Potosí, Bolivia sits at 13,400 feet above sea level. That’s what I’m talking about.
A nice (and crazy polluted) little colonial city in southern Bolivia, it is one of the highest in the world! Despite the diamox, I certainly felt it when schlepping my backpack up the big hill from the bus terminal to the hostel, shortly after my nice prescription sunglasses got stolen. Sadness.
It’s renowned for Cerro Rico, a mine that’s been active for nearly 500 years, producing a legendary amount of silver, and is notorious for being a man-eater, with up to 8 million slaves and workers estimated to have died working here! The silver here helped make Potosí one of the largest and richest cities in (and the envy of) the world at one point.
What it isn’t renowned for, understandbly so, are its professional soccer teams and whatever industrial chemicals they use to launder clothes; I learned this the hard way on my first full day in the city.
I dropped off nearly every piece of clothing I have at a “limpieza” place and got everything back 7 hours later smelling of some harsh chemical (and it was surprisingly expensive to get this done in the poorest/cheapest country in South America, at 50 Bs/7 USD for a load, when I paid about 4 in Buenos Aires).
An hour later, I hit the local stadium for some Bolivian 1st division action between Real Potosí and San José. Suffice it to say that I left the Bolivian league action early (rare happening), missed the game-winning goal, and don’t feel bad about it because:
a) it was freezing
b) they don’t serve beer
c) the level of play was rough, to say the least.
It was a cultural experience and something to do on a slow Wednesday night for only 20 Bs (just over 3 USD), so I’m glad I checked it out. Besides, that’s soccer at 13,400 feet! Even if it was sloppy with errant passes, insane dives, and easy chances missed, those dudes still ran for 90 minutes more than I did at that crazy elevation. Props.
I will note that it was a little sad to see only children and elderly people handle concessions, going up and down stairs hawking their popcorn, potato chips, and linaza for a couple of hours, mostly without success. Plus, the fact that they were selling thin pieces of styrofoam board (in a plastic bag, to boot!) as seat cushions made me cringe and provided insight into why Bolivia is so damn dirty and polluted. Plastic bags for everything, which end up everywhere the wind takes them after they’re inevitably discarded anywhere but a trash can.
The next day, I went on an eye-opening tour of the famed mines of Cerro Rico, about a 20 minute uphill drive from Potosí. It was an experience I will never forget.
Our guide, Sol from Silver Mines tours (70 Bs, plus a 20 Bs tip), was very familiar with the mine shaft we were visiting (Rosario, at 4303 meters above sea level) and knew pretty much everyone inside, as well as five languages.
It’s every man for themselves in there; there’s no big mining corporation overseeing it all and paying/insuring workers. Miners work in Co-ops, committing 20% of any earnings to that group for basic benefits (like oxygen in the mine, mining carts, and tracks). The rest, including tools, dinamyte, safety equipment, and food is all on them, which is why we, along with most of the tours that go to the mine, took coca leaves, quinoa ashes, soda, Ceibo, and juice to provide them.
Chewing coca leaves with bits of quinoa ashes is said to provide energy and ward off hunger, two much-needed effects when you’re working what can be up to a 14 hour shift in precarious conditions.
It’s brutal down there. The mine rapidly went from cold to hot the deeper you got into it and the varying heights of the mine meant much crouching, some crawling and sliding, and damning the place each of the five times I crushed my hard hat into low rock or beams (but being thankful I had one on).
Needless to say, these guys work their asses off for insanely low pay. The youngest workers, sometimes as young as 14-years-old, push up to 15 full carts (1-1.5 tons each!) from whereever they are mining to the entrance, each shift. For 100 bolivianos (about 15 USD per day). It was a good reminder that no matter what, I have it very good in the US.
The particles floating in the air (silica and lead are found here, so…not great) brought on a cough that Sol said miners handle with Ceibo. Of course, I had to try a sip and it tastes just like you would expect: rouuugh, but it did help clear my throat when we stopped to meet el Tio, the lord of the underground, whom miners make offerings to for good luck and safety. His name is Jorge, too, for what its worth.
Two and a half hours after entering through a mine shaft that was started in 1651, the three of us on the tour inched towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Few words were exchanged after exiting; the experience had everyone deep in thought, reflecting upon what we’d seen.
Just before we were dropped off in the middle of town 45 minutes later, Sol lamented that we were leaving so soon (my plan was to leave for Sucre the next day, after checking out Casa de la Moneda, a place rich in history, which was another highlight of my time in Potosí), as there was a big, annual party at the mines two days later, which was one of the few Saturdays of the year miners don’t work (usually a 6-day workweek).
I asked her more about it and, since I’m not one to pass up unique opportunities to engage with locals and partake in their parties, I decided to extend my stay (and use that time to see a dentist – for just 150 bolivianos/22 USD! – as it’d been 6 months since my last cleaning) in Potosí so that I could experience a local tradition that goes back many years: the Fiesta del Espíritu, which ended up being one of the best decisions I’ve made on this trip.
Te amo! Quiero mi libro!