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Date:
April 04, 2002
Hello !
I hope this email finds you all well. I arrived in
Sucre , Bolivia today after a two day ride from
Potosi. Sucre is a lively modern city of about 150,000
people located in south central Bolivia.
I finally descended off the altiplano. The air has
lost it`s damp penetrating cold of the higher altitude
of Potosi. It is refreshing change.
My 3 day ride form Uyuni to Potosi was the most
physically and mentally demanding of my trip. This
section of Bolivian " highway " is not paved and
poorly maintained. I could deal with the washed out
bridges, washboard road surface, the high altitude,
the rocks and the endless mountains. What " cracked "
me physically and mentally was the sand. Riding a
loaded touring bike through sand is equivalent to
rowing a boat up a raging river. It can be done but
why bother. I began the my 3rd day out of Uyuni the
Easter message. I was touched by Christ`s sacrifice
for me. A mere hour later frustrated and exhausted I
lost my religion. I lost it badly. I was glad that
there was no one around to witness. By noon on the 3rd
day I hitched a ride. I assumed that I was 40 kms
south of Potosi. I loaded my bike in the back of the
pickup truck and climbed inside the cab. Five minutes
later I was in Potosi. I abandoned my ride 4km south
of the city. I was so exhausted that I do not believe
that I could have made the final climb into city
central.
By contrast my ride from Potosi to Sucre was
infinitely better. A beautifully maintained road that
wound through scenic mountains was accompanied by
perfect weather and stellar camping. I was escorted by
school children that ran by my side. Their giggles
were infectious. I was also the center of a peleton. I
was surrounded by 10 other local cyclist who all
wanted to ride faster than the gringo.
I continue to be frustrated by the language barrier.
The different dialects and accents baffle me. I feel
like I ma re-learning the same words and phrases for
each region. A young man rode up beside me and asked
for platita. ( money ) I responded, " èPorque? Tengo
trabajar para mi plata. " ( I have to work for my
money ". Right Karen and Gwen ? He responded in
horrible Spanish, " I do not understand English."
Incidents like this leave me scratching my head.
When I was in Potosi I toured the notorious silver
mines that overlook the city. Potosi was founded
following the discovery of rich veins of ore in Cerro
Rico.( Rich Hill )The prolific mines produced the
silver that supported the excesses of the Spanish
monarchy for centuries. Indians and African slaves
were forced to labour in the mines. They were exposed
to asbestus, arsenic, accident and disease. It is
estimated that 8 million workers died in the Potosi
mines over 300 years of operation. Today 6000 miners,
including 1000 children, still struggle to earn a
living from the depleted mine. The appalling working
conditions limit the average miner`s life expectancy
to 32 years. They work the mine as a co-operative
sharing the total revenue. The miners knowing accept
the dangers out of desperation to support their
families. The night before my tour I was anxious about
what I might encounter. I slept restlessly.
My tour started with a minibus ride to where I was
given rubber boots, plastic pants, a miner`s hat and a
jacket. The next stop was the store where I could buy
gifts for the miners. My choices were soft drinks,
coca leaves and dynamite. Yes there were small stand
that sold dynamite anyone could purchase. How many
chances to I get to say, " A stick of dynamite please.
"? With gifts in hand I was led to the mine`s
entrance. It was an unimpressive stone arch surrounded
by shacks. There were a few miners who gawked
incredulously at the group of gringo who paid to enter
their mine.
For the next 3 hours I crawled through narrow passage
ways, descended rickety ladders and sloshed through
ankle deep grey muck. There was no electricy or air
filtration in the shafts. The beam from my helmet
shown through the dust particals suspended in the thin
congested air. ( The mine sits at an elevation 14000ft
above sea level) The most unnerving point for me was
when my tour reached what appeared to be a past
cave-in. I slithered through an opening 2ft in height
and 10ft in length.In the center of this opening I had
to pivot. My feet had to exit first due to a 6ft drop
on the far side of the opening. I realized during this
maneuver that I was felt closterphobic.
Our guide Juan was a miner for 3 years. Both his
grandfather and father were miners. His grandfather
died young and his father who moved to a lower
altitude struggles with lung disease. Juan`s job title
was carrier. Forty to fifty times a day he would
transport sacks equal to his body weight form the
lower levels to the surface. When he injured his back
his wife forbade him to return. Now working 3 mornings
a week as a guide he earns more than the miners. He
considers himself a very lucky man.
I can only imagine the emotions of those forced to
labour in the Potosi mines. Each day they descended
into the dark choking atmosphere with the knowledge
that after a few years of working under atrocious
conditions they would be dead.
From Sucre I intend to backtrack towards Potosi before
turning south to the city of Trajila. Via this route I
estimate that I am 2000kms from Buenos Aires. Sound
like a long way ? Not to me. I look at the distance
compared to what I have already completed. I have
cycled over 9500kms since departing SF. Buenos Aires
is just around the corner.
I miss you all,
Dennis
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