There's Tourism In 'Dem 'Der Hills

Potosi, the highest city in the world and home, many years ago, to the worlds largest silver mine and consequently it most affluent city. Now, after being sucked dry by the colonial powers of days gone, it's the home to struggling miners in pitiful conditions and a 'must visit' spot on the South American tourist trail.

For me it was another city with another hostel full of people I didn't know. Never really an issue but something that always requires you to be on your game. On those days where you don't have the willpower or energy to make friends all over again, you spend the day friendless. Simple as. Fortunately I have thus far usually managed to find something in the tank to put down enough conversation to get a dinner invite. Although people you get close to leave and the whole process begins all over again. Sadly an inevitable fact of independent travelling on your own. If I'm honest, which I invariably am, the process had gotten to me a bit, as anyone I had gelled with of late had being going in a different direction, and my desire to meet one or some cool folks to travel with, if even for a week or so, has grown somewhat. Still, you keep on fighting the good fight and eventually it pays off.

In fact, when I think about it, independent travelling isn't that easy. To some it must seem like it's one big long holiday, which in some respects is true, but when you consider the insect bites; regular cold showers; constant need for personal security; heavy bags; shitty buses; language barriers; need to be social all the time; snorers; smelly clothes; banging bolivian cheesy music on the buses, drunk people in your dorm etc. then it's not all a walk in the park.

The major, and pretty much only, thing to do in Potosi, aside from wandering the narrow streets in the sunshine, is to visit the once abundant mines. I was still struggling a little with the altitude, however a group of english guys (one of which I had briefly met in BA) and a canadian girl were going that afternoon and asked me along. I happily complied, and within no time I was donning a miners suit complete with head torch. We were taken to a shop to buy some dynamite and sample the miners drink of choice: 96% proof alcohol, which burned like hellfire. We all purchased some dynamite and bandanas (to cover our mouths), and jumped back in the minibus.

We were taken to a refinery to see how they extract silver from the rocks and then moved onto the mines themselves. After more photography than an Oscars ceremony we descended into the mines with our guide, Scorpio. To begin with the air was cool and lightly dusty, but as we descended through tiny holes and down broken ladders into the working heart of the mountain the air became humid and thick with dust (containing asbestos and silica). Breathing through our bandanas was become a struggle for all of us. We spoke to some miners while the guide translated the stories of life in the mines. The mines have such a tragic air which has aleady claimed millions of lifes and it after struggling with an hour it is difficult to see how the miners can spend at least 8 hours a day, 6 days a week down there. In part we were shielded from the tragic nature of the mines by a banterous guide (once a miner himself), yet the nature of the mines was clearly apparent. We returned to the clean air after an hour gasping for breath. Our final task was to prepare the gel, fertilser and fuse of some dynamite, which was then lit and passed around for photos. After we had all posed with the hissing bomb the guide ran off to throw it in a section of wasteland moments before it exploded noisily, ripping a small section from the ground.

After showering and eating the day diminished and all were in bed early after such an eventful day. Tomorrow I would attempt to get the first train of my journey to Sucre.