Dynamite and tear gas

16 year old miner
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Potosi. Where to start. Well actually we started quite gently, Potosi being the world´s highest city, at 4070m above sea level… no altitude sickness per se, but much breathlessness as we wandered the sunny streets, relazing in the plaza, freshly squeezed orange juices in hand. The afternoon took us to ´Bolivia´s best museum,´ which we thought would be a brief visit, but turned into an hour and a half long tour / performance by a linguistically challenged nutter called Julio. Translating his madcap monologue for the benefit of the one English speaker on the tour kept us on our toes, as his train of thought flitted from Elton John´s appearance in Potosi, to coins minted in “WINIPEGMANITOBACANADA,” and finally voicing his doubts that we were from London, and not “angeles, falled from the esky.” The main reason people come to Potosi is to visit the mines there. Five hundred years ago mining wealth meant Potosi was one of the richest cities in the world, and the most populous… hard to believe if you visit it today. Although much depleted, mining is still the main occupation in the town, and children as young as 10 follow their fathers down into the mines, working all day in temperatures varying between below freezing and forty degrees plus, in dangerous conditions and with little oxygen. They chew coca leaves constantly to suppress their appetite, and the solitary work and absence of natural light leaves many socially inept and scared of the outside world. Our tour was run by former miners, and we met early in the morning, visiting places related to the industry first, before donning sexy protective clothing, hankies to breath through, wellies, helmets and (rather dim) headtorches ready for the mines themselves. We'd visited the nearby miner's market beforehand, where we stocked up on gifts for the miners we were to meet down the tunnels... The best things to buy them are dynamite (not at all dangerous, until put with a bag of a chemical i've forgotten the name of, and a fuse), water or fizzy drinks (as it is boiling hot down there), and coca leaves. You can also buy them singani, a weak (40%!) grape liquor, or the real deal... a NINETY SIX PERCENT proof liquid, labelled 'drinkable alcohol' (incase you were doubtful that it was fit for human consumption), which we were forced to sample (along with solidified PLANT ashes) as a superstitious precaution before entering the mines. The fact that it was the ´sweet´variety, made from sugar cane, and that we spilt more than the required amount on the ground as an offering to Pachamama (mother earth) did not make it taste any less like paint stripper. We spent almost 2h in total down the mines, and it was absolutely fascinating. A bit taxing though when we had to crawl /crouch /climb /slide through narrow little passages, with all sorts of smells and the noises of explosions going on above our heads! We stopped for a while at one point to chat to a 16 year old miner, who looked at least 30, and was clearly suffering from the miners´ 'solitude sickness;' he wouldn't look us in the face, slurred his speech, etc. Really shocking and depressing. We kept being reassured that all the miners work there out of choice, spurred on by overnight millionaire stories of miners who strike lucky. It's very competitive, and miners found working in other miner's spots simply 'disappear.'  After coming up (quite frantic, as around the entrance to the mine you constantly have to jump out of  the way of wagons rushing in all directions), our guide proudly put on a 'demonstration explosion' about 20m away from us, nonchalantly lighting the DYNAMITE with a CIGARETTE in his MOUTH. We did actually have lots of pictures of these exploits, but following a little incident in an internet cafe, we have lost them... ALL. Very irritating but let's face it, worse has happened to travellers. Before leaving Potosi, we took in other sights, such as Mirador, which basically means climbing to the top of the theatre on the main square, and inching around a 30cm wide ledge around a dome, which has lovely views of the city, a convent museum, which is "a must for flagellation fans" (yep - our guide certainly was one), and the childish delights of the FAIRGROUND.

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Not to be missed out however, is our last night in Potosi. THE TEAR GASSING. There we were, just tucking into a lemon meringue pie in a cute little cafe off the plaza, oblivious to the extent of the university student RIOTS that were taking place just round the corner, when we notice a little itching sensation around the mouth... the nose... the lungs... the eyes... and before we know it everyone´s coughing and choking and running out the back, tears streaming down their faces. Our first experience of Bolivian democracy in action. Rebecca HEROICALLY (her words here guys) sprrrinted back into the cafe, bravery overcoming the NOXIOUS FUMES still SWIRLING in the building, in order to rescue the handbag that Laura had FOOLISHLY left on display, to save it from the looters and plunderers we were sure were roaming the streets. Laura is of course much indebted (perhaps this cancels out the THOUSAND odd Bolivianos Rebecca still owes her post wallet loss incident? No?). We sheltered there for 1/4 hour before braving the fray, searching for another place to eat that night, but bumping into crowds of angry students and policemen at every corner! When we eventually made it home to our guesthouse that night, and told our Argentine friends of our dangerous exploits, they were totally unfazed... clearly tear gassing is standard procedure here. This left us a little bit deflated... but the next day, more inexplicable street fun was to be had. Calmly wandering the sunny streets, in search of that flagellation museo, we happen upon what appears to be a carnaval, made up solely of 10 year old boys... dressed up as bees, clowns, grim reapers, cavemen, Greeks, and others, simply clad in newspapers. This was a good couple of kilometers long, and snaked its way through all the little sidestreets, alleys and squares, accompanied by about 4 different full marching bands (Bolivian style) at varying tempos, melodies and talents. We finally were given the explanation that this was the "one hundred three hundred year" anniversary of a local boys school... what's not to understand?

Beebs going down a mine shaft
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The quirky diversions of Potosi left us reluctant to leave, but we were headed next for Sucre, the chocolate capital of South America. Naturally, we had high expectations...