Drunk and high while playing with dynamite

Bored kid from presatisfied western society that i am I went looking for adventure in the silver mines of Potosi.

The Cerro Rico was the root of Spanish wealth. In the highest city of the world slaves dwelved deep into the mountain mining silver for their colonial masters.
After Spanish rule the silver was all but exhausted and tin took its place, tinbarons having replaced the Spanish. Little changed for the miners.
Revolution and nationalisation of the mining companies changed their lot, working conditions improved until the price for tin collapsed on the world market in the 80s. The national mining company split up into now around 15 cooperatives who give out concessions to miners and oversee the work in different parts of the montain.

Concessions are only given to miners who have worked as "helpers" to miner holding concession for several years for safety reasons. And the mines are not an easy place to survive.

We were freezing when we entered them, walking mainly in a crouching position or wading through muddy waters even in the main tunnels at the upper level. But it soon got warmer, the air already warm and stuffy when we met the devil.
A teracotta figurine set at the entrance of the lower levels. It has paper streamers as hair, a cigarette is burning between the sharp teeth of the grinning mouth as a daily offering for good luck. The tip of its big penis is erroding slowly from the alcohol poured over it daily to ask for fertility.
The devil is the miners god, mother earth (Panchamama) his goddess. Tío Jorge (Tío = uncle is a misunderstanding of the Quechua speaking slaves of the Spanish word Dío = god. I can only guess that they harboured some strong feelings for someone called Jorge).
Every morning before work homage is paid to both of them. Tío Jorge gets his cigarette and coca leaves, some drops of a shot of 96% pure alcohol is offered to Panchamama, the rest is drunk.
The stuff is vile. My lips and throat burned only from a few drops. They use pure alcohol as they are asking Panchamama for pure metal. I wonder what came first, drinking pure alcohol or making up some reasoning for it...
Additionally they stuff their cheeks with coca leaves. High and drunk is the only way one can bear working in the mines.
We passed miners with glazed eyes sitting in 40°C heat after blasting another tunnel into the rock, the sharp smell of dynamite in the air full of dust. Three big men were sitting in a hole in the wall, working on their small claim of the mountain day in and out, hoping for that vein of pure metal that was going to make them rich.

The average miner does not live beyond 45 years, if he does not get killed in one of the many accidents, working the mine mainly with pickaxes or sledgehammer, 6 days a week while the toxic dust slowly detroyes his lungs.
Tourism as a new form of income has given some money in the hands of the cooperatives. Democratically organised institutions they try and improve working conditions and enforce safety measures as much as they can. Recently a compressed air system has been installed, before that the death by carbon monixide poisoning was the most common accident in the mines.
But the cooperatives cannot raise the price for tin, zinc and silver on the world market, nor can change the fact that the wealth of the mountain is almost exhausted.
But they can show the passing tourist how lucky they are to be a bored kid on the search for adventure.

Bolivia first impressions

I had to go and find the immigration officials, who were playing football behind the immigration office and offered me to join them after they had finished stamping my passport.

Sheep are being transported on top of a minibus, no idea how they managed to get them up there and stay put. They did seem to enjoy the view.

Copacabanas Plaza de Armas is a nice place to enjoy an ice cream in the evening sun.

I bathed in the Fountain of Youth on the Isla del Sol, I will live forever...

Tourist hell and travelers heaven

The Uros islands are a place to feel awkward.
The construction is quite cool, made entirely out of reed small platforms are bound together to create enough space for a small village. Appearantly due to the constant increase in tourism more and more of these islands are built as people now have an additional income to fishing and can make money by simply living there (there is a tourist tax of S/. 5 (1.2) to go on the islands).
I wonder how it must feel to live your daily life as an exhibit in an open air museum? With the huge amount of tourists trampeling through their frontyard for an hour or so and then leaving everyday there is no time or interest for real conversations. For me being there felt slightly claustophobic, stuck in the role of the voyeur, nowhere to go and there is simply no space in my bagpack for useless trinkets...

People on Amantani seem to have figured it out though. There is a rotational system in place, which means every family gets a visitor once or twice a month.
There is time to have a meal together and get to know each other. I spent my evening teaching the 11 year old son playing nine men's morris and backgammon. Fortunatly he is a very smart kid, so he understood the games despite my bad explanations in horrible Spanish.
We also had time to hang out on the island, see some of the old ruins and have a hot chocolate at the only bar in town. Maybe because of the redish earth and stone walls, but the place reminded me of Taizé, peaceful and laid back as it is.

Because of the rotational system there is no competition between the families, the community had opted for equity instead. It seems to be working out well, everywhere there are signs for prosperity, most houses have been extended or rebuilt in the last three years and electricity has been installed. No beggars can be seen. Appearantly this economic system is still in place from pre-Hispanics time, called "ayllu".
Somewhere a Neo-Liberal is crying .

Machu Picchu...

... is awesome! 'Nuff said.

Frohen Nikolaus!

St. Nikolaus put my shoes into Bolivia, as he claimed Bolivia is too big to fit into my shoes.

Cultural heritage dissapearing in the desert sand

After Lima I went south to Nazca with a rest at an oasis near Ica, there is nothing to do there, but it has a lake surounded by palm trees and sand dunes, I felt like being in One Thousand and One Nights.

After my experience with paragliding in Colombia I decided to skip the flight over the Nazca Lines and got out of the bus at the viewtower at the Panamericana. Yes they built the road through the lines.
As it is with structures one has heard and seen a lot about, once you are finally there it is mostly a "yes, that is it" you snap a few pictures and leave. Of course they are impressive and one can imagine the reaction from the conquestores after they crossed what they thought was an empty desert, climbed up the hill and looked back. I found the fact that the old Nazca civilisation built aqueducts, which are still in use today more impressive, to be honest.
There are lots of theories of why the old Nazca civilisation went through all the trouble to create the lines, mine is that at some point they looked at the desert and said: "Lets create something awesome!" After all, this was before TV

The Nazca Lines are listed as a UNESCO World Heritage, and because of this there is the political will as well as funds for the conservation of them and some oversight exists against skimming or the funds being misappropriated. Although not completely: http://popular-archaeology.com/issue/september-2011/article/famous-nasca-lines-of-peru-at-risk-say-conservationists

Other structures from the Nazca civilisation are not that lucky. The Chuachilla cemetery is a sad example, graverobbers left bones and artifacts scattered around in the sand. The mummies of the often inexpertly opened graves were sometimes damaged in the process and are now only protected by a sunscreen from decomposition. Funds provided to remedy the situation are lost in the jungle of local corruption and archeological excavation of the site has completely stopped as any excavated grave is immediatly visited by graverobbers and the findings vanish into private collections.

Our guide was visibly upset about the situation, unsurprisingly, as it is his cultural heritage that is dissapearing. Additionally there does not seem to be any kind of interest group, NGO or other form of representation. Nor is one likely to form in the future as, according to him, a group of guides, which had written an open letter to the local government concerning the situation had consequently lost their jobs.

After the cemetery, we went to a cool museum, where one could see 1000 year old pottery and see how it used to be made. And there was a little kitten.

Guide: This bowl is 1000 years old
Girls in group: Oh, a kitty!