20th February 2013

On Monday morning I left La Paz for Oruro, a smallish city 4 hours bus ride south of La Paz high in the Alto Plano. I was accompanied by Elena McGrath a grad student from Wisconsin who's doing research for her PHD in Latin American history about mining co-ops in Bolivia. Our shared purpose was to visit the co-operative mines located in and around Oruro and interview miners who live and work there. You'll be pleased to hear I'm going to leave out the more academic aspects of our trip (if you want to find out about these you'll have to wait for the launch of my website on co-operatives or the publication of my book).

Unlike most of my bus journeys through South America this one was both comfortable and uneventful, if a little dull. We arrived in the early afternoon travelling through vast unfinished suburbs most of which languished in a foot of water with no sign of anyone who might be a involved in their construction. My first impressions were not good and the hotel Elena had suggested brought little relief. The facilities were basic and the décor consisted of a tobacco stained collection of brown and cream hues with fake wooden panels lining the stair case, a shower that operated via faucets attached to copper pipes running along the wall and a toilet that steadfastly refused to drain. The underwhelming start was quickly assuaged when we left the hotel and ventured into the centre of the city. To my delight this had a rather different complexion. The central part of town is much older and built in narrow streets, many lined with trees where the chilled out locals ambled along with a smiles etched on their faces. We stopped close to the central plaza for some lunch and feasted on a salad followed by thinly sliced steak served in a cast iron dish with a couple of perfectly fried eggs nestled underneath.

Afterwards we walked for 15 minutes ascending towards the foot of the hills that surround the old part of town where the mines that have supported the city for four hundred years are located. As we emerged from the narrow streets a huge statue of the virgin and child confronted us standing proudly atop one of the hills (I'm informed the statue was only finished in the last couple of weeks and is bigger than the status of Jesus in Rio if situated in a less spectacular position). There we found a monument to the miners complete with the first of many devils (called Tio) we were to encounter and a rather beautiful church called Sanctuary of el Socavon emerging from the steep banks of the hillside. I'm not usually one for going into churches as I feel a little hypocritical but on this occasion safe in the knowledge that this was dedicated to the miners I entered.

Virgin and child

The Sanctuary of el Socavon hides within its confines not only a series of beautiful murals on its walls and vaults but a mine shaft that predates the church now serving as a museum of mining and another more eclectic museum on its upper floors covering all aspects of history relating to Oruro. After gazing a the murals for a few minutes which include rather graphic scenes of hell under the surface of the earth and angels with distinctly Latin American features we paid for tickets and descended into the first mine shaft of our trip.

After climbing down the winding stairway hewn from the rock we arrived in a long passage way where the old tracks used to cart the ore excavated from deep within the mountain remained slowly decaying. Lining the passageway cabinets filled with mining artefacts, ore samples and diagrams helped give a picture of just how long mining had played a central part of life in Oruro. The custodian (a former miner) provided some explanation, although his constant presence got a little tiring. I guess he was just pleased to have a couple of visitors. We only managed to shake him off on departure, only to find another willing guide at the second museum with a similar determination to accompany us. Though this time round our host was a little more better informed and willing to take answers rather than monotonically droning on. In little more than an hour she's managed to take us on a whistle stop tour of the eclectic little museum covering everything from prehistoric fossils and pre-incan carvings to biblical artwork and elaborate carnival masks. As dusk approached we returned to the centre of town and enjoyed a couple of beers in the Club de Arabe where plump local business men played dice games and the diligent waiter assisted me with a light for each and every cigarette I smoked. Dinner consisted of a disappointingly undersized pizza before we hit the hay in preparation for an early start to get to San Jose co-operative mines.

Old mines

After an unsettled night's sleep thanks to the worst bed I've slept in since a night in a country manor in Norfolk many years ago we got up at six a little bleary eyed but excited about what lay ahead. We made our way back to the central plaza to find breakfast and a cab. This proved to be more challenging than might be expected as not much in Oruro seems to get going until around nine. After half an hour of wandering we arrived at Oruro newest and only five start hotel. This rather incongruous structure rises to ten floors and resembles a blue tinted glass rocket. The receptionist confirmed we could dine for breakfast and to our delight the dinning room was located on the ninth floor with glass walls providing vistas across the city (the building is comfortably the tallest in town) and out across the plains of the Alto Plano. The food also proved to be most excellent, with a buffet of cereals, fruits, pastries and yoghurt supplemented with eggs cooked to our specification.

After breakfast we returned to the plaza and caught a cab to the mines. To my surprise the mines were no more than five minutes cab ride with no clear distinction between the end of the city and start of the mining complex. We exited the cab and found ourselves wandering from building to building in search of a tour provider among children, stray dogs, elderly women and miners (all with a strange propensity for shell-suits). After a series of unsuccessful enquiries we arrived in the office of the Curazon de Jesus (Heart of Jesus) Co-op and after twenty minutes wait where I had to decline a number of offers to take a couple of miners wives off their hands our guide Raul arrived. Raul was a jovial middle aged man who's spent twenty years working in the mines and had now moved into the tour guide business in an effort to avoid the fate of his father and almost every career miner most of whom dyw in middle age thanks to lung disease or fatal accidents.

After kitting us out in the obligatory overalls, helmets, torches and belts (because they make us look cool) we dropped into the shop to buy cigarettes, 96% alcohol (white spirits to you and I, miners favourite tipple here) and a couple of bags of coca leave we were ready to enter the mines.

Ready to mine

The mine's entrance was not unlike a railway tunnel apart from the spaghetti of cables and pipes covering the floor. After walking one hundred meters we turned off the main tunnel and into a side chamber where we had our first encounter of the day with Tio. Tio was a statue of the devil covered in streamers and replete with bags of coca leaves, cigarettes, the aforementioned 96% alcohol and oversized (I think?) erect cock! Raul explained that before we could get down to any interviewing or exploration of the mines we must take care of Tio. This meant lighting a cigarette for Tio (which just so happens to fit perfectly between his lips), giving him a drink and scattering coca leaves in his lap. As each offering was made we were obliged to take a corresponding hit ourselves while chanting “Huyayaya Tio”.

Tio in all his glory

Mouth full of coca leaves and burning throat thanks to the alcohol we commenced our interview (I'll be sharing details of the interview on my dedicated co-op website rather than here). Once the interview was done we began our descent deeper into the mines. Before long we'd left the reassuringly solid stone walls and walked stooped under precarious beams of eucalyptus. The temperature rising as we progressed further into the mine. Before long we met another statue of Tio where we repeated the ritual and gave him a little pat before continuing on our way. Soon the beams we no longer there either and it was clear we'd crossed into the more recently excavated part of the mines the co-operatives had excavated themselves with their more haphazard approach. After a scramble down a series of crevasses we finally met some miners. You might expect them to be hard at work but they were seated in the gloom chewing coca and chain smoking cigarettes. Where Raul had provided an interview with little omitted these stoic miners were rather more reluctant to talk, although one did show me how to spot silver, lead and iron ores. After sitting and sharing our cigarettes, coca leaves and alcohol with the miners Raul took us further into the mine through increasingly narrow passage ways that felt more like caves and caverns than mines shaped by man. By this time the heat was intense and the dampness almost glistening on the brightly coloured rocks and it was time to return to the surface.

Miners enjoying a well earned break

Emerging from the mine we got out of our kit and accompanied Raul to the miners social building, originally purposed as a carpenters workshop when the mines were state owned and a little more organised. The walls were covered in brightly coloured murals and there Raul told us more about his own personal history in the mines and his relief that his sons were not going to follow his path. After giving him a little Scottish history in my broken Spanish and offering our thanks we left the mine and returned back to the more familiar world of the city. A quick four course lunch for two quid and we were back on the bus headed for La Paz feeling a mixture of enlightenment and astonishment.