As I arrived back in La Paz I once again had that feeling that I was ready to move on and get to know some new places. By this stage I'd also written a bunch of songs and I was itching to find a space to do some recording. Upon arrival we spent one more night in La Paz, during which time I decided on Cochabamba as being and ideal place to go to next. I didn't really know much at all about it, apart form the fact that it was a university city, and was supposedly a wee bit more dangerous than other places. Mark also decided to come to the same place, so I once again had a travel companion to make the journey with. As I left La Paz I still didn't really know how I would approach getting to know this country. It's actually quite a big place, and there are many options you can choose from which to make your itinerary. Originally I thought I mite head east to the biggest city of the country, Santa Cruz, then spend some time getting to know some of the smaller surrounding small towns. But as I was reading Marks guide book on the bus I decided that the south offered more interesting looking places to get to know, so I decided that after Cochabamba I'd jump on another bus headin' south. I really had no idea how long I'd spend in this place, it really depended on whether or not I found a place a suitable space for recording.
As we got off the bus in Cochabamba the two most obvious changes were the nice spring climate, and also the noticeably flat landscape. When we were collecting our bags there were young men offering their services as baggage carriers. As I kindly turned down their offer, they noticed my beard. It's very uncommon to see Bolivians with beards, they thought it was quite a novelty, first giving me the nick name of Osama, but then they must have decided that my skin tone was a wee bit light, so they then changed it to Jesus (In spanish this is spelt the same, but the 'J' is pronounced like a soft 'H' sound, so they were standing there going "hey hesus," then bursting out in laughter with each other.) After taking a taxi to our hostel we were free to explore around the city centre for a while. The main plaza was once again very impressive, and I was happy to find a good cafe, which sold good coffee, a rare thing to find in South America. We'd arrived on a Thursday so that night we decided to go and check out the night life.
Walking down the busy night streets revealed that this place really wasn't a popular tourist destination. It only took a brief walk away from the main plaza to find ourselves on a busy main avenue full of locals. In most popular tourist spots it's very common to see police wondering around, but here there were none to be seen anywhere. Despite all this I never really felt as if I was in danger. I did feel I should be a wee bit more cautious, but it never really went beyond that. Eventually we found the strip with all the bars on it and settled into one that seemed to be the place where all the local students hung out. While sitting there and having a couple of beers I was brought back to all my memories of home. All the music they played was a selection of songs that I used to enjoy back in my study days at home. It was quite crazy that they seemed to play many of the songs that were associated with experiences from that time. After that we sampled a few more bars, but eventually decided that we'd seen enough, and bed was best option.
The following day Mark made his way down south to do the salt flat tour, and I decided to comb the central city for a good recording spot. Everywhere I looked was either to expensive, or the location was way to noisy to even think about recording. I decided that maybe this wasn't the place after all, so I decided that I'd move onto the next place. In the end I didn't really get to know Cochabamba very well. I'd been told that there were some nice places to visit close to the city, but I'd made up my mind to move, so the only thing now was to decide where I'd go. When I looked on the map I noticed Oruro. This place looked a wee bit smaller than some of the other cities, so I decided that it mite serve as a good destination for finding a recording space. There was also a train service that ran from Oruro, which covered some of the other towns of the south. After spending all these hours on buses so for on this trip I decided that train would serve as a nice change as a different means of travel.
After a short four hour bus ride (four hours in a bus seems like what a ten minute ride was back at home now after countless eight hour + trips,) we approached the first signs of a town. My first impressions of Oruro weren't all that great at all. As we met the town I was greeted with an endless view of plastic bags & bottles. I thought that maybe these may subside once we reached the bus terminal, but the rubbish was just the same, just scattered all over the streets. When I got to my hostel I decided to have a look around the town centre, trying to stay open that this place really does have something to offer me. (During carnival in February Oruro becomes the spotlight of Bolivia, with one of the biggest celebrations in South America taking place, and by for the biggest in Bolivia. Outside of that time things remain very much more low key.) When I got to the plaza I must say that it was very clean and pristine, unlike the outskirts. As I wondered around I found literally a whole street of lawyer offices, strangely many of which were very busy, I wondered to myself why in a small place lawyers could be in such demand. I also realised that the only two options I had here for food were fried chicken n' chips, or pizza (I thought before this trip that pizza would be one thing that I'd miss from home, but not so. In Peru and Bolivia I swear there must be almost one Pizza restaurant between every four people!) I tried my best to once again find a recording space here, and I was able to get a wee bit done this time, but the rooms either reminded me of prison cells or LA junkie apartments so after three days I'd had enough and I decided that it was once again time to seek out a new destination. After having a conversation with a local man I was recommended Potosi as being an ideal next destination, so I checked out of my hostel and set off for the new destination. I decided that I'd have a go at walking to the bus terminal this time. Carrying all my gear really makes things seem a lot further than what they are, especially when you get a wee bit lost and walk a few blocks further than what was necessary.
At 4060 meters, Potosi is the highest city in the world. As I arrived I wasn't to affect by the altitude, but my body did feel it again though as I had to adjust the hilly streets again after my previous two places. The first hostel I went to way overpriced, so they recommended me another one within my price range across the road. It was late in the day so I just decided to check straight in. Once again I'd hit bad luck when it came to my hostels. The floors were so loose that every slight movement would let out a loud screech from the floor boards. The room was tiny and the way the walls were decorated made me feel like I was a new born baby again, with colours of light blue and pink delicately patterned around the walls. After all these rooms I kept striking I thought that maybe now I'd been cursed when it came to finding good hostels, so I decided to take another approach, the good old internet. I went straight to google and typed in "recommended hostels in Potosi." After a quick surf around I found one place in particular that constantly received good reviews called "La Casona." The following day I checked out and made my way to this place in hope that I'd find somewhere a bit better than the last few places I'd found.
The hostel ended up being just what I wanted. I decided to pay a wee bit extra and get my own room to make the recording a wee bit easier. Now that I'd found a place to settle down for a wee while I was free to explore the city for a wee bit. I really liked Potosi straight away. It was small enough to really retain a lot of character, but at the same time it had enough people to retain a real lively energy as well. The main attraction here was the mine tours, which take you on a close up experience into the mines of the mountain that overlooks Potosi, the Cerro Rico. What I found most interesting about the city was it's fascinating history.
The city was founded in 1545 after ore deposits were discovered in the mountain. By the end of the 18th century it had grown to become the largest and wealthiest city in South America (At one stage it was also bigger than both London and Paris also!) It was of course the Spanish who controlled at this time, which meant that much of this wealth ended up benefitting the Spanish economy. It is said that millions of African slaves were imported to work in these mines in shocking conditions which lead to many deaths. To this day the mountain has allegedly taken the lives of over eight million people since the mines began operating. For this reason the other name given to the mountain is "The Mountain That Eats Men." For centuries Potosi was the main centre from which silver coins were first produced, then from there distributed around. The site where the coins were produced is now a museum where you can go and see the original machines that were used. Now days all the mines are depleted of silver, but there still remain hundreds of mines from which they extract other minerals. I'd heard that the tours were an equally intriguing and shocking looking look at the conditions that people continue to work in to this day. The hostel that I was staying in ran their own tours so I decided after a couple of days that it was time to give it a go a check it out for myself.
At about 9am the following morning we were all kitted out with our mining gear before jumping into a van to head to the miners market. As we all pilled into the van the guide had this grin on his face. In his basic English he looked at us all and said "today is very special day, all guys, not girls!" For a start I didn't know exactly what he meant, but i figured maybe it was a good thing. As we got out of the van in the miners market, the guide explained that it was here that we buy the miners gifts. The way that these tours work, in exchange for allowing the tourists down into their working environment and taking photos, asking questions etc., we give them gifts which they can put to practical use during the day. The main options that we were given to buy them were Coca leaves, cigarettes, orange juice, dynamite, or a potent little bottle of 97% alcohol (Coca is that plant from which Cocaine is made. A huge part of the culture in both Peru and Bolivia is the chewing of the leaves. This gives an effect nothing like that of Cocaine, but the locals do strongly believe that it helps with altitude sickness, and also helps to suppress appetite and give a bit more energy. For this reason it is of huge importance for the mine workers that they frequently chew the leaves, as they often work for hours on end without eating.) At the first market I brought some coca leaves, some orange juice, and a bottle of alcohol, all for a hefty $5. After that it was time to head off to another market where we were to buy our dynamite.
The shop from where we were going to buy the dynamite was small and poky, the man behind the counter had the nick name "Osama." I didn't know if this was because of the fact that he was one of the only Bolivian man I'd seen with a beard, or if it was because he sold the complete starter kit for dynamite, (maybe it was because of a combination of the two!) In this shop our guide explained the whole process of how the dynamite was used, and also the necessity of each three elements, the detonator, the nitrate, and of course the dynamite itself. After the explanation we each bought some to take as gifts, then threw them into our backpacks. It fascinated me to know that anyone can come in here and buy as much dynamite as they want. There are no restrictions what so ever on age, or the amount that you can buy. It also slightly concerned me that we were throwing all three elements in the same backpack together, but I figured they'd done this enough times before....they must know what they're doing...
After another brief ride in the van we'd arrived at the mine. The first stage of the tour involved going into a room and sitting down with a couple of the miners who were currently in a break from their work. A couple of guys were preparing dynamite, whilst the other two were stuffing their mouth with as much coca as they could before their next shift. (The way to eat Coca leaves properly is to put one leaf at a time into your mouth, chewing a little, then storing it in the side of the mouth. As you eat more you slowly accumulate a ball of Coca in one side of your mouth. Many of the guys you see look like they have a golf ball in their mouth.) This was our first opportunity to ask questions to the miners. I didn't really have much to ask at this stage, but one of the younger miners was very interested in our lives. He asked me what I did and when I said I was a musician they all said, "ok you have to sing a song for us!" I'd told them that I studied jazz but the only jazz song I knew the lyrics for was Summertime, so I sang the first verse for them, slightly bullshitting my way through, trying to make it sound a wee bit jazzy. They all clapped, it ended up being a good way to lighten up the room a little. It was also in this room that we learnt the proper way of drinking here. Drinking is a huge part of the social culture for the miners. As we were sitting there one of them opened a small bottle of spirits. It wasn't the 97% that we'd bought, but with around 47% it still gave a bit of a kick. We were informed that you must always hold the drink with your right hand, and before your first drink you must always spill a wee bit on the ground as an offering to Pacha Mama. (Pacha Mama is their expression for mother earth. It's made of both Quechua and Spanish, Pacha meaning "earth" in Quechan and Mama meaning "mother" in spanish.) Showing gratitude and acknowledgment to friends is also a very important part of the drinking ceremony. After our first we experience of the miners life it was time to finally make our way into the mine. "Vamos!" said our guide, as we followed him into the black hole.
Our first stop off in the mine was to visit the "tio." (Many of the people here are very religious, following the Catholic religion. However to this day the miners still firmly believe that as soon as you go into the mine, you're entering the territory of the devil. Therefore, every single mine has a devil like figure which they call Tio. It is of vital importance that you frequently come and give offerings of Coca leaves, alcohol, and cigarettes, whilst saying a prayer asking for pure minerals and safety of you and your friends while you are down in his world. They believe that people loose their lives in these mines as a consequence of not showing the Tio enough respect.) Our guide went over a demonstration of how to make the offering, and how to say the prayer. He said that we may make the prayer in any language because the Tio can understand all. After the offerings were made we carried on heading deeper into the mine, wondering where exactly this guide was taking us.
As we made our way further I couldn't help but be completely fascinated about where I was. The channels were very narrow with gas pipes draping down from the low ceiling. Occasionally we'd pass under a wooden bracket which barely looked like it was holding much in place. Every now and again we'd hear our guide yell at us to hurry up and find a clearing on the side. As we stood there and waited, the faint roaring sound would get louder, until three guys would come running past as fast as they could, pushing a massive cart. Those whom were entering back into the mine would be pushing empty ones, and we'd also come across the same guys returning with a full load. As we spoke to one of the groups that pushed these things (one boy was only fifteen!) we were informed that they push ten of these out a day, after pushing them all the way back into the mine, they would be filled with rocks and minerals. When they were completely full the carts then weighed a staggering ton. Between the three of them they'd then push it all the way back out again. This was my first insight into the hardship of this way of life. After seeing this you can't possibly complain about the "lack of opportunity" in your own life.
It wasn't long before we were climbing up dodgy ledges, and crawling through narrow shoots. At some stages our guide would say to us, "ok for this bit you need to be spiderman." There were no safety regulations what so ever, but that was defiantly part of what made the experience so raw and real. After we'd climbed up a wee way, we came to a narrow passage where a few of the miners were working. The guide told us to wait, and a few minutes later they took a break from their work and came down to talk to us for a wee while. We were all crammed into this little space and before I knew it, the little air that there actually was, was replaced by cigarette smoke. It was at this stage that things really started to become interesting, "who has some alcohol to give the miners?" asked the guide. I said that I had some, so I reached into my bag, grabbed it, then handed it over to one of the grateful miners. Without hesitating he opened it, poured a wee bit into the cap, then started handing it around. At first I though that this was just a kind gesture that they do just the once, but it didn't end there. Once one person had poured and handed to everyone, the next person to the right became the pourer, and the process would repeat itself. About an hour or so later we really started to feel the effects of the alcohol, it was here that I realised why the guide was so excited about a group of all guys. I did my best to converse with them and managed to find out some basic information, but it was difficult to understand them at times because of their mouth full of coca. After what seemed like an eternity, we were finally off to our next section of the tour.
I thought that much of this tour would have been exploring down to the deep and scary depths of the mine, but so far it had been just going up a level or two and getting pissed. Just when I thought that we had just gotten as irresponsible as possible without hurting ourselves, we got to the next phase of the tour, playing with dynamite. The guide lead us down a few more channels until we reached another worker who was preparing some dynamite. The guide said that in a couple of minutes we were going to follow him a wee bit deeper into the mine to feel the power of the dynamite. Once the guy was finished we followed him to a very narrow shoot, barely big enough to crawl down. We waited as he disappeared and waited for his return. About two minutes later he was hurrying back, telling us to hurry up at get out of here. We walked briskly for about one hundred metres and waited to hear the explosion. The only sort of explosions I'd really heard up until this point were guns and fire works, so I didn't really know what to expect. I had my hands over my ears, but that couldn't really prepare me for what went off. The explosion went by very quickly, but the force of it almost made my heart leap out of my chest. I'd never felt anything like it before. As I looked up the mine worker and our guide were both laughing at our unexpected reactions. Just as I thought that was the last of our experiences playing with dynamite, our guide looked at us and said, "ok guys lets go and let off a little bit more, this time we'll get photos."
We started walking in the direction of the exit, but then veered off somewhere else which was destined to be our next dynamite playground. "Who still has dynamite left," said the guide. I once again put my name forward, grabbing it out of my bag and handing it over. Normally they break the stick up into thirds to use for three different explosions, but when he was snapping it he accidently broke off a piece significantly bigger than one third. Instead of going for the smaller piece I suppose he thought it would be a bit more fun with a slightly bigger explosion. He then attached a detonator, the nitrate, and a fuse and said, "ok, this fuse is going to take five minutes to burn out, that gives us two minutes after we light it to take photos, then three minutes to get out of here." We all looked at each other in disbelief as to why we were even still standing here. We all gave him our cameras, then after lighting the fuse and us standing there posing as it quickly burnt down, he franticly rushed through all the cameras to get a photo for each of us (there were five of us.) When he got to mine it had put itself onto standby. I tried to explain to him that you need to press the power button again, but after to much mucking around he had to bypass it and move on to the others. When he finally took the last one we got rid of the dynamite and rushed to get out of there as quickly as we could. It didn't even seem like we'd gone that far before the guide said, "ok here should be a good place to listen from." Even though I already kind of knew what to expect from the previous one, it didn't stop me from having a similar reaction again. After the fun of the dynamite, and still very much feeling the effects of the alcohol the we'd drunk earlier, we were all well and truly ready to call it a day, well at least a morning.
As we all got out of the mine we all looked at each other as if to say, "well, I wasn't quite expecting that. But it seemed that the guide was satisfied with leaving it at that. We all jumped back into the van and we were then taken to a "miners bar." It wasn't exactly what I'd call a bar. All it was, was a window which served drinks out of it. From there we proceeded to drink beers and talk shit in true male bantering fashion. Before we knew it we'd gotten to 11.30am and it felt like we'd been drinking since the night before. When we returned back to the hostel I didn't quite know whether to recommend it to people or to caution them. When people asked me about it I'd start by saying, "well..... it really depends what you're looking for.."
After experiencing the main attraction of Potosi I still felt like I wanted to stick around for a while longer. I was getting a wee bit of recording, although not as much as I'd hoped. I was in a good hostel now, but the downside to that was that it was very easy to get distracted. One day a couple of friends and I decided to climb up the mountain which ended up being a great trip, and yet another insight into the way of life around the mines. The other thing that happened to co inside with my stay was the annual fiesta of Potosi. I'd spoken to many locals earlier about the fiesta and many talked it up, saying it's one of the great parties of bolivia. After my drunken introduction to the small rural town of Sorata I was curious to see how a bigger city celebrates. From what I gathered this was more about displaying the culture of Potosi and the surrounding communities. It was scheduled to take up the whole weekend, but as I'd decided to leave on Sunday I decided to check it out on the Saturday.
The scene was completely different to that which I experienced in Sorata. As I made my way down to where it was being held I realised that this was much more organised event, and was less about drinking, and more about cultural celebration. They'd closed off one of the streets for the weekend, and all day there was a parade displaying the individual culture of each community. Every two or three groups had a brass band playing the traditional music, while everyone around them was dressed up in bright and bold outfits doing the traditional dance of their region. It was a very cool sight and it was great to see some true cultural celebration, even though I did enjoy the drunken overindulgent partying of some of the previous fiestas I'd been involved in, even if it was as a spectator at times.
By the following Sunday I'd spent a week in Potosi and my itchy feet were calling me to move to my next destination. The next place on the horizon was Sucre. I'd heard many great things about this place, it had the reputation as being one of the most beautiful cities in Bolivia. Once again I was going here with the intention of getting more of my recording done, and also make use of whatever other opportunities came up, hoping that this time I won't get quite as distracted from the actual recording.
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