Potosi

We arrived in Potosi at about 10:30pm without having a hostel so the five us trapsed through the streets with our packs in search of one that Irina had noted as being ok. After an initial promise of 5 blocks from the bus station, it turned into about 45mins of walking around asking different people directions until we finally managed to find it. Thankfully they had rooms available (and even better, a private room for us) so we all collapsed into bed ready for our mine tour the next day.

Potosi hadn't been on our list of places to visit and upon waking up the next day we weren't surprised it hadn't been recommended to us. The others had all heard that the mining tour there was a must do, just for a memorable experience (not an enjoyable one). I was a bit hesitant after reading Lonely Planet's write up but after reading some more reviews on Trip Advisor we decided to take the plunge and do the tourist thing of visiting Cerro Rico ("rich hill") to see for ourselves the shocking conditions the miners of Potosi work in to get their share of silver. 

After the standard hostel jam and bread breakfast, our tour operator collected us by foot and we set off to her office. We then paid the equivalent of a few dollars for the tour, and we set off with our guide (the first ever female mine tour guide) to the miners markets where we purchased the miners gifts of juice and coca leaves. Next stop was the equipment fitting where we were given protective clothing, masks, helmets, gumboots and headlamps. It was freezing that day as they had had their first snow of the season on the mountain but they encouraged us to not wear too much under the protective clothing due to the high temperatures underground.

Upon entering the mines our smiles were very quickly wiped from our faces as we began to see the conditions of them. While the tunnels etc might not be that different to another mine, the shocking part was how everything was manual labour (apart from dynamite to blow up new passages). These guys would be lugging 40kg bags of rock on their backs up tiny ladders and we were huffing and puffing up them just carrying ourselves. Some of the trolleys would have 4 or 5 bags in them so that's 200kg that they are pushing for kilometers along rickety rails. Back breaking work to say the least - and then there are the fumes. After only 100m or so into the mines we were all coughing and spluttering with our masks on, while we saw only 2 guys in the whole mine wearing any kind of mask. Needless to say, the most deaths are caused by respiratory problems. 

There were many times when I wanted to run right outta there as I struggled for breath and crawled along narrow passageways. And then here were all these guys (some as young as 13) who were working in there for hours, days and years on end. They did however have two distractions down there. Girly photos and their god - the devil, who they pay their respects to every Friday night.

After about 2.5 hours underground I was very ready to get outside and get some fresh air. It was without a doubt the most sobering, depressing experience I've had, but one I will never forget. The saddest thing is, the miners are the best paid in the city of Potosi and they make about $10-$20 a day at most. And it's likely to eventually kill them. We did ask our guide why they don't open cast mine it and she said it was because they wanted to preserve the mountain. The scary part is though that they don't have any geologists coming in to check the state of the mines so there is no way to know how long until the whole thing just collapses in on itself as there are no regulations either, just individual miners who work for themselves all creating a network of tunnels inside the mountain. Someone likened it to Swiss cheese.

Having done the depressing tourist thing we were ready for something to lift our spirits (lucky for us). We wandered about enjoying the colonial buildings and found ourselves a warm spot for a huge lunch.

That is one enormous piece of steak under there... 

After a bit more wandering and a look around a museum where we saw this gem of a photo. Lost in translation perhaps? 

Finally we headed off to our bus to Sucre with the others. Not surprisingly we weren't too sad to say goodbye to Potosi, even if it is somewhere we will never forget.