Sucre & Potosi

Eager to make the most of our last week with Cami in Bolivia, we decided a three-day trip through Sucre and Potosi, two of Bolivia’s most impressive cities, would be the perfect way to do so.

After another long, cold, overnight bus ride we arrived in Sucre early on Tuesday morning. A very aesthetically interesting city, Sucre is filled with Colonial-style, white buildings that remind me of a typical European scene. Sucre is politically a very important Bolivian city, as it remains the country’s first and true capital. La Paz is now considered the capital having won the war against Sucre for the status as capital, and as a result, the government moved to La Paz.

We have now become accustomed to arriving in cities in the very early hours of the morning when absolutely nothing is open; so we spent the first few hours of the day sitting in the city’s main Plaza (just as we were forced to do in Cochabamba weeks earlier). However it is a great way to take in the atmosphere of the city and to appreciate the architectural beauty of the surrounding buildings. 

By the time it ticked over to 9am we were grateful to see the doors of one of the nearby cafés opening so that we could regain some energy with a big breakfast, and to give us the chance to plan our day in Sucre.

Having only just left the café an hour later we were interrupted by a mass of young children marching in protest of the degradation of the environment. Each separate class of children was dressed each in a unique theme to reflect their personal argument about the topic. The protest was characterised by children dressed as animals, clouds, trees, the ocean and some infants were cleverly dressed in costumes made entirely of recycled juice wrappers. After snapping a few photos of these gorgeous children we made our way to the Casa de la Libertad – the National History Museum.

For only a small fee of 15b (approx $2), we were taken on an interesting journey through the museum and subsequently the history of Bolivia, knowledgably narrated by a Bolivian guide. The history of this fantastic country has to interest anybody…the fact that the Bolivians have been robbed of so much over the centuries- their silver, their coastline and their territory, and the way that they continue to fight for even the smallest victories in the present day. The tour lasted over an hour and was well worth the money, and as Bolivia lacks the funds to maintain its museums and galleries, the museum wouldn’t have been overly insightful without the addition of the guide. 

I’m not going to dwell on this point, but it is in some ways upsetting visiting the museums and galleries in this country that have clearly seen better days. In the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Paz one cannot help but notice the way paintings are crammed next to one another, with some beginning to lose their paint. When in any first world country money would be poured into restoring these works, in Bolivia the funds are insufficient and as a result there is the possibility that they may eventually be lost forever.

On a lighter note, it was in Sucre that we absolutely had to try the saltenas (the delicious, meat-filled pastries that I have no doubt mentioned in previous blogs). Cami’s Rough Guide to Bolivia claimed Sucre was the home of the best saltena, however my more reliable Lonely Planet recommended Potosi as the saltena King.  After some serious comparisons at the lunch table, we all decided that it was in fact La Paz that served the best saltenas, and we were glad to get back to our favourite restaurant in Sopocachi – Pacena La Saltena.

Positioned in the centre of the main park in Sucre is Gustave Eiffel’s very own miniature creation of his famous Eiffel Tower in Paris. Eager for a walk after what seemed like hours of constant eating we ventured into the park and spent some time climbing the rather unexciting tower and taking some photos of the city. Being a big fan of people watching, I did enjoy relaxing in the park watching the people as they went about their daily routines.

We had then planned to visit the Textiles Museum, apparently a very impressive display of Indigenous textiles from some native groups in Bolivia, however it was unfortunately closed for reconstruction. By this stage it was the early afternoon and we had already booked a bus to Potosi for 6pm that evening. With no further recommendations as to ‘must-sees’ in Sucre from either guidebook, we spent the next few hours wondering the streets and admiring the truly unique colonial architecture that covered the entire city.

Despite having been given many warnings, nothing could have prepared us for the freezing temperatures that are [typical] of Potosi. We left the bus and swiftly made our way to our hostel, La Casona. After checking in to our twelve-bed dorm, we searched for a nearby restaurant to defrost and enjoy a quick dinner. We were delighted to find an authentic Italian restaurant a mere block from the hostel that served generous portions of pasta, and more importantly, was fitted with a big fireplace. We returned to the hostel fairly late that night and went straight to bed, eager to get a decent sleep before we entered the mines the following morning.

After believing we would have to traipse around for hours to find a reliable tour company, we were relieved to discover that our hostel arranged its own mine tours with an English-speaking guide.
For the next ten minutes we were all preoccupied arranging our outfits – the jacket, helmet, headlight, wide pants and stray rope. Unable to contain our laughter at the sight of five hopeless foreigners dressed as miners, we took some group photos and introduced ourselves to the others in the group. Tim, another British traveller, was a part of our tour and has become a friend of ours in the weeks since the mines, spending some time at our apartment and sharing many of his stories about his nine months in South America.

Before reaching the mines our minibus stopped at the “Miners Market” where we listened to an introduction about the mines and purchased some coca leaves, alcohol, gloves and juice for the miners. Each day the hundreds of miners enter the Mountain without a single scrap of food, and they survive purely off these gifts that are offered by tourists and are shared among the miners. We were also each lucky enough to try a swig of the 96% pure alcohol. As I took a sip it burned the skin around my lips and felt dry as it slipped down my throat.

Even before stepping into one of the many tunnel entrances that are scattered across the side of the mountain, the dangers to both the miners and subsequently the visitors are clearly evident. The safety regulations that would be legally enforced upon mine operators in many first world countries simply don’t exist in Bolivia.

There was only a thin, cotton facemask that separated each of us from the deadly asbestos and arsenic that is known to be present in the mines. Eager to embark on the journey, it is this thought that I stored away at the back of my mind to reflect on once out of the mines. We each took our last deep breaths of fresh air and followed two of the miners through a small tunnel into the mountain. We were told to be able to recognise two important commands when inside the mines; “Guarda”- be careful and “Tido” – RUN.

The inside of the tunnel is exactly as one would imagine, muddy floors, rocky walls and suspicious substances dripping from every surface. The Bolivian miners work with the most basic of tools – they chip away at the rock with the smallest of hammers, many of their trolleys are broken and must be pushed by the miners themselves (as opposed to wealthier mines when much of this work is electronic).

After climbing around a number of claustrophobic tunnels we were asked to climb a very unsteady ladder to which we would arrive at one of areas where the miners were performing the explosions. Eager to see this in action, I climbed the ladder and was greeted by two men drilling thirty cylindrical holes in the face of the rock. Probably the most frightening episode of the whole tour was in this small space… screaming in Spanish one of the miners came running at Nina, Cami, Seneca and I and cut a pipe which released a substance that sprayed all over us. While we were later told it was harmless gas, it was the whole scene which just made us nervous. As we made our way back down to a ‘safe spot’ to witness the explosion, we were all told to turn off our headlights and wait. Thirty small explosions in two-second intervals followed, and as we stood there in the pitch black I couldn’t help but compare the feeling to an electronic party. The adrenaline levels were certainly high at this point.

It is a very awakening, and at some times emotional experience entering the mines and seeing first-hand the harsh conditions that these men face each day. It is not only the visible dangers such as runaway trolleys and falling rocks that they must survive, but also the presence of asbestos and arsenic (left from the dynamite residue) that hide precariously in the air. 

For the next two hours we continued through the tunnels climbing further and further into the mountain, along the way meeting a number of friendly miners who gratefully accepted our gifts- which are mere necessities for these men. 

Our guide, Juan, an ex-miner himself, informed us that the lifespan of a Bolivian miner is much shorter than that of the average man. He explained many suffer from different forms of lung cancer as a result of the chemicals in the air and the masses of cigarettes smoked to prevent the lasting famine day after day.

As we climbed higher, the air became thinner, the temperatures hotter. At one stage our guide was warning us that the thick layer of grey residue on the rock is arsenic left over from the dynamite, and it was at this stage that I conveniently cut my hand on the rock. He assured me on numerous occasions that it is thankfully only harmful if swallowed.

As we retraced our steps along the muddy tracks towards the exit, we were taken to one last area where sat a carved figure blanketed with streamers, coca leaves and cigarette butts. “Tio” is the miners’ holy figure who ensures the miners work hard and continue to discover new deposits of the minerals. As an act of thanksgiving in return for his guidance, twice a year each cooperative sacrifices two llamas and splashes its blood on the walls behind where he sits.

The sunlight that streamed through the exit to the mines really was the light at the end of the tunnel after a suffocating few hours. Having only been in the mines for a total of three hours, a wave of relief swept over the group as we left behind the claustrophobic tunnels and unpleasant conditions. For the miners, however, this feeling of relief experienced each day as they finish work is replaced by the knowledge that they will return the following morning. The braveness of these men to overcome the difficulty of their work is the prevailing memory that remains long after the micro begins the steep descent away from Cerro Ricco.

That afternoon we visited the Casa de La Moneda (the Mint) which is located in the centre of Potosi. We opted for the Spanish tour because we had been advised to do so to get the most out of the visit. Unfortunately this advice did not apply to our guide who spoke so fast that none of us could understand her, and she rushed us through each of the rooms without giving us the opportunity to have a look around and grasp what each was about. The tour was average, and looking back I wouldn’t support the rave reviews that one will find on the National Mint in the guidebooks.

We had a few hours to kill before our bus back to La Paz, so we set ourselves up in one of the cafés on the Plaza. The hours passed quickly thanks to the café’s Jenga set that became our form of entertainment until 8:30 that evening when we headed back to the bus station.

Again I felt a great wave of relief as we arrived back in La Paz. Each time we leave what now feels like OUR city to explore Bolivia we are treated with a number of exciting and interesting experiences, however these never compare to the feeling of home that sweeps over us as we unlock the door to our apartment and salute Illimani who stands beautifully still in the distance.