Potosi is one of the highest cities in the world, located at 4,100m. It looks a little worn-down and if it wasn't for the many churches and the occasional building showing remains of old splendor, one might not realize that back in the 16th century, Potosi was one of the most important cities in South America. At its peak it was also the largest city in America - all because of silver. So much silver came out of the city that it made up around 60% of all the silver mined globally during the second half of the 16th century. The mountain out of which the silver came - Cerro Rico - still looms over the city today, and while the silver-rich days are gone, the city is still very much defined by it. The whole Spanish Empire was basically financed by Cerro Rico, and this exploitation came at a price: millions of natives were worked to death in the mountain. To compensate for the diminishing indigenous labor force, the Spanish then shipped thousands of African slaves to Potosi. Today Potosi is home to around 200,000 people, many of whom still work in the mines, including children.
We traveled to Potosi by bus, on a highway so new that our guidebooks did not even mention it. We had departed in the afternoon in Uyuni, and while the bus seats were anything but comfortable, the road was in superb condition and we were rewarded with a glorious sunset illuminating the mountains at the horizon:
It was already late when we arrived in Potosi and strolled through the streets for a while with our backpacks to find a decent place to stay. We chose the "Hostal Colonial", which was conveniently located, and bargained down the price to an agreeable level. All rooms led to a pretty central courtyard, but we had had no eyes for the architectural treat, since we had just arrived after our tour through Uyuni and were rather keen to take our first shower in days. Is there anything better than that first hot water after a couple of days of being crammed in a jeep? The sounds which came from the bathroom suggest no.
Cookies, Lemonade, Dynamite
Mining activities in Potosi date back to the 16th century and by now, Cerro Rico - nicknamed "the mountain that eats men" - is more like a Swiss cheese. Some 600 mine entries lead into the mountain, and some 100km of mining shafts lead through it, although nobody really knows for sure. Parts of the upper parts have already collapsed in itself and a study from 2012 says that further areas of the mountain have a "high risk of collapse". Our visit was four years after that article, and the situation has not exactly improved. The tour into the mountain was one of the most humbling experiences any of us has had.
When we went to one of the companies doing tours through the mine, we only had a rough idea what would expect us. Even after putting on the funky safety gear, it kind of seemed detached from reality - real but not really real. At least that is what I read in our faces on the group photo we took before we went up the mountain.
The government was involved in the mining industry in Potosi until the 1980s when it not deemed it profitable anymore. They handed the mining rights to so-called cooperative mines, groups of independent miners working away in the shafts in the hope to strike it rich. Obviously, most never do.
We drove first to the miners' market, where we stacked up with presents for the men in the mine: Lemonade, cookies, coca leaves, alcohol. Apart from gloves and other working equipment, they also sell dynamite right in the shop, which we passed around - you are just very aware what you are holding when it's in your hands. Our guide demonstrated the somewhat unhealthy diet which brings the miners through their day: They fill their cheeks with coca leaves, which makes them look like the hardest chipmunks on earth. They combine this by chewing on pieces of chalk, initiating a chemical process which helps to dissolve the alkaloids into the saliva. The coca acts as a stimulant and suppresses hunger, thirst, pain, and fatigue, which must all be very common symptoms down in the mine..
Whatever remains of the pain and fatigue is then washed down with 96% proof alcohol (!), which I only dared to smell at. Guessing by the smell it must be great to get paint off a wall, the very idea of drinking the stuff made me gag a little. Once they are through with that little ritual, the miners go down the shafts, where they work in the dusty air filled with hazardous gases, stuffing dynamite in an increasingly unstable mountain - What could possibly go wrong?
Our guide showing off the goods: coca, alcohol, dynamite
We drove to the mountain and walked up the path that lead us to an area with a lot of worn-down shacks, piles of rubble and various mine entries. The mountain looks wounded, torn by centuries of mining, but the view over the city is actually quite nice from there.
Going underground
We got closer to the entrance, around which the wall had brown-red stains. Llama blood, as we learned - an offering to Pachamama (Mother Earth). The miners might be catholic in the outside world, but in the mountain, a different set of beliefs is in place.
We felt obviously super-safe thanks to this colorful safety measure, which had been splattered generously on the surrounding buildings, when we peered down into what would be our entrance into Cerro Rico:
Wading through the water into the darkness, our guide warned us to stay clear off the tracks when she would give us a signal: Since it is an active mine, miners would occasionally come running with their heavy mine carts. They have no brakes and fully filled they are not easy to stop. A few minutes in and turning left and right at various cross-roads, we were all completely disoriented. The air, already quite thin due to the altitude level, got even thinner with every step and the dust made it even harder to breath through our masks. The first miners we met were pushing a big mining car filled with rubble through the tunnel. I was out of breath from just walking, slow-paced and crouched over.
Given the working conditions and the before-mentioned coca-alcohol-dynamite combination, it is not surprising that the life expectancy of the miners is barely 40. Silicosis is very common after a few years in the mine, and accidents and gas leaks are fairly frequent, too. The miners are under no illusions. They are fully aware that their lives will in all likeliness be short. But they are also a proud people. They work hard to support their families - and the last thing they want is pity. Cheeks filled with coca, they happily accepted some lemonade and coca leaves though.
A long walk through the shafts later, we met El Tío. There are a number of those devil-ish statues underground, and miners bring gifts (cigarettes, alcohol, coca leaves, and the occasional baby llama) to ensure they will hit a rich silver vein and maybe more importantly, make it out of the mountain alive.
Sitting with El Tió in the dark chamber, while our guide explained the customs of the miners, was a fascinating, but also eerie experience. After our meeting with the devil, we walked further down the mountain, occasionally hearing the muffled detonation of dynamite being set off somewhere else in the mountain.
I doubt that even on the loneliest island one could feel more remote from the rest of the world. It's dark and the temperature rises with every step. Your ears are filled with your own heavy breathing and your quickening heartbeat. In many moments you consciously have to think of something else and definitely not about the inconceivable mass of the unstable mountain above your head. Every few steps, one of us would hit the tunnel ceiling with a loud CLONK, and we all agreed later that without the helmets we would have never gotten out of the mine unharmed. The tunnels were often supported with damaged wooden props and beams, many of which seemed to date back to colonial times. Other spots made it necessary to crouch, crawl, or climb. Any of these actions would cause you to try and inhale more air, but it never feels like you are getting enough. In some spots it was so bad that we removed our masks and bandanna from our mouths and noses in the hope to capture a couple more oxygen molecules together with the dust.
I will go into the ethical questions at the end, because visiting the mines sure poses some. But to cover the physical side: If you are asthmatic or claustrophobic, definitely don't go in. It is physically and mentally demanding - and I am saying that in full awareness that we were mere visitors for a few hours.
Here are some more shots to try to convey the atmosphere of being inside the mine:
The moral questions of Potosi
Going inside the mine and visiting the miners comes with a number of ethical questions. In the evening of the day we had entered the mine, we were sitting in a restaurant and were discussing the tour over a steak and a couple of beers. Even the very setting seemed inappropriate and privileged all of a sudden. Many of the miners enter the mountain in the middle of the night as the night winds apparently bring some sort of ventilation down the shafts. So we knew they would begin their 16 hour shifts in a few hours already. Fully dependent on the market value of the raw materials (which plummeted in the 1980s and 90s, putting additional pressure on Potosi), they get only paid for the actual production of the day. It took a while to process the experience, as is also evident in our faces pre- and post-mine:
Is the mine tour like a human zoo? - Is tourism benefiting Potosi or not? - These questions rang in my head a few times, but I decided that it all depends on the mindset with which one takes the tour and deals with the people there. This is not a tourist attraction, but an active mine. You can read about the harsh conditions all you want, but spending a few hours in the darkness, breathing the dusty air and squeezing through the narrow tunnels is a completely different story. It certainly has an effect on how one perceives certain things. Whatever device you are reading this text on now, the metals and rare earths in that laptop or smartphone came from some mine, somewhere. They have been dug out by someone, somewhere, who just happens to be born into a time and location which doesn't leave many other options.
The cooperatives operate on a low margin and the owners feel little need to invest in tunnel improvements. Everybody knows that the whole mountain is on the verge of collapse. Yet the government has failed in its attempts to relocate mine workers. As long as the depleted depths of Cerro Rico still offer a meager income, the miners will not abandon their mountain. One could argue that by paying for a visit and buying actual dynamite as presents, one also finances the continuous mining activities . On the other hand, tourism might also offer new ways to the people of the city.
There are no easy answers in a place like Potosi.
Yes, the mines have no appropriate safety measures whatsoever, no inspectors, no modern oxygen supply, no means to get the ore out of the depth except by pushing the carts through the dusty thin air. But what options do the inhabitants have when the mountain offers the only means of providing a more or less steady income for thousands of people?
Yes, there are a children working in the mine, which is a horrifying idea (just watch this clip from "The Devil's Miner"). But after the oftentimes early death of their father, the money has to come from somewhere. There is a "Union of Child Laborers" in Bolivia, which actually campaigned to have the legal working age reduced from 12 to 10. Why? Because they say that work isn't the problem, but exploitation and unregulated jobs are. The legislation was passed in 2015.
[For a German text on Potosi, see Chris' blog post on our trip to the city.]