a life in words: exploring the potosi silver mines

3rd May 2012

Potosi, Bolivia

Bidding farewell to both the tranquil town of Tupiza and the trusty if aggressive steed that I found in Harry, the next leg of my journey had me heading North-East into the heart of Bolivia´s Southern Altiplano towards the desolate, windswept plain upon which the mining city of Potosi rests. Sitting under the glare of the mighty Cerro Rico mountain, Potosi lies at 4100m above sea level which means that it holds the very unique title of "the highest city in the world" and from the moment I exited the bus and hauled my bag towards the nearest available taxi, I struggled to catch my fugitive breathe which evaded me at every turn and could feel my heart pumping in it´s futile attempt to acclimatize to my elevated position in the world. There is one reason that first drew people to this remote and inhospitable part of the world; an area that exists amid barren mountains and frozen peaks, and the answer lies in the heart of the Cerro Rico conical mountain that overlooks the lonely settlement. To put simply, the Cerro Rico mountain was the richest source of silver the world had ever seen and ever since the silver rush began here in 1545 - following a llama farmer´s discovery that the valuable commodity dwelled quietly within the great mountain - miners have been venturing down into it´s guts hacking and exploding their way through layers of rock to the vast reserves of pure silver that lie within. It´s interesting to note that at the beginning of the 17th century, Potosi - which was built around the explosion of wealth following the silver discovery - was actually bigger than London or Paris as people flocked to the area hoping to make their fortune. After three hundred years though the mountain is starting to falter in it´s seemingly endless commodity as the top of the cone recently collapsed but this does not stop the hordes of tourists who want to be led through the immeasurable amount of mines and tunnels that run like silver arteries through the great mountain. Needless to say, if there was one thing I was going to do whilst in Potosi it was to get myself headfirst down one of those dark ominous tunnels and you´re coming with me. Checking in at the recommended Koala tours with my latest travelling mate Damien, who was turning out to be a good egg especially as he reminded me - a little too closely I might add - of a very good friend back home not in appearance but in near-identical mannerisms, we booked ourselves onto a mining tour that left at 9am the following morning and then set off into town to conduct our own form of acclimatizing which basically involved drinking a litre of Fernet con Coca in the only bar we could find that was open on a Thursday night: a local heavy metal drinking hole where we were surrounded by posters of Kirk Cobain while Metallica blasted us in the ears us as we "prepared" for the exertions which would no doubt follow the next day down the mines.

Waking at 8.30am with a slightly nauseous head, we tucked into a hearty breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and banana lassi which were provided by the hostel in order to set us up for what would undoubtedly be a tiring day in numerous black holes. There were eight of us who had signed up that day and after all convening in the lobby of the hostel, we headed out into the fresh morning that had descended upon the highest city in the world and hopped inside a mini-van which powered up the mountain towards the equipment house. Exiting the van, we passed through a small archway that led into a courtyard where we were all handed the equipment needed to get us down and hopefully back up from the vast underground network of tunnels that snaked their way through the vast silver mountain behind us. A pair of red and grey overalls, one pair of heavy duty wellington boots, one bandanna to cover our mouths against the clouds of dust, the all important helmet and a bright head lamp were given to us before we all headed out again towards the miner´s market where everything from new pick axes and shovels to cigarettes and helmets could be acquired.

HEY!

Gearing up for the mines.

Location of Potosi.

I had read that when entering the mines it was a gesture of good faith to bring gifts for the miners that we would come across slaving away down those dark foreboding tunnels, so we each purchased some coca leaves (helps working down the mines but is said to also cure altitude sickness), sticks of DYNAMITE, 96% alcohol and some orange juice for the journey. With a solid joker in our guide Diego who was himself an ex-miner, we were told that before entering the mines a little ritual had to take place which came in the form of a shot of the 96% alcohol that looked and tasted like bleach. Downing the gag-inducing spirit, I felt a rush to the head and a warmth generate in my stomach which stayed with me as we piled back into the van and headed towards the entrance of one of the mines. As we climbed the shoulders of the mountain, I could see how truly vast and imposing the Cerro Rico was as it loomed like a behemoth filling the front windscreen of our minivan with menacing intent.

Feeling queasy in the van after the 96% alcohol shot.

Big ol´pile of DYNAMITE.

Approaching the Cerro Rico.

The miner´s market sold everything one may need when venturing into a black hole.

My bag of coca leaves. I personally couldn´t stand them but others gobbled them up like candy. A pack of skittles would suit me better to be honest.

Before entering the mines, we spent about half an hour wandering around a refinery plant where vast quantities of rock - extracted by miners from the mountain - goes through chemical processes to extract the pure silver present in the ore. Whistling and whirring machines stamped, spun and sorted the ore in several different stages along the production line and walking around the run-down factory, traces of pure silver could be found clinging to the insides of abandoned machinery and the collection trays that rested underneath the battered and well-worn equipment. Venturing back outside after Diego had explained the various processes involved in extracting pure silver, we came across a brick wall where twenty or so miners rested in the sun each tucking into bags of coca leaves which functioned for them in several different ways. First of all it numbs the senses to the cold (although it can also get very hot in the mines), suppresses any hunger while working their long shifts, alleviates altitude sickness and gives them a caffeine-like energy boost that allows them to work days which often stretch to 20 hours or more. After catching our thoughts and breathes from having ascended a further couple of hundred metres, Diego turned on our respective head lamps and gathered all the gifts we had bought into a large rucksack that he hauled onto his back before setting off through a small mining village that dwelled at the mountains entrance. Cutting a left between two dilapidated huts whose corrugated iron roofs flapped flimsily in the wind, we were suddenly faced by a black hole that signified the gateway into Cerro Rico.

Extracting silver.

Scooping lumps of silver like ice cream from the water tanks.

Miners tucking into their coca bags.

The view of Potosi from halfway up the Cerro Rico.

Biggles meet mountain.

Entering the Cerro Rico.

Entering the mountain we followed a set of tracks into the abyss, squeezing past mining carts which rested on their axles and the occasional cart that had tipped over and been left to rust in the thin layer of water that covered the floor of the tunnel. As the tunnel snaked further into the mountain, the light behind us grew dimmer and dimmer until one final turn eliminated it all together and we were left in total darkness - save for the small spot lights emitted by our helmet lamps. The first part of the tunnel had been fairly accessible allowing us to walk unhindered by the air pipes and jagged rocks that lined the ceiling but after 15mins the roof sloped downwards making it necessary to bend our shoulders and shuffle in a crouched walk along the gloomy highway. Occasionally a hole would present itself in the floor of the tunnel or a viciously sharp metal rod would protrude from the wall which resulted in a relay of warning messages being passed along the group from Diego who led the march at the front to myself who took up the rear. After a few more hundred metres the tunnel started to twist itself like a blade into the mountain, plunging at a slightly steeper incline into the darkness before meeting a small clearing where we were introduced to some miners who were passing by on their way to more remote sections of the mines. A miner by the name of Carlos took a seat and it seemed he was a good friend of Diego´s as they greeted each other with a strong embrace before taking a seat next to each other on a large rock that jutted out from the floor of the tunnel. He told us that he was 32 years old and had been working in the mine for the past 20 years; the mathematics shed a terrible reality about the ages that young men start working in these often dangerous and appalling conditions and I started to get my first twinge of awkwardness about observing these men hack - stone by stone - years off their lives. I had read that in three centuries of mining this mountain, it has been estimated that as many as nine million people have died down these dark tunnels and this thought - as well as the Chilean disaster - raced through my head as I sat and listened to Carlos tell his tale. After loading him up with some of our gifts, we watched as he trundled off behind us down a small hole and within a few seconds he had been swallowed up by the mountain. Taking a few minutes to rest, which I greatly appreciated as the initial crouched walk had caught me off guard by being unexpectedly taxing, we headed a further few metres before the tunnel ended and a small hole presented itself in the floor which we all one by one, eased ourselves down, sliding further and further into the belly of the beast.

Taking our first tentative steps into the mine.

The fall of a mining cart.

Sliding down the hole with each of my hands clawing for grip against the sulphur-lined walls of the near-vertical tunnel, I let my feet guide me as they searched and scoured for footholds that would allow me to descend without a terrible fall. Once at the bottom, I switched to a crawling position and hauled myself through a tunnel that could only be accessed by dragging my chest along the bumpy rock-strewn floor. After about twenty metres of dragging myself through the darkness; the light from my helmet dancing across the rock walls in time with the shuffle of my crawl, we came out upon another clearing where several men were using drills and pick-axes to hack away at the rock; checking each extracted lump of rock for that all important glint which signified the presence of silver. One man approached me and asked for my bandanna which had attracted his attention since I had entered their workspace. The man had removed his top and was sweating profusely from working in the close, claustrophobic area that had become an oven due to it´s proximity to the heart of the mountain. Looking into his tired eyes, I got my first reality check about the hard lives that men endure down here and that they - and the mountain - should be treated with great respect for their efforts especially when those who enjoy the fruits of their hard labour often know nothing about what goes into getting that sparkling ring on their loved ones finger. Dust filled the air and I was only too happy to hand it over to him seeing as I would be back in the fresh air within the hour whereas their was no telling how long it would be before sunlight graced his face again: two hours? ten hours? twenty hours? Whatever the time frame it was clear to see who was in more need of the black and orange bandanna that hung around my neck. Relinquishing more DYNAMITE! and other presents, we retreated up the vertical tunnel until we were back on the tracks of the main highway. For the next 30 minutes we plodded through the darkness, hopping over the occasional hole in the floor which Diego called out for us to avoid and wading through sections which had been flooded by the water pumped into the mountain to facilitate certain mining techniques. The height of the tunnel thankfully increased during these sections but still required an awkward craning of the neck to be able to walk along while looking out for any dangers ahead such as the metal supports which had slipped down to present their rusty metal edges to the tunnel. Eventually we reached the final part of the tour as we came into a small cave that was a shrine to the mining god El Tio that all miners acknowledge as the guardian which protects them while they work in such dangerous environments. El Tio is "the uncle" or spirit guardian of the mountain and miners frequently come to his feet offering gifts and ritual items such as cigarettes, coca leaves, llama foetuses (yes you read correctly!) and bottles of alcohol; all of which could be seen strewn over the floor and his outstretched hands. A devilish looking character, the god of mining sat on his throne covered by party streamers and wore a sadistic black smile representing the coca leaves he seemed to have been chewing on since the mines were first excavated three hundred years ago. As we sat in the glow given off by the small lights which adorned our helmets, Diego talked to us about the necessity that brings men down these murderous mines and that to have the knowledge that someone or something is looking out for them is a hugely reassuring belief. Faith comes in many forms to help human beings cope with the struggles that life often presents them and it seemed that this clay god helped these men face those dark pits everyday in order to make a living for their families. I cannot say that I enjoyed the experience down those mines as seeing those men hack years off their lives with every blow of a pick axe was actually quite distressing but it was an eye opening couple of hours that taught me a lot and for that I am glad. As we turned away from the spirit of the mountain to leave him in his shrine of silent solitude, an enduring 15 minute walk led us out of the mine and it came as a great relief when we rounded a final corner to see the light at the end of the tunnel that marked the end of our time down the tragic mines of Potosi.

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