Hi from Potosi, one of the world’s highest cities. We’re up above 4,000 meters here, which is pretty high, and I can definitely feel the altitude when I walk uphill.
Potosi is a colonial town with attractive architecture and quite a few sights and museums. But it’s known primarily for its mines. Once one of the world’s richest cities thanks to its silver deposits, today Potosi exists as a declining, struggling mining town that still has some echoes of its faded glory.
The not-so-local bus to Potosi
We arrived here early afternoon after a four-hour bus ride from Uyuni. Unlike the local bus we took from La Paz, this one was a private bus. Sure, it was freezing cold, like all buses in Bolivia, but it gave us door-to-door service from hotel to hotel. We wound through beautiful mountains and valleys across the altiplano, and even made a welcome bathroom stop halfway there, where we got to see more llamas. Sure, you lose something in terms of cultural experience when you don’t take local transport. On the other hand, the local buses from Uyuni to Potosi are not the most safe or reliable, so a little bit of creature comfort was appreciated.
Getting in around 1pm, we made a quick stop at the hotel to drop off our bags, and then headed to the local supermarket to pick up some snacks in lieu of lunch. Potosi is a pleasant-enough looking city, especially compared to the desolate Uyuni. But I’m really only here for one afternoon and night, so I won’t have much time to explore.
The streets were paved with silver
Potosi is known for two things: Its altitude, and its silver mines. Cerro Rico (“Rich Mountain”) towers over Potosi. It once had the world’s largest silver deposit, and has been continually since the 16th century. In Spanish colonial times, Potosi was one of the richest cities in the world. It is said that the streets were paved with silver. There’s still a mint museum here, from where coins were minted back in those days.
All that wealth came at a heavy price, though. The miners in the Spanish colonial days worked under terrible conditions. Thousands of indigenous people perished in the mines, and the Spanish also brought over upwards of thirty thousand slaves, who also suffered the same fate.
In today’s Bolivia, Cerro Rico is still being mined. The silver’s mostly gone, though it still comprises some 5% of the mineral content being extracted from the mines. The rest is primarily zinc, lead, and increasingly some rare earth metals. The mines are owned by local cooperatives, not international interests. But the working conditions haven’t improved by all that much. The miners still do back-breaking work in dangerous conditions, though at least now they work for themselves and get to call their own shots.
A tour of the silver mines
So, here’s the thing about the mine tours in Potosi: I really, really wasn’t going to go. The ethical implications alone of supporting the appalling working conditions in the mines gave me serious pause. Plus, the idea of spending an afternoon in similarly cramped, dusty and possibly dangerous conditions didn’t appeal to me much.
However, after talking to Sam and doing some further reading, I changed my mind. The tour we were on was run by a company consisting solely of former mine workers, and had top reviews in terms of both safety and interest level. I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced, but I decided that I should learn before I judge.
So I, along with most of my tourmates, headed over to the tour company’s office for a briefing. Then, we loaded onto a minibus similar to the ones the locals use, and we were driven to the tour company’s base, where we met our guide. Pedro worked the mines for over eight years, starting at the ridiculously young age of 10 right through until he was 18. Officially, nobody under 18 is allowed to work in the mines, but apparently that rule is poorly enforced. Anyway, he got out of the life, and today, he runs tours to educate people about the life of the Potosi mining community.
TNT (it’s dynamite)
We started off the tour at the miner’s market, the small cluster of stalls where the miners equip themselves with everything from equipment to food and drink. It’s actually possible to buy dynamite in Potosi simply by walking up to a market stall and handing over 15 bolivianos. Hey, what could possibly go wrong with that plan, right?
At the market, we were “encouraged” (read: told) to buy some gifts for the miners we would encounter on the tour. The suggested gifts were either a bottle of juice and a bag of coca leaves — miners chew on them all day long for the altitude but also to get energy and suppress their appetite while working — or else a stick of dynamite. Yes, really. I opted for the juice and coca leaves, though a couple of people on my tour actually purchased the dynamite. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if someone bought some and forgot it was in their bag, and then tried to go through security at the airport. Oops would be an understatement.
The finest in miner fashion
Then we were driven to the tour company’s base, where it was time to get dressed in our protective gear. Along with the rest of the group, I donned my oversized jacket, MC Hammer pants, ill-fitting rubber boots, helmet and headlamp, and a dust mask. I looked ridiculous, but then, so did everyone else, so it was fair game.
We had a few minutes of fun taking cheesy photos of ourselves in all that gear. Derek Zoolander, eat your heart out; we looked awesome.
Silver and lead and zinc, oh my!
Next, we were brought to a mineral processing plant, which is the next step after the minerals are extracted from the mines. There, we got to see the process by which the minerals are chemically and physically ground down, separated from the rocks around them, and rendered into a state in which they can then be sold to international companies.
The people we spoke to didn’t seem to particularly care where the minerals ended up — Europe, North America and China are heavy buyers, it seems. They just cared about the price per quantity. The work at the processing plant is dirty, smelly and dangerous, working with toxic chemicals all day. But it’s seen as steady work here.
High-ho, high-ho
Finally, it was time to visit the mines themselves. We loaded back into the minibus and entered the gates of Cerro Rico. There, we wound up and up and up, on makeshift rocky switchback roads that snaked the mountain.
We donned our face masks and headed into the small tunnel entrance to the mine. At this point, a couple of people in the group started feeling a bit claustrophobic and decided to turn back. I won’t lie; this part gave me pause — just breathing the air for an hour or so was probably not great for my health, even with the face mask I was wearing. But I forged on ahead, and I was glad I did, because the tour was extremely interesting.
We spent about an hour in the mine, walking through some of the outer tunnels. A few times we had to duck to avoid hitting our heads, or navigate through some tight spots, but Pedro didn’t take us very deep into the mines. My headlamp was being finicky at one point, and I was also having trouble walking on the rocky paths in my ill-fitting boots that kept slipping off my feet, but other than that, I didn’t have too many issues with the tight spaces. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.
The miners were still at work — yes, it’s a real working mine — so every time we passed someone dragging a heavy-as-heck wheelbarrow through the narrow corridors, Pedro would exchange greetings with him, and one of us would offer some of the gifts we bought at the market. They couldn’t really afford to take time out of their work to answer questions, since they’re paid only by the amount of mineral they extract. So we didn’t have much of a chance to chat with them, even in translation. But Pedro gave a ton of background information.
The mining system seems to work on a sort of free-for-all system, where anyone with apprenticeship experience or family history can start working in the mines. There are no mining engineers or planners here; it’s all haphazard, based on years of experience and knowledge passed down through generations. There are over 180 different tunnel entrances that are actively being mined today, plus countless other abandoned, flooded or caved-in ones. The miners blast dynamite and dig tunnels by feel, which is a system I can’t help but think is doomed to catastrophe. Though they firmly believe they know better than any outside experts.
Despite their nominal membership in the mining cooperative, the miners all seem to work as independent agents, being paid by the amount of mineral they extract. The rule is, you can dig where you want, and any mineral deposits you discover are yours. Most of the miners in Potosi earn a modest living, perhaps getting by better than some people with other jobs in this region, but just barely. They all dream of the day when they will strike it rich by discovering the next big silver deposit. Every miner has a story to tell about someone who made it big, with a fancy house, two cars, and furniture from IKEA. (Apparently that’s the gold standard — or should I say silver standard — around these parts). Never mind that striking it rich as a miner is about as rare as winning the lottery; the miners live in hope.
Pedro explained the miner culture a bit, which is probably similar to those in other mining towns around the world: Machismo, jokes, profanity, and never, ever giving into negative thinking. They’re rather superstitious, so they erect shrines to El Tio, the local god of the underworld, who is said to protect miners from accidents and misfortune. But, rather than pray, they drink, smoke and joke with El Tio, paying homage in a time-honoured tradition. The miners know that their life expectancy is shockingly short — many die at age 40 or even earlier of lung disease, and there’s a constant risk of accident or catastrophe. It’s a knowledge that lies under the surface all the time, but they can’t afford to give into it. So they drink too much, smoke too much, and chew coca leaves to get by.
But the miners here are proud. Sure, they bristle about how the Bolivian government ignores them, since they believe that they’re paying taxes and receiving next to no services in return. But they don’t want pity or sympathy. They believe the job they’re doing is honourable and they demand — and receive — a ton of respect. Pedro explained, with an edge of anger, that the negative press that the Potosi mines have received is really resented by the locals here. He talked about a National Geographic journalist and photographer who refused to take photos of the homes of the rich miners, and only wanted to take photos of those who were poor or struggling. Of course, there are three sides to every story, and Pedro’s relentless optimism was probably driven as much by pride as by the needs of his tourism business. But he does have a point.
Once we exited the mine, we took a group photo in all our gear at a lookout over the city, and then headed down to the office to change. We were all covered in dust, even after only an hour inside the tunnels. After shedding our protective gear, we thanked and paid Pedro, and went back to town on the minibus, singing along to 80s music.
What lies ahead for Potosi?
Nobody knows for sure how much longer the mineral deposits in Cerro Rico will last. Some say two years, some say five or ten, or twenty, or fifty. It’s impossible to say. There are other hills around Cerro Rico, which are also thought to have mineral deposits, but they haven’t been touched yet; the local miners believe that they need to be preserved for future generations.
Realistically, Potosi’s days are probably numbered. Unless it invests heavily in other industries, it is liable to turn into a ghost town like other formerly rich mining towns around the world. There’s not much else here; there are shops and some tourism, but it’s mostly around mining. The kids learn mining in school, and some even work there. The faded glory of Potosi’s storied past bears little in common with its present-day reality. But, people here hang on, believing that the riches that have provided for them for the past 500 years will continue to do so well into the future.
All in all, I have mixed feelings about visiting the mine. It was interesting and eye-opening, though I’m still not sure it was the responsible tourist thing to do. I’d say if you’re thinking about it, do some reading, and then decide for yourself.
Cold showers and colder nights
We headed back to the hotel to shower and change. Unfortunately, my room only had cold water, which is not unusual for Bolivia but was a bit ill-timed considering how dirty I was after the mine tour. I washed my face and changed my clothes, and headed out with the group for dinner near the main square.
The restaurant we ate at was a bit of an overpriced tourist trap, with next to no veggie options on the menu. Hey, last night’s pizza place was awesome, but you can’t win ’em all, right? After eating half a bowl of quinoa soup that cost more than most of my meals so far in Bolivia, I was feeling a bit tired and my stomach was bothering me a bit. I decided to head back to the hotel.
There, I tried to ask at the front desk about the hot water, since most of my tourmates seemed to have it in their rooms. I ran into a bit of a Spanish language barrier with the front desk guy, who kept insisting that the water was “working fine”. Finally I gave up. I took a cold-to-lukewarm shower — exactly what you want when it’s minus-five outside and even colder in the room — and curled up under the blankets to get some sleep.
Onto Sucre tomorrow. More soon!