Wednesday, October 21, 1998

Last night may have been the worst of my days as a traveller. After arriving in Potosi, I started feeling a bit bloated. I decided to get to sleep early. Around midnight, I awoke with horrible stomach pains -- a trip to the bathroom was not at all pleasant. I made love to the Porcelian Goddess every single hour thereafter all night long... Events culminated at 6:30AM when I finally got rid of the bloated feeling by expelling it from the other end. I was sick.

My roommate, a guy from Stanford University named Erik, was quite cool about the constant traffic throughout the night. After the 6am disaster, I was in no shape to take the tour I had booked for the day. I gallantly went out and got a very large bottle of water and a bottle of Sprite, and got back in bed. A quick check of my invaluable medical guidebook provided the necessary advice: Ciprofloxin, an antibiotic, to kill the E. Coli bacteria and large quantities of Immodium AD. Thanks to my excellent third world travel doctor, I happened to have a full supply of both in my medical kit -- it was the first time I've ever used any of the medications I carry.

The entire day I simply slept, drank large quantities of liquid, and tried to recover my strength. By nighttime, I was feeling quite a bit better and had the runny poo under complete control. Chalk one up to good medicines!

Thursday, October 22, 1998

After yesterday, I was quite relieved to have my stomach under control. I left the hotel around 8:30 for a tour of the silver mines of Potosi. I decided to take a few more of the Immodium, as I was quite sure that the mines wouldn't come complete with a functioning toilet...

At the tour agency, Koala Tours, I was assigned an English speaking guide and 6 other tourists. We headed off in a small van for the tour. Our first stop was the "supply room" where we were each assigned rubber boots, a hard hat, and a rain jacket. The guide, obviously impressed with my height, decided I needed size 52 boots which were about 6 sizes too big... I traded them in while he wasn't looking -- no need to ruin my image.

Then we walked to the "miner's market." These are basically small stores selling pick axe handles, gloves, hard hats, dynamite, detonators, and ammonium nitrate. Yep, Dynamite, Detonators, and Ammonium Nitrate. All for sale to the general public. For fun, I decided to buy some. A complete set up cost about $1.50. This is exactly the same stuff used to blow up the Federal Building in Oklahoma City a few years ago. We were also encouraged to purchase some coca leaves, drinks, and cigarettes for the miners we'd be visiting. I silently protested the cigarettes, but managed to purchase the other stuff in a moderate quantity.

Then, back in the van and off to the mines. The mines date back to colonial times, circa 1550. The Spanish Conquistadors discovered the largest silver mine in the world in these mountains and enslaved many, many locals to work them. It is said that the ore was so rich that pure silver could run 2 meters wide and hundreds of meters deep in one vein. Now, the mines are leased by "cooperatives," which are basically groups of 15-80 miners who ban together to get some of the ore out. These days, only a small amount of silver is left, making up about 1% of the ore extracted. Zinc makes up 15% of the ore and Lead is another 2%. The miners are paid about 500 Bolivianos ($90) for each 1,000 kilograms of ore extracted.

While examining the surroundings, the guide took my dynamite, unravelled it from the paper, shaped it into a ball, placed the ball in the middle of the bag of ammonium nitrate, inserted the detonator, and lit the three minute fuse. He ran up a small hill about 50 meters away, placed the package near some large rocks, and then casually walked back, reaching us just about the same time the dynamite exploded. This was NOT a firecracker type experience. The shock wave was almost painful and the noise was deafening. A close inspection of the resulting crater revealed a dent in the Earth's surface almost half a meter deep. I was impressed.

Forming the explosive, Setting the Charge

We entered the mine shortly thereafter. After a fairly easy 500m walk directly into the heart of the mountain, we descended a very slippery and dangerous ladder almost 50 meters to the "third level". At this level, ore from below is transported via large wagons on railroad tracks and then hauled by hand up to the main entrance where it is removed. These wagons would rumble around the corners unexpectedly, always with 2-4 men trying desperately to either speed them up or slow them down.

I've never been claustrophobic. In fact, I can't really think of any phobias that I have. But, in that tight mine where you have to crawl on hands and knees (especially at my height) for hundreds of meters, I began to feel a little tightness in my heart. Combine the small spaces with the stale air (there are NO ventilation tunnels), the heat of almost 30 degrees C (86 F) from geothermal sources, the pervasive dust, the smell of Arsenic, and the occasional loud concussive sound of dynamite going off elsewhere in the mine. I began to panic and had to try to breathe deeply for almost a minute to regain control.

Crawling through the mines...

After another 700m straight into the heart of the mountain, most of it on our hands and knees, we descended to the fourth level, about 60 more meters below the third level. Here, we watched the actual extraction process. Several miners from one collective chiseled and hammered at the sides of the walls, just as their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. Others shoveled the material into bags. Others at level three hauled the ore up 60 meters to level 3. Others at level three transported the wagonful of ore to another chute where it is hauled up to the main level and out to the real world. It was fascinating.

Chiseling Away, The 60 meter chute to the higher level, Raw Ore

One very interesting thing to note is that most of the workers die within 10 years of entering the mines. Not only do they die from the extreme conditions of heat and cave-ins, but they die en masse due to silicosis pneumonia from the small heavy metal particles in the air that they breathe constantly. Still, their wage of approximately 1100 Bolivianos a month (about $200) is about three times what they could make anywhere else in the vicinity of Potosi. The Spanish are no longer exploiting the locals, but the pitiful economic conditions in Bolivia do just as good a job.

After watching the miners for quite some time, it was time to leave. Good enough for me! Only problem is that we had to go back the same way we got in. It took almost an hour to get out, and by the time I reached the fresh air and light, I had had quite enough of the mines. A wagon of ore rumbled by just as we exited the mines -- just a few Bolivianos effort for one of the 7,000 miners working the mountain.

Back at the hotel, I showered, tried unsuccessfully to wash my pants, and took a nap. I met a few of the people from the tour out for dinner and beer, though I had to refrain from drinking due to my antibiotic regiment. All of them told me about their excellent experiences in the Salt Deserts of Uyuni, my next destination...