Tale of Two Cities
You won’t find two more different cities on earth as Potosi and Sucre and considering they are only 150 kilometers apart in the same country this is very strange. Potosi is dominated by Cerro Rico – historically, physically and psychologically. The only thing I can remotely compare it to is Rwanda and the Genocide or maybe Detroit and the auto business, but these are really lame comparisons for many reasons. Historically, we’re talking about 450 years of mining being everything. Eight million deaths, booms and busts. Physically, Cerro Rico dominates the city. It is beautiful and grotesque at the same time. Beautiful because the red rock glows in the sunshine and even more-so in the sunrise and sunset. Grotesque because the only reason there is red rock so different than the surrounding hills is because the mountain was stripped during the first wave of mining since the silver was actually on the surface as if it was a crop. Psychologically, because as the wealth of the mine was dug, it was removed from the city leaving a hollow hulk beneath the hollow hulk. Sucre in the meantime is the center of wealth for the country. It is supposedly the capital although the main government in Sucre is the Supreme Court while most of the rest of the government is in La Paz. Sucre is an uppity city full of pride and pristine colonial beauty. I would go so far to say that Sucre is the most beautiful city in the Americas and would give anyplace in the modern world a run for its money as far as civic beauty goes. Sucre is white-collar and Potosi is blue-collar. Sucre may have the beauty and stature, but it does not mean that Potosi is not its equal or better. In fact, after a brief visit to both, I would say that I like Potosi more than Sucre.
I walked a lot though Potosi and what struck me most is the attitude of the people. They were all friendly to me. I was walking by a couple of indigenous women selling fruit and they each wanted me to photograph the other. Neither one wanted to be photographed, but they certainly could have fun poking at the other for not wanting to be photographed. We laughed and I decided I should by a piece of fruit, but that turned into two oranges, one from each, because buying one just became a contest between the two. Since I am alone, I watch people a lot. I’ll watch gringos, but I prefer watching the locals especially the indigenous folks. Potosi is full of indigenous people. Most of Latin America laughs a lot… more than people do in our world. But the folks of Potosi laugh more than any people I have seen. They are friendly beyond the norm and they laugh regularly yet they have suffered more than just about anyone in the world for so many generations. It reminds me of Africa in many ways. I will have a hard time the rest of my life understanding the bad attitudes of so many groups around the world that have never suffered and continue to suffer like the residents of Potosi. I can list a half dozen of them off the top of my head right now, but it seems like that will just cause grief so I choose to remain silent… rare, heh!
Potosi is a cold place. At 4000 meters, I doubt it ever gets hot. The daytime temperatures are pleasant enough given the proximity to the equator and the brightness of the sun, but as soon as that sun sets the temperature drops. Everyone dresses warmly in Potosi.
I knew the bloodiest Christ images had to be in Potosi. Going with the Paul Theroux theory (attributed to him only because that’s where I got it from), the indians in Potosi suffered more than any others in the Andes so for them to understand the suffering Jesus went through for them, it has to be ugly. The first couple of churches I visited were disappointments in that they didn’t have a lot to them. Many of the churches in Potosi are basically closed. Jose told me that the people in Potosi rarely go to church anymore unless it is Easter. More signs of a dying church. Some of the churches are being restored. Jose told me that it is a long process because the workers abandon their jobs regularly to work in the mines and maybe make it rich (much worse odds than the lottery and the lottery won’t kill you). One old church was turned into a theater and restaurant. Another is a tourist information center. I finally made it to Santa Teresa Convent. There I found some of the greatest artwork I have ever seen including the most ghastly looking Christs yet. In the end, yes, Potosi’s horrors required the most horribly afflicted images of Christ. Aside: I finally found an image of Christ receiving the huge gash to his torso. The Romans guarding the hill which was the site of the crucifixions rode up to him on horseback and stuck a spear in him when he looked fairly deceased similar to sticking a fork in a baked potato to test if it is done. It would seem this was actually the cause of death from the painting that I saw. Another Aside: I have never seen so many images of Joseph. I would normally call him the Unknown Dad (like the Unknown Comic with out the bag over his head… and humor), but he is quite well known in Potosi. I am not sure why he is so thoroughly depicted there. Maybe something to do with all of the missing fathers caused by the mine? Interestingly, he is depicted as looking just like his son. Interesting because I don’t get the father and virgin mother story! At first, I kept thinking, who is the kid that looks like Jesus walking with Jesus the adult until I realized that the adult was Joseph.
The university students in Potosi were not going to school. They were on strike protesting the teachers. Apparently, the teaching positions are always given out to relatives of existing teachers! The students want to end this practice and they want to have a say in who is teaching. I could tell that protesting is a way of life in Potosi.
The buildings in Potosi are truly special. There are two main old areas. An artificial or massively controlled river separated the two. The river was used in the refinery process and was fed my manmade lakes that were built hundreds of years ago in the mountains above the city. The neighorhood below the river and at the bottom of Cerro Rico was for the indigenous. The area above was for the Spanish elite. The latter area has most of the colonial buildings and plazas. The lower area is an interesting maze of streets with adobe buildings that are melting and quite fascinating. I went into a church being restored in this neighborhood and was struck by its bright colors on the outside and inside. No gold or silver there. The colors are indigenous and I saw many indigenous images in the building and paintings. A priest and his parishioner with whom he was having an affair jumped from the belfry four hundred years ago. I was told that there were many babies found in the walls of churches in Potosi presumably those of nuns. I tried to imagine the horror of being sent to Potosi to lead a congregation of miners and their families. The suicides and babies and whatever else went on speak clearly. While the upper section has some of the best colonial architecture I have seen, it is run down. I would say that it adds a wonderful charm to it all and the buildings look in pretty good structural shape probably due to the cool, dry climate unlike I saw in Havana. Nothing is clean or orderly even in the best places of Potosi.
Pachamama and Tio are part of Potosi. The residents may be Catholic, but they have not abandoned their roots. The local markets sell dried llama fetuses and other offerings for these gods and the buildings are adorned with shreds of flowers and other offerings put out during one or more of the festivals.
I could not take my mind off pollution while in Potosi. Given that lead is mined, refining of metals takes place there and mercury was boiled off a silver mixture to get the pure precious metal, I wondered how many pollutants are in that area. Mercury just doesn’t go away. Jose confirmed that there are issues. A reservoir at the bottom of the city is polluted.
In some ways, Cerro Rico is an eyesore. Modern mining philosophy says that it should be leveled with heavy equipment so that the remaining ores can be removed in a safe and economical way including those that lie under the water table which are not accessible to the antiquated hand methods. UNESCO says it is a historical site and should not be removed. I think UNESCO is loony and way out of line having a say in such a matter, but I guess it is easy for them to say this when they reside in New York or Paris or wherever they hail from and like the idea of 450 year old mines. But 97% of the people in Potosi say it is their symbol and should not be removed even if it would put an end to the suffering and probably put more money into the community than is possible mining it as they are. I equate it to the mentally ill being in charge of their medication, but Potosi residents deserve the right to choose their future just like any other community even if they are a bit psychologically damaged.
The drive to Sucre from Potosi drops you down more than 1500 meters to a very nice climate. Sucre never gets too cold and never gets too hot. While I was there the sun was warm and the breezes were refreshing. They say it has the best climate in Bolivia. And the air is pristine. The most noticeable things about Sucre on my drive through town is white colonial buildings and perfect parks. The streets are orderly. The colonial buildings are pristine and most of them are bright white. The parks and streets have large old trees and the flower beds are almost too perfect. There are a lot of nice city parks in Latin American cities, but they are usually a bit rundown due to protests and heavy use. Sucre has little metal fences next to the sidewalks delineating the people area from the grass and flowers. And in Sucre these little fence delineations are adhered to.
I don’t think Sucre has many protests. On May Day (International Worker’s Day… except in USA… and maybe China?) there were some mild festivities which did not approach a protest. I was thinking things must be wild in Potosi and La Paz and much of Latin America. I was walking one day and noticed that a beautiful old glass-enclosed balcony was shredded to pieces. It didn’t look like rehab work so I was perplexed… something out of place in perfectville. I met a Brazilian woman, Vivian, on a tour of a convent and she speaks perfect English. We ended up hanging out for the day and sharing our mutual interest in the Church. She knew what happened to the balcony and told me there was a protest three days earlier and it was blown up. Blown up by Sucre residents? No, of course not. The balcony is part of the Supreme Court building and it was blown up by protesting miners from… Potosi!!! The building is attached to a school with young children who were quite distraught by the intrusion on their quiet little world.
The churches in Sucre are quite nice. I believe they have the same issue with lower turnout. The art collections are very extensive, but not nearly as nice as the ones in Santa Teresa. And Sucre’s churches images of Christ are not nearly as bloody. So many less indigenous people to convert in Sucre. It was probably a posh job to be assigned to a Sucre church or convent. Step out of line and off to Potosi. Or maybe the best were sent to Potosi? The females had to pay to join a Sucre convent. Many paid in artwork rather than dinero. I guess this kept the riff-raff out. It was nice to have Vivian along for the day telling me about what she knew about the art, what Brazil is like and we hung out in the sun on the roof of one of the churches which provided a great view of the city. We laughed all day long.
When I arrived in Sucre on Sunday I found a ghost town. I decided to go visit the large cemetery on the visitor map. I found where the city was hanging out when I got to the cemetery. The cemetery has five parts: 1) the wealthy families have their own elaborate mausoleums some of which were more amazing than those found in Buenos Aires’ Recoleta cemetery, 2) the normal folks are in above ground lined plots made of concrete where four to five coffins are stacked vertically and the unit is fifty or more coffins in width, 3) the poor people are in a haphazard, weedy area out back where they are in the ground usually with just a wooden cross as a marker, 4) there are large, simple mausoleums also in the back for groups of people (Lions Club???), and 5) there is an area of bones. It took a while to figure out the bones, but I noticed that some of the regular folks’ graves had been ripped out leaving vacancies for new coffins. I surmised that the families stopped paying rent. I estimated there may be 25,000 plots in this cemetery mainly filled with regular folks. Each of their “holes” consisted of a glass door (simple to ornate, often with marble tile surrounding), decorations such as photos and usually with flowers, a faceplate telling us who they are and presumably the coffin behind the faceplate. I was amazed at the percentage of well-kept sites estimating at least half had healthy flowers suggesting a recent visit. The cemetery was mobbed with family members providing further evidence to this. I noticed very few people around the rich mausoleums and very few flowers. The poor persons’ area was quite busy, but no one seemed to be pulling any weeds. In order to get up to the fourth and fifth levels of coffins, wooden ladders are used. The cemetery provides dozens of them. Probably have to wait in line on Easter. I took a few photos, but it was awkward due to the number of visibly upset people grieving for their loved ones. One grave was for a child that died eleven months ago and it included some of his toys. It was a very personal and public cemetery unlike most.
Tags: bolivia, south america, Travel
vagabondrick
Leave a Reply