Deep inside Cerro Rico are hundreds of statues of Tio, the devil of the mine
"We were once the richest city in the world, the biggest city in the world and the highest city in the world," said our Potosi guide, Pedro . "Now we are simply the highest city in the world. The highest city in the world with the smallest people. That's why we can work in the mines."
We are 4060m above sea level in the mining city of Potosi, the city which grew at the foot of one of the world's largest mines. Here, you need to walk a little slower, eat a little less and sleep a little longer. Or you need to be made of tougher stuff, like the Potosinos.
"This mine used to be called Cerro Rico (Rich Hill)," says Pedro. "We should change its name to Poor hill. It makes no money for us now."
At the height of its splendour in the 17th century, Cerro Rico yielded a river of riches, fed the Spaniards unrelenting thirst for silver and helped fuel the economic rise of Europe ... at an enormous human cost. The hill is honeycombed with mines and haunted by the ghosts of the millions of slaves who perished in its dark tunnels over three centuries. African and native Indian slaves forced to work in the mines during colonial times are said to have lasted, on average, less than six months in the mines, unaccustomed to the climate and the altitude and subjected to appalling conditions.
Today, conditions have improved little, but there are few rewards left for the hard Potosi miners. The average life expectancy of the miners is 35 to 45 years.
Miners run through the mines, pushing tonnes of rock and rarely stopping for a break
Our guide Pedro started working in the mines when he was 10. Mining was in his blood. He and his two brothers worked alongside their father. At 15, he developed a back problem from hunching over heavy wheelbarrows and his mining career was over. He now gives tours of the mines twice a day. He was lucky.
Yesterday we crawled and climbed our way 80m into one of the mines. It was not a pleasant experience. In fact, it was shocking. The first two levels of the mine are no longer worked - whatever riches were here were plundered years ago - so most miners work on the fourth level in small claustrophobic caves.
This man works between eight and 12 hours a day for less than $US200 a month. He doesn't emerge for a lunch break. He chews bags of cocoa leaves to help him through. On Friday evenings, he joins other miners for a drink at the shrine of Tio (the devil of the mine). They give offerings of cocoa leaves to Tio and once a year they sacrifice a llama and offer Tio the llama blood in the hope that he will spare their lives. Their drink of choice is sugar cane alcohol - 96% proof.
Pedro tells us about some of the success stories: people who have struck it rich after a big silver or tin discovery. I ask whether the miners want to stay in the mine or if they leave once they have enough money. He tells me that its like a drug. They tell themselves that they will work the mines until they have enough money to buy a new car. When they get a new car, they tell themselves that they will work the mines until they have enough money to buy a house. Then another car. Then a TV.
Then their good luck comes to an end. Silver and tin prices plummet. Their minerals run out. They need a new section to mine, so they sell their car. Then their house. Soon they are broke and, of course, still stuck in the mines.
The air in the mines feels toxic. We wear bandannas over our nose and mouth to keep out the dust. But its not easy to breathe. The heat on the third and fourth level is stifling. Most miners work shirtless. Ladders to get to the lower levels are broken. In parts, we have to jump to reach the next level - over a dark black hole that leads to god knows where. This has to be one of the most dangerous things we've done, but the miners do this everyday for 30 years. Pedro tells us that they know the mine so well that if they have a problem with their lamps, they can find their way out of the mine in the dark. We'd have no hope. Even if we could find the tunnel out, we'd fall into a ditch or knock ourselves out on the pipes and wood sticking out of the walls.
Pedro tells us that no tourist has died in the mines ... yet. In fact, few miners die of cave ins. Most of the accidental deaths in the mine are caused by the toxic gases that sneak up on the miners while they work.
Carl and Dave model with live dynamite
Before we entered the mine, we stop at the miners market to buy gifts for the miners. Potosi must be the only place in the world where anyone can by dynamite. Apparently, every now and again, a young kid blows his arm off playing with dynamite and there's a crack down. Pedro says it lasts about a week. If you stop miners from buying dynamite, the people of Potosi would starve. We buy two bags of dynamite - one to give to the miners and the other to blow up after our tour. We also buy bottles of soft drink, which we give to the miners as they run past us in the mines pushing trolleys full of rocks. To get the minerals out of the mines, they put the rocks into bags and use a manual pulley system. It's bloody tough work. Pedro warns us not to get into a fight with a Potosi miner. "There will only ever be one winner."
Setting off the dynamite after the tour is a health and safety nightmare. Pedro and a couple of other guides sit on the ground outside the entrance and attach a fuse and a bag of fertiliser to the dynamite. They light it and hand the makeshift bomb around the dumb tourists for photographs. Carl and Dave love it. When the fuses start to get a little low, Pedro takes back the dynamite and runs 50 metres down the hill. The stupid tourists start to follow them, eager to get the best possible shot of the explosion. Pero, pero (stop, stop), yells a guide. Running after a lit bomb is really not a smart idea. Thankfully, they stop.
The explosions are enormous. Much bigger than I expected. Four hours later, our ears are still ringing, our throats still ache from the dust and toxins, our muscles hurt from crawling and climbing through the dark tunnels, and we feel emotionally and physically exhausted. It's an experience we'll never forget. Ever.
More photos
Us biking under San Juan waterfall
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