harsh realities of working here. The miners operate in temperatures up to 45 degrees in the unventilated shafts for gruelling 24 hour shifts and with them constantly being in contact with silica dust and asbestos, their life expantancy is only around 10 years after starting work here- that is if they haven´t been crushed to death by a cave-in first! Although it made me have a massive respect for the miners at the same time they all have the option to work here or not. There are other jobs to go for in Potosi and even far safer mines to work in, but all of these come with a lower salary and having the benefits to pick and choose hours along with who you work with down here it seems that this comes across to them a far better option nevermind the risks involved.

It was time to move on and the next section where we had to descend further and further down a tiny, pitch-black, dirty tunnel on hands, knees and often on our rear ends (sliding with no control whatsoever) kicking up a smoke-screen of dust as we did so was a claustrophobic´s nightmare. One girl in our group had a sudden panic attack a few seconds in and asked to be taken back outside. Another one of our tour guides said he would get her out but first needed to tell Pedro who was already nearing the end of the pit. Saying he would only be one minute until he returned he pushed the group downwards and Laura decided to stay with the breathless girl. I wanted to wait aswell but I was already halfway down and our guide told me I had to continue and that everything would be fine. After climbing down some rotten ladders missing most of their steps I waited crouched at the bottom for what seemed like eternity for Laura to catch up. Eventually, to my great relief, I heard her shuffling feet come towards me.

We were now on the third level down and began to trapse through deep murky water avoiding the odd trolley hurtling past and moved into unbearable temperatures. To make this an even more real life hell was the fact that all the miners here worship the devil! We were taken to see the horned statue named Tio in which had been decorated with flowers, alcohol, food and a smouldered cigarette in mouth. Every weekend the workers come here to party with him offering gifts not just for their protection, but for any wish they need, he will grant and question in life, Satan will answer.

After two hours of one of the most demanding, heart-thumping, eye-opening, blood buzzing tours ever we reached the exit for a massive intake of air. We were told that only 3 members from the other group of nine had made it through without turning back so we felt quite pleased with ourselves. White Peter had one more unbelievable challenge up his dusty sleeve though- a game of pass the lit dynamite before it explodes. This was one task Laura and I opted out of and watched on in disbelief. Two minutes later and it went off with a brain shatteringly loud bang creating a sizeable crater, thankfully not in someone´s chest but in the ground instead. After our explosive end to the tour we sat back in the minibus both feeling shocked, shattered and speechless. Laura was particularly out of it and within 10 seconds of returning to our hostel she was curled in a ball under the sheets with her hand fiercely wrapped across her forehead feeling horrific. She told me that she would only need 5 minutes to recover and then we could look over the pics and video footage of the day as I was overly excited about doing so. One hour on and Laura woke up in fits of agony complaining of an intense migraine so strong we feared she might have a high-altitude cerebral edema. The lights went off quick and we both fell asleep.

The next morning we were pleased to see that her brains hadn´t seaped out through her nose onto the pillow. We still felt in a horrendous state though and after checking out of our hostel we had a very easy going day relaxing before getting on the 8.30pm nightbus to Tupeza- a bus that looked like it would bring a whole other story with it...