Jul 2008

Sucre was a lovely town with whitewashed walls, beautiful architecture, and winding cobblestone streets, although I didn't find much to do there. Mostly read in the plaza.
I've been surprised at my pace of travel thus far. I believed I'd take more time at each stop, but have, instead, been moving every 3 days or so. This is the sort of travelling I was reared on with my family. Break-neck, sun-up to sun-down activity. I feel it's good for my mind and spirit - I feel a renewed confidence in my ability to anticipate my needs/wants and to deliver. Maybe it's the sleeping pills.
Elections for the new governor of Sucre province took place while I was there. The province banned alcohol consumption for two days because of Bolivians' drink-till-you-fight/drop habits. This perturbed the Irish and English at my hostel.
Took a bus to nearby Potosi the next day - at 4060 meters the highest city in the world. Potosi was established by the Spanish in the 16th century because of the rich silver deposits contained in the nearby "cerro rico" or "rich mountain." Thus began hundreds of years of mining misery. The Spanish shipped in African slaves and natives from other territories by the millions to work the mines. The miners were usually forced to work for 20 hours at a time until they died of starvation, exhaustion, disease, or any other number of possible dangers. It's estimated 8 million people have died in the mines - earning it the nickname "the mountain that eats men alive." Potosi was once larger and richer than London or Paris at its' time, but most of the mineral wealth has now been exploited. Nevertheless, Bolivians still work the mines in organized cooperatives that are able to set wages, hours, etc. But the conditions are still appalling. Average life expectancy of a miner is 10-years once he steps foot in the shafts. Silicosis pneumonia kills most, a kind of miners' lung. Others are crushed or blown apart in dynamite accidents/fights. I wanted to see them - found a company that offered cheap tours and signed up. Not sure why I want to see something as awful as this - maybe that bloodlust part of me or a part that wants to remind myself of how lucky I have it in life.
First, we were given jumpsuits and boots then taken to the miners' market to buy coca leaves, soda, and dynamite as gifts for the miners. The guide loved demonstrating how safe the dynamite was by throwing it on the floor. We made our way to the mine entrance that was stained black with sacrificial llama blood. Miners' pay homage to a devil-god called "tio" because of their proximity to hell when deep in the mine. They tribute him with cigarettes, blood, coca leaves, and 96% alcohol that they also imbibe.
The mine was a nightmare of cramped tunnels, mud, and dust. The walls quivered with the dull explosions of dynamite as we descended to the third level. There we met some coughing, dreary-eyed miners shoveling rubble into a winch system. Back-breaking, mindless work. They joked about the gringos paying money to come down here, I felt ridiculous.

Most of the miners are here because there is no other work to be found or because mine companies ask no questions about their workers' origins. Many are proud of their jobs and many are not.
By the time we made it back out everyone was gasping for air because of the dust and altitude. My throat and lungs burned and I was incredibly thankful I was not a miner. Before we could head back the guides wanted to show us one last thing. The little Bolivian man broke apart the dynamite stick, put it in a plastic bag and pured in some ammonium nitrate to make it more powerful. He lit the fuse and passed the bomb around so everyone could get pictures with it. I declined and gained some distance from the group. I trust no one - including myself - with explosives. He dashed down the hill and hastily buried the package, awkwardly ascended, and waited a minute. The explosion was more felt than heard, although the sound was deafening. Now I know.
I went back to the hostel and tried to wash the accumulated filth off, no luck though, still stink of the place. Tomorrow I go back to La Paz on my way to Peru.