Week 5: What should absolutely everyone know about Bolivia?

 There are two things about Bolivia that most people will learn upon doing a cursory search on the internet about it. The first is that it is the poorest country in South America, and the second is that it is also the country with the highest proportion of indigenous people in its population. What everyone should know about Bolivia is that these statements are oversimplifications of its history and current reality, and through my adventures in two Bolivian cities, I will explain why.

In recent years, I have become more critical about describing places as "impoverished" or "developing." I find that these terms obfuscate the exploitation certain places and people have been subject to under colonial regimes. Few places in the world illustrate this as well as the city of Potosí does.

On this visit to Bolivia, I knew that I wanted to visit Potosí and its mines. I had heard about Potosí's importance in the Spanish Empire, thanks to the mountain known as Cerro Rico from which up to 80% of the world's silver supply originated. The silver mined from Cerro Rico made its way across the Pacific through the galleon trade to the Philippines, enabling the luxury trade with China. Back in Spain, the circuit of silver extraction was the keystone of its immense wealth accumulation, raising both the spectacular ports of Cádiz and Sevilla, as well as armies which would tear Europe apart. James spent some time in those cities in fall of 2021, and he wanted to see the place that built them. Finally, we mustn't forget our inimitable Bolivian travel companion, Ignacio; he also wanted to see Potosí because it is the place where his mom is from, and he had never been.

The night of Thursday, July 20, the three of us headed to Cochabamba's chaotic bus terminal and found the last overnight bus to Potosí that was taking passengers. (This was a whole saga, ask me about it.)  We somehow got seats on the second floor at the very front. Before the bus settled into the highways, it made several stops in neighboring towns to take encomiendas (packages) headed to Potosí.

We arrived in Potosí at around 7:30 am. It was considerably colder than Cochabamba, and a much higher altitude (over 4,000 meters or 13,000 feet, to be exact). We found a taxi right after leaving the bus and asked the driver to take us to the main square. We were to stay with his mom's cousin Tía Adela, who lived  close to the historic main square, and we wanted to find a cafe or some place to eat. While looking for a cafe, we found a travel agency that was already open. We spoke with the travel agent about touring the Cerro Rico mines, and he showed us three different options varying in intensity.

We decided to go with the medium intensity one. While hanging around the office, we chatted with the agent and the other people there. Somehow, the charango came up in conversation, and it turned out they had one in the office. They let Ignacio and me, us being musicians, tinker around with it. I noticed it was a little out of tune, so I tuned the last two strings and played some chords on it. The travel agency people loved it so much that when I returned a few hours later, they greeted me with "Hey, the Filipina who plays the charango!" But I am getting ahead of myself. 

A giant charango in the main square

After we selected our tour, we went to Tía Adela's house. She fed us a hearty breakfast and showed us our rooms so we could put our backpacks down and freshen up. As we finished up eating, Ignacio received a call from the travel agency. They wanted us to be ready to go for the 9 am mine tour. My shower would have to wait.

We beelined to the travel agency and from there met up with one of our guides, Marda (Maria Magdalena for short, but like me, she doesn't go by Maria).  She took us to a building where we met up with other people going to tour the mines. We left our jackets and bags and each had to put on a helmet with a light attached to a belt, a jacket, pants, and rubber boots.

Once we were ready, we piled into a van. There were around ten of us in the group, and I couldn't help but notice that apart from two guides, I was the only woman. We got split up into two groups of five, each with a former miner guide. We went to the miner's market and got gifts of beer and coca leaves for the miners and masks for ourselves, and our guide Francisco showed us the dynamite that miners use within the mines. Finally, we drove up Cerro Rico towards the Candelaria Mine, one of the very first mines of Cerro Rico originating from the 16th century.

Apart from the three of us, two Dutch guys were in our group. One of the miners working nearby went up to the taller one and told him, "No, you're too tall to go into the mine! You need to go to the bar, with me!" After Francisco debriefed us, we walked into the mine. What happened next was something I will never forget for the rest of my life.

It is hard to describe what it was like spending around three hours inside of a place nicknamed "the mountain that eats men," with only the light of our helmets to guide us. Although it was extremely advantageous to be short, walking through the passages while bending down was still exhausting. The altitude already makes for a lack of oxygen, so being inside a mountain makes it worse. What's more, you have to keep a mask on the entire time because of all the dust. Occasionally, Francisco would tell us we had to get out of the way and plant ourselves against the mine walls because of an oncoming cart.

Along the way, we greeted the miners we saw working in the depths. Some we only saw in passing, riding along carts that were either empty or filled past the brim with rocks. Some were breaking down larger pieces of rock with pickaxes, loading the rocks into a cauldron that would be pulleyed up a mysterious shaft. For those whom we could briefly meet, we handed the beer and coca leaves, to help ease the intensity of the labor.

Somewhere in the middle, we had to go down a treacherous shaft and scramble down a narrow tunnel on our bellies. "Soldier style," Francisco told us. At one point, I couldn't see anyone in front of me or behind me, and I nearly panicked. But I told myself I just had to keep going. As long as I could see the way ahead, I would be fine. Eventually, I heard Ignacio ahead of me calling my name. He told me I should get on my elbows because it was easier, and he took this picture.

James actually said that that part was the easiest part of the excursion for him because of how slow I was going (lol), and it was easier to be on the ground than bending over. On the other hand, the Dutchmen shared my sentiment of near panic and sheer relief after finally being back on ground where we could stand up. The really tall one opted to leave the mine at the midpoint exit, and his friend joined him. I didn't blame them. The miner was right.

That left Ignacio, James, and me. We continued following Francisco through the mine. At one point, we met a tío, a devil figure meant to protect the miners and provide them with minerals to extract. Francisco lit a cigarette and placed it in the tío's mouth, and we poured some beer at his feet as an offering. Apparently, there are hundreds (if not thousands) of tíos in Cerro Rico.

My bodyguards and me

Towards the end, we met up with the rest of our group. Francisco did a demo of dynamite so we could experience what it was like. He lit a couple of sticks, jokingly placed them around his neck before putting them on the ground, and then told us we had to walk further down the path. Trying once more not to panic, I followed the crowd until Francisco told us we could stop. We waited around two minutes then heard a powerful BOOM from where we came from. Not too long after, the second followed. While reacting to the noises with the people around me, I couldn't help but think of the miners who had lost their lives to dynamite, both accidentally and on purpose.

Our group eventually started making our way towards the mine's exit. I was somewhat appalled that I had to go up ladders and clamber up steep rocks, but I pushed myself and made it. (I will remind myself of this next time I find myself getting tired doing group exercise at the gym.) I could not believe my eyes when I saw the light from the outside world in the distance. It is hard to describe how I felt, so I will leave it to this video to do the job for me.

There has been a lot of discourse about the mine already. If you're curious, you can check out these three articles I found helpful while thinking about touring the mine and reflecting upon it: one in Spanish that talks about gender issues, one that talks about the ethics of visiting the mine, and one that talks about religion and belief. In my reflection, I wanted to approach the mine from an anticolonial, internationalist, and labor perspective.

It is jarring to put the statements "Bolivia is the poorest country in South America" and "80% of the world's silver came from one mountain in Potosí" together. Imagine a world in which the silver stayed in Bolivia, where it was used for the prosperity of its people, rather than that of Spain. It wasn't as if Spanish people themselves prospected the mine either; instead, the labor of enslaved indigenous and African people fed the miners working the mines, extracted the silver from the mountain, processed the silver from the rocks, and fashioned it into usable coins. Doubly exploiting Bolivia's natural resources and the labor of its people led to the enrichment of an empire, while plunging Bolivia itself into poverty. Potosí–originating from the Quechua word "potoj'si"–became so notorious in the Spanish colonial era that other cities from Mexico to Wisconsin were aspirationally named Potosi.

Similarly, the Philippines was once called "the richest country in the world" by an American gold magnate who came to "own" a Philippine gold mine, enlisting the labor of indigenous Igorot people. All the gold went to the US Treasury while the Philippines was an American colony. I bring this up not only because it is directly analogous, but also because I have been researching the Philippines' legal system under American colonial rule through the lens of the gold mining industry. (Please ask me about it.) Moreover, the Philippines was also a part of the Spanish Empire, just like Bolivia.

A screenshot from a Washington Post article dating May 15, 1936, that I found on ProQuest

Sevilla and Cadiz are magnificent, as is much of Spain, mostly thanks to the labor of the people it colonized.  Meanwhile, what is left in Potosí is a town living in the mountain's shadow that continues to rely on mining (and now tourism) for its survival. The mountain has been mined so much that what used to be a triangular peak is now more rounded, and there have been concerns about it collapsing. And yet, the miners continue to work grueling hours sometimes six days a week, spending all their money on drinking. They get paid relatively well by Bolivian standards, but their lives are cut short from all the time spent in the mountain.

The mine used to be owned by the Bolivian state, but it decentralized in 1985. It is now being mined by worker cooperatives, each of which has around 80 people who mine as many tons of rock per day. I asked Francisco if any multinationals worked on the mine, and he said there were very few, perhaps only two. The workers in the cooperatives are still mostly of Quechua descent, like they were in the colonial period. This means that they at least get to share the earnings amongst themselves, rather than the fruits of their labor only benefitting some imperial power. Nevertheless, they still work to outcompete one another, jeopardizing miners' health and safety at every turn. the situation reminded me of something my friend shared about First Nations communities in Canada who were granted stewardship of their ancestral land. Although people assumed that the First Nations communities would want to conserve the land, they continued to use it for the logging industry, so that they could benefit directly from it. It made me think that worker cooperatives and land back initiatives can only go so far when profit is a motive, and people rely on money from profit to survive.

There is a lot more to discuss about the mine, but since Potosí is more than just the mine, I wanted to share some other moments from our trip.

We spent a lot of time walking around with Tía Adela. She showed us places significant to Ignacio's mom's side of the family. Family lore is so fun!

We took a tour to a viewpoint above a church to see Cerro Rico and the roofs of the town.

A fun Polaroid we gave to Ignacio as a souvenir

Somewhat unexpectedly, we ran into another Filipino American traveler while waiting in line for salteñas that ran out. I was extremely excited to see another Filipino, the first one I had ever met in all my travels around Bolivia. Coincidentally, he's also moving to Boston! Since the salteñas ran out, he joined us for a hearty lunch of k'alapurka, local soup heated with a volcanic stone submerged within it. 

Hi Gerald!

This last Friday, James and I embarked on another (less harrowing) adventure. As I mentioned earlier, Bolivia is known as the country with the highest percentage of indigenous people in its population. That means a lot of Bolivians have maintained their ways of life from before Spanish colonial rule, which is no easy feat. There are a lot of misconceptions about what exactly "indigenous" is; even in Bolivia, some people think that indigenous people only live in the countryside, untouched by "modern" life. Others think that indigenous people are all poor and live separately from non-indigenous people. El Alto is a city that proves otherwise.

El Alto is a city right next to La Paz, one of Bolivia's capitals. It is 80% indigenous Aymara–the other cities like Cochabamba and Potosí have been areas with indigenous Quechua communities. La Paz is situated in a valley, whereas El Alto sits high above it on a flat plateau. To go between the two, you can either drive up steep and windy roads or take a cable car, a major mode of transportation for the two cities.

The view from the station

James and our guide Daniel

The view takes my breath away every time!! Spot the iconic peak of Illimani in the left

We ventured into El Alto to do a guided tour of the "cholets," elaborately designed architectural wonders that exist only in El Alto and that belong only to Aymara people. Freddy Mamani is an Aymaran architect who pioneered the idea and is now world-renowned for his style of New Andean Architecture and Design. After we got off the cable car, our guide Daniel took James and me to a stretch of road where yatiris, or Aymara community healers, had their own stalls. Daniel explained that anyone who wished to build a cholet would consult a yatiri, who would then tell them when the best time to build would be by reading coca leaves. I asked how people choose a yatiri among all the ones who had their own shop on the road, and he said that people would walk along the road and wait to feel a sort of spiritual connection with a particular one. Usually, once people find a yatiri, they stay with them, as one would stay with a primary care physician. Upon initiating construction of a cholet, the yatiri would then conduct a blessing of the property, including an offering of a llama fetus to the Pachamama (mother earth, loosely translated).

A row of yatiri stalls with the wiphala, Bolivia's other national flag representing its indigenous peoples

While walking along the yatiri stalls, Daniel pointed to a large cross pattern on the ground. He explained that it was the chakana, or the Andean cross. The bottom half of the cross represents the underworld and other elements that sustain human life; the middle horizontal bar represents human life; and the top half represents celestial beings. All of the cholets follow this logic. The ground floor always housed a shop of some sort. The shopkeepers would rent out the space, thereby providing some income for the cholet owners. The shops do not have to sell food or drink, as you will see later. The middle floors represent human life. Daniel said that the middle floors are often event spaces for hosting lavish parties. Life does not happen during the week when people have to work, but when people are free to be human and spend time with one another. Finally, the top floor always contains a mansion in which the commissioner of the cholet lived. Yes, in a way, they are equating themselves with a kind of god. I asked Daniel if the cholet owners ever build the cholets and then sell them, and he said absolutely not. Why would you go through all the effort of commissioning, building, and customizing something to your exact taste only to sell it?

The chakana on the ground with a frog mural in the background

Two cholets next to each other, with a cable car on high

After seeing the yatiri stalls and the first two sets of cholets, we took minibuses around El Alto to see more cholets. You may now know that I enjoy talking to my guides as much as I enjoy the tours themselves, so I asked Daniel if he spoke Aymara. He said that he understood it, but he did not speak it. As a Filipino whose grandma was punished for speaking Cebuano in school, I understood the sentiment well. His grandparents were indigenous Aymara, but they discouraged their children and grandchildren from speaking it. His grandparents thought it better for the younger generations to assimilate and speak only Spanish. Despite this, indigenous language speakers have found ways to resist, and the languages flourish today.

A Transformers-themed cholet, complete with an electronics store at the bottom

This cholet was my favorite. It was very deliberately made to look like an Asian pagoda because the owner had been successfully conducting business with some Chinese people. The shop at the bottom sold fireworks. Daniel told us that Aymara people were business-minded even before the Spaniards came. Now, many Aymara people are learning Mandarin, so as to better interact with Chinese businesspeople. ("It's not like the Chinese people are going to learn Aymara," I commented.) There are even schools in El Alto that teach Mandarin. In this cholet, the middle floors were not event spaces; rather, each was an apartment for the owner's three daughters.

The final cholet we visited was Freddy Mamani's first cholet. What I loved about it was that the owners were from Oruro, another city in Bolivia. A lot of flamingos can be found in that area, and the cholet design incorporated flamingoes. Can you find them? (Hint: the eyes are one on top of the other.) We got to go inside and, although it was empty, could imagine the opulent parties that could be thrown within it.

Daniel pointed out the drains on the floor. He explained that when Bolivians drink, they pour a little onto the ground as an offering for Pachamama. I had experienced this many times but never in a party of hundreds of people. Considering this, it made sense for there to be drains on the ground. After taking in the splendor, we concluded the tour. We took two minibuses and a cable car back down to La Paz and thanked Daniel profusely for the tour. If you, like me, wish I could have written about the cholets more eloquently, do check out this article written by an anthropologist.

In between our adventures in Potosí and El Alto, James and I left Cochabamba. We made the most of our last few days there, spending as much time with my host family as we could. 

The guys and the twins next to the apartment we stayed at

Ignacio recommended we check out a tea house called Huayllani, and I had the best drink I ever had in Bolivia called "Bolivian cheesetea" - maybe a mix of salted cheese foam boba and mocochinchi? 

Pati and Ignacio joined us later and we walked around the grounds. Pati told us she used to work at the events center next to the tea house.

Our last day, I worked from my host family's house while James and Ignacio went off on one last adventure. Then we all got a buffet lunch for our last meal in Cochabamba, and the family took us to the airport. 

Let me just say that the airport in Cochabamba has seen many a tear from me! While leaving, I felt the same way I do whenever I leave my hometown in the Philippines after a visit that feels all too short. After we left Cochabamba, we spent a few days in La Paz and have officially left Bolivia as of today. I will obviously be back, though; there is too much left in Bolivia for me to explore. I'm glad that James is keen on coming along after his first visit, and that I have a family to welcome me home.