I've just witnessed the hardest job in the world.
No, not the chef catering for the Royal Wedding - a bunch of miners in Potosi, southern Bolivia.
I'll get on to the mining later, but first I will recount the journey from Cochabamba down to Potosi. I luckily got the last seat on the only cama bus that goes between the two cities - cama being a reclining seat that is supposed to give you a fighting chance of getting some sleep.
Fat chance on this cama bus though. I should have sensed something when I saw all the locals (ie, everyone except me) wrapped up in blankets and hats before we'd even pulled out of the terminal.
Within an hour of setting off I was frozen to the core. I pulled on my alpaca wool socks and had four layers on top, plus hat, but was still freezing. My final rescue act was to feebly try and cover myself with my small, thin travel towel. No good.
So that was a shit journey if ever there was one.
Luckily the city I arrived in was a lot more pleasant. Ignoring the 'fake' policeman at Potosi's new starship-like terminal who wanted to give me a lift into town (hmm, nice try) I got into a proper cab and got dropped off at a hostal.
No room at the inn unfortunately, so I set about wandering off through town like the archetypal backpacker: guidebook in hand, lost expression on face, tired eyes.
I eventually found a place with a room for about a tenner. The room smelled of damp, the towel was stained, there was no soap, etc. Just what you want to find after a terrible night's sleep on The World's Coldest Bus.
Being the stickler that I am, I went back to reception and got another room. No damp, clean towel, still no soap - but I could just about manage that. The one added extra it did have was some sort of gargoyle living in the ceiling.
At what sounded like an inch above my ceiling was the strangest rustling sound. Like an animal was trying to make a bed in a sheet of tarpaulin, but was a fidgety bastard.
I asked reception what was living up there, as I found it slightly unnerving, but they feigned ignorance. I can't be the only person to have stayed in Room 7 and noticed a loud animal sound. You could hardly miss it.
Whatever it was will remain a mystery, and besides - I had better things to do than listen to him all night. I went and had a wander.
Potosi is a pretty little city - at similar altitude to La Paz but much more manageable on foot. It's a UNESCO World Heritage site, and there are lots of striking buildings. Like the cathedral on the Plaza 10 De Noviembre:
And you can't miss the mountain that looms over the city, and which provides jobs for many of its inhabitants (again, more later):
What it also has is a bar that's more suited to me than any other in South America. It's called The Offside Bar and is run by a doddery little old man who is obsessed with football.
I walked in to find all the walls plastered with kits and photos from various teams across the globe - from Real Madrid to Chelsea, Boca Juniors to Real Potosi. And there was football on TV, of course.
Apart from me and doddery old man, there were 10 or so blokes in their forties and fifties sitting at the tables, all chewing coca leaves and drinking something that looked like gin and bitter lemon.
After a drink there, I had a pizza and then wandered back to the hostel. On the way I passed through the Plaza and saw hundreds of soldiers lined up on all four sides of the square in perfect lines, guns in precise position:
The amount of army parading I am seeing in Bolivia is almost comical now. Rarely does a day go by without seeing the green uniforms lining up to do some sort of parade or other.
I think they've been defeated in so many wars, and feel so persecuted by their Chilean neighbours - in particular - that these parades act as some sort of defiant release valve. I feel sorry for them, in a way.
With that bizarre sight occupying my thoughts, I went to bed - so tired that I slept through Animal upstairs doing his thing.
This morning my alarm rang at 5.45am. It was Royal Wedding day, and despite not being a Royalist - I couldn't resist checking in on my old friend London. And very good it looked too. All Union Jacks and familiar streets.
My viewing experience was with CNN, now co-anchored by Piers Morgan - who seemed to be having several orgasms in the commentary box as the morning progressed.
First, Kate Middleton LEAVES THE HOTEL. Piers can hardly contain himself, declaring her dress to be 'a classic' even though we can just see her from the shoulders up.
Then Piers tries to get all chummy with the groom as Jerusalem pipes up, declaring that he 'knows William is a big rugby fan, and this is a song all rugby fans know and love.' Thanks for speaking for all of them Piers. Football fans like it too, btw.
And you could almost see his perspiring baby face popping through the TV screen as the happy couple rode past the CNN studio outside Buck Palace. Piers: 'I have to stop you there Vera (Wang - interminably dull American fashion guru). I am actually very emotional. THE MONARCHY IS REBORN!'
Jeez, if I wanted to retch I would have had another of the hostel's foul coffees at breakfast.
But Piers and Vera aside, it was great to watch this event from the relative comfort of my bed. One thing slightly bugged me though.
Was I the only one that got slightly annoyed whenCaptain Birdseye The Archbishop of Canterbury didn't actually say those famous seven words: 'I now declare you man and wife'? Spoilsport.
Oh, and any idea what legendary Aussie swimmer, Ian 'Torpedo' Thorpe, was doing there? If he can get an invite, where was mine?
The wedding - from 6 to 7am my time - was perfectly positioned to enable me to do Potosi's most famous tourist attraction for the rest of the morning. I was going mining.
I paid a bit more than other tours were charging, as Koala Tours had a good reputation for safety and knowledgable guides. I didn't fancy being trapped down a mine shaft with a useless guide, wishing I'd just shelled out an extra three quid.
We were driven a short distance to the changing building, where we were given our smart outfits of trousers, wellies, jacket, hat and belt:
Super Harryo Brothers.
First up was a visit to the 'Miner Market' where we had a brief intro to the day and were given the opportunity to buy presents for the miners. As our tour guide said, the miners probably wouldn't appreciate a load of relatively wealthy gringos turning up in their mine, taking lots of pictures and buggering off.
There was only one present I particularly had my eye on - a stick of dynamite, complete with detonator and nitroglycerine. Possibly one of the strangest presents I've ever bought anyone, but it made for a good photo op:
Before going to the mine, we were taken on a tour of the refinery. It was our introduction to what would be an extremely eye-opening day, both in terms of what we were told and what we saw.
There were lots of young guys hard at work, chewing the ubiquitous coca leaves and working with machinery that had seen better days. We learnt that the miners don't eat all day, just chew the leaves to help settle stomachs.
Here's a bit of fool's gold that I picked up, excitedly thinking it was silver until the guide dashed my hopes in an instant:
After that we got back in the van and drove to the entrance of the mine. But before I go on, some context:
Approximately 20-30 people die each year in this mine, many more outside it due to the effects of the dust and toxic gases. Lung cancer is common in ex-miners, unsurprisingly.
The mine has no government health & safety or internal regulation. There are collectives of miners who administer the rules and regulations within the mine and, with each collective out for themselves in a cut-throat business, corners are cut.
I've heard a few tales of tunnels collapsing as tour groups are taken round the mine, and the disclaimer I had to sign in the Koala office expressly stated that the mine is 'dangerous' and 'accidents can, and do happen.'
My book also warned against visiting it if you weren't fit and healthy or if you suffer from breathing problems - such as asthma. My tickly cough - probably caught as a result of The World's Coldest Bus - was in the back of my mind, and the front of my throat, as we proceeded towards the entrance.
With our fate in the hands of the mountain, and its myriad tunnels and mines, we decided it would be apt to have one final group photo. Just in case.
That's me at the front, smiling through the fear.
We then ventured in, walking in single file along a narrow rail track. Outside the mine the guide had warned us that we might pass wagons carrying ore as we were walking on the track.
His instruction was to listen out for his signal, and if there was a wagon coming he would let us know and we would have to quickly bunch up on the side of the track by the tunnel wall.
Lo and behold, within two minutes of entering the mine, we saw the guide racing back towards us. He was hollering at us to get off the track, so we did - and 10 seconds later a wagon came racing past. They have no brakes:
After that little frightener we carried on, and the air was getting thicker with dust on every step. About 10 minutes in, I began to have doubts about what I was doing. We were stumbling along blackened tunnels, lungs filling with dust, air getting thinner, tunnels getting smaller.
At points we had to crouch down very low to avoid overhanging bits of debris and poorly-constructed tunnel supports. It was pretty hairy.
After 30 minutes or so we reached a small cavern, where we stopped. We were all gasping for air, sweat streaming down our faces and coughs echoing into the blackness.
The guide explained how the miners worship the devil (Tio), as he is present in the darkness, and when outside they worship the god of light (whose name escapes me). In the mine are lots of shrines to Tio, where the miners offer sacrificies. Our guide offered some alcohol and a cigarette to Tio.
Tio could probably do with a stint in AA.
Following that miner diversion (arf), we had to tackle the hardest part of the day: descending two levels of tunnels via small bore holes and a rope. The fresh air of Potosi felt very, very far away.
The holes were ok to get through, and I kept myself sane by imagining I was tackling a slightly harder (and hotter) version of the Krypton Factor assault course.
Then we came to the rope, which fell down the side of a sheer rockface. Eventually, after much straining we all made it down to the bottom, level 3.
There we found a couple of miners busily boring holes into the rock, for an explosion that they would detonate later that day, and hauling sacks of ore up to the level above. The heat down there, with dust creeping into every pore of your body, was horrible.
These miners are something else. They work eight to ten hours a day in treacherous conditions, hoping to scrape together another zinc and silver to support themselves and their families. Many fall short.
Bolivia has a wealth of natural resources like this, but corrupt administration and a government that too easily farms out the sites to wealthier nations, leaves it as the poor boy of South America. It's a sad state of affairs.
Chastised by what we were seeing down there, we all helped out in pullying the sacks of ore to the level above:
We then managed to clamber our way up and back to level 2, where we gasped some more, and then back to level 1. At that point it was hard to think of anything else apart from a cold drink, some fresh air and a shower.
We crouched and waddled our way back slowly to the entrance of the tunnel, at one point having to stop and help lift a wagon back onto the tracks after it had de-railed. If we hadn't turned up, god knows how long it would've taken the two knackered miners to get that thing going again.
Eventually, some two hours after entering the pit of doom, we burst out squinting into the sunshine.
I don't think I've ever felt claustrophobed like I did in that hell of level 3, and I really have to take my (hard) hat off to those miners. Incredible.
Our group of eight got a lift back into town, where we de-robed and went for a thirst-quenching Paceña out in the sun of the Plaza. I moved hostels - not fancying another night under the Animal - and had one of the best showers in weeks.
Tonight it looks like there's some sort of concert happening in the Plaza, as we spotted a stage being erected earlier. Probably something to do with the military, at a wild guess.
And that's been Potosi so far. A really attractive little place, with a really ugly big mine sitting next to it. I'm glad I did it, but never again.
Here's a couple more pics:
No, not the chef catering for the Royal Wedding - a bunch of miners in Potosi, southern Bolivia.
I'll get on to the mining later, but first I will recount the journey from Cochabamba down to Potosi. I luckily got the last seat on the only cama bus that goes between the two cities - cama being a reclining seat that is supposed to give you a fighting chance of getting some sleep.
Fat chance on this cama bus though. I should have sensed something when I saw all the locals (ie, everyone except me) wrapped up in blankets and hats before we'd even pulled out of the terminal.
Within an hour of setting off I was frozen to the core. I pulled on my alpaca wool socks and had four layers on top, plus hat, but was still freezing. My final rescue act was to feebly try and cover myself with my small, thin travel towel. No good.
So that was a shit journey if ever there was one.
Luckily the city I arrived in was a lot more pleasant. Ignoring the 'fake' policeman at Potosi's new starship-like terminal who wanted to give me a lift into town (hmm, nice try) I got into a proper cab and got dropped off at a hostal.
No room at the inn unfortunately, so I set about wandering off through town like the archetypal backpacker: guidebook in hand, lost expression on face, tired eyes.
I eventually found a place with a room for about a tenner. The room smelled of damp, the towel was stained, there was no soap, etc. Just what you want to find after a terrible night's sleep on The World's Coldest Bus.
Being the stickler that I am, I went back to reception and got another room. No damp, clean towel, still no soap - but I could just about manage that. The one added extra it did have was some sort of gargoyle living in the ceiling.
At what sounded like an inch above my ceiling was the strangest rustling sound. Like an animal was trying to make a bed in a sheet of tarpaulin, but was a fidgety bastard.
I asked reception what was living up there, as I found it slightly unnerving, but they feigned ignorance. I can't be the only person to have stayed in Room 7 and noticed a loud animal sound. You could hardly miss it.
Whatever it was will remain a mystery, and besides - I had better things to do than listen to him all night. I went and had a wander.
Potosi is a pretty little city - at similar altitude to La Paz but much more manageable on foot. It's a UNESCO World Heritage site, and there are lots of striking buildings. Like the cathedral on the Plaza 10 De Noviembre:
What it also has is a bar that's more suited to me than any other in South America. It's called The Offside Bar and is run by a doddery little old man who is obsessed with football.
I walked in to find all the walls plastered with kits and photos from various teams across the globe - from Real Madrid to Chelsea, Boca Juniors to Real Potosi. And there was football on TV, of course.
Apart from me and doddery old man, there were 10 or so blokes in their forties and fifties sitting at the tables, all chewing coca leaves and drinking something that looked like gin and bitter lemon.
After a drink there, I had a pizza and then wandered back to the hostel. On the way I passed through the Plaza and saw hundreds of soldiers lined up on all four sides of the square in perfect lines, guns in precise position:
The amount of army parading I am seeing in Bolivia is almost comical now. Rarely does a day go by without seeing the green uniforms lining up to do some sort of parade or other.
I think they've been defeated in so many wars, and feel so persecuted by their Chilean neighbours - in particular - that these parades act as some sort of defiant release valve. I feel sorry for them, in a way.
With that bizarre sight occupying my thoughts, I went to bed - so tired that I slept through Animal upstairs doing his thing.
This morning my alarm rang at 5.45am. It was Royal Wedding day, and despite not being a Royalist - I couldn't resist checking in on my old friend London. And very good it looked too. All Union Jacks and familiar streets.
My viewing experience was with CNN, now co-anchored by Piers Morgan - who seemed to be having several orgasms in the commentary box as the morning progressed.
First, Kate Middleton LEAVES THE HOTEL. Piers can hardly contain himself, declaring her dress to be 'a classic' even though we can just see her from the shoulders up.
Then Piers tries to get all chummy with the groom as Jerusalem pipes up, declaring that he 'knows William is a big rugby fan, and this is a song all rugby fans know and love.' Thanks for speaking for all of them Piers. Football fans like it too, btw.
And you could almost see his perspiring baby face popping through the TV screen as the happy couple rode past the CNN studio outside Buck Palace. Piers: 'I have to stop you there Vera (Wang - interminably dull American fashion guru). I am actually very emotional. THE MONARCHY IS REBORN!'
Jeez, if I wanted to retch I would have had another of the hostel's foul coffees at breakfast.
But Piers and Vera aside, it was great to watch this event from the relative comfort of my bed. One thing slightly bugged me though.
Was I the only one that got slightly annoyed when
Oh, and any idea what legendary Aussie swimmer, Ian 'Torpedo' Thorpe, was doing there? If he can get an invite, where was mine?
The wedding - from 6 to 7am my time - was perfectly positioned to enable me to do Potosi's most famous tourist attraction for the rest of the morning. I was going mining.
I paid a bit more than other tours were charging, as Koala Tours had a good reputation for safety and knowledgable guides. I didn't fancy being trapped down a mine shaft with a useless guide, wishing I'd just shelled out an extra three quid.
We were driven a short distance to the changing building, where we were given our smart outfits of trousers, wellies, jacket, hat and belt:
Super Harryo Brothers.
First up was a visit to the 'Miner Market' where we had a brief intro to the day and were given the opportunity to buy presents for the miners. As our tour guide said, the miners probably wouldn't appreciate a load of relatively wealthy gringos turning up in their mine, taking lots of pictures and buggering off.
There was only one present I particularly had my eye on - a stick of dynamite, complete with detonator and nitroglycerine. Possibly one of the strangest presents I've ever bought anyone, but it made for a good photo op:
Before going to the mine, we were taken on a tour of the refinery. It was our introduction to what would be an extremely eye-opening day, both in terms of what we were told and what we saw.
There were lots of young guys hard at work, chewing the ubiquitous coca leaves and working with machinery that had seen better days. We learnt that the miners don't eat all day, just chew the leaves to help settle stomachs.
Here's a bit of fool's gold that I picked up, excitedly thinking it was silver until the guide dashed my hopes in an instant:
After that we got back in the van and drove to the entrance of the mine. But before I go on, some context:
Approximately 20-30 people die each year in this mine, many more outside it due to the effects of the dust and toxic gases. Lung cancer is common in ex-miners, unsurprisingly.
The mine has no government health & safety or internal regulation. There are collectives of miners who administer the rules and regulations within the mine and, with each collective out for themselves in a cut-throat business, corners are cut.
I've heard a few tales of tunnels collapsing as tour groups are taken round the mine, and the disclaimer I had to sign in the Koala office expressly stated that the mine is 'dangerous' and 'accidents can, and do happen.'
My book also warned against visiting it if you weren't fit and healthy or if you suffer from breathing problems - such as asthma. My tickly cough - probably caught as a result of The World's Coldest Bus - was in the back of my mind, and the front of my throat, as we proceeded towards the entrance.
With our fate in the hands of the mountain, and its myriad tunnels and mines, we decided it would be apt to have one final group photo. Just in case.
That's me at the front, smiling through the fear.
We then ventured in, walking in single file along a narrow rail track. Outside the mine the guide had warned us that we might pass wagons carrying ore as we were walking on the track.
His instruction was to listen out for his signal, and if there was a wagon coming he would let us know and we would have to quickly bunch up on the side of the track by the tunnel wall.
Lo and behold, within two minutes of entering the mine, we saw the guide racing back towards us. He was hollering at us to get off the track, so we did - and 10 seconds later a wagon came racing past. They have no brakes:
After that little frightener we carried on, and the air was getting thicker with dust on every step. About 10 minutes in, I began to have doubts about what I was doing. We were stumbling along blackened tunnels, lungs filling with dust, air getting thinner, tunnels getting smaller.
At points we had to crouch down very low to avoid overhanging bits of debris and poorly-constructed tunnel supports. It was pretty hairy.
After 30 minutes or so we reached a small cavern, where we stopped. We were all gasping for air, sweat streaming down our faces and coughs echoing into the blackness.
The guide explained how the miners worship the devil (Tio), as he is present in the darkness, and when outside they worship the god of light (whose name escapes me). In the mine are lots of shrines to Tio, where the miners offer sacrificies. Our guide offered some alcohol and a cigarette to Tio.
Tio could probably do with a stint in AA.
Following that miner diversion (arf), we had to tackle the hardest part of the day: descending two levels of tunnels via small bore holes and a rope. The fresh air of Potosi felt very, very far away.
The holes were ok to get through, and I kept myself sane by imagining I was tackling a slightly harder (and hotter) version of the Krypton Factor assault course.
Then we came to the rope, which fell down the side of a sheer rockface. Eventually, after much straining we all made it down to the bottom, level 3.
There we found a couple of miners busily boring holes into the rock, for an explosion that they would detonate later that day, and hauling sacks of ore up to the level above. The heat down there, with dust creeping into every pore of your body, was horrible.
These miners are something else. They work eight to ten hours a day in treacherous conditions, hoping to scrape together another zinc and silver to support themselves and their families. Many fall short.
Bolivia has a wealth of natural resources like this, but corrupt administration and a government that too easily farms out the sites to wealthier nations, leaves it as the poor boy of South America. It's a sad state of affairs.
Chastised by what we were seeing down there, we all helped out in pullying the sacks of ore to the level above:
We then managed to clamber our way up and back to level 2, where we gasped some more, and then back to level 1. At that point it was hard to think of anything else apart from a cold drink, some fresh air and a shower.
We crouched and waddled our way back slowly to the entrance of the tunnel, at one point having to stop and help lift a wagon back onto the tracks after it had de-railed. If we hadn't turned up, god knows how long it would've taken the two knackered miners to get that thing going again.
Eventually, some two hours after entering the pit of doom, we burst out squinting into the sunshine.
I don't think I've ever felt claustrophobed like I did in that hell of level 3, and I really have to take my (hard) hat off to those miners. Incredible.
Our group of eight got a lift back into town, where we de-robed and went for a thirst-quenching Paceña out in the sun of the Plaza. I moved hostels - not fancying another night under the Animal - and had one of the best showers in weeks.
Tonight it looks like there's some sort of concert happening in the Plaza, as we spotted a stage being erected earlier. Probably something to do with the military, at a wild guess.
And that's been Potosi so far. A really attractive little place, with a really ugly big mine sitting next to it. I'm glad I did it, but never again.
Here's a couple more pics:
 |
| Coca leaves for the miners (with a couple for me) |
 |
| Manic miners |
 |
| Potosi |