Down the Mines

Dylan writes: Up the hill from Potosi town there is a hill that contains a labarynth of tunnels that have been slowly digging their way into the mountain for over 500 years. The important minerals are mainly silver and zinc but there is some tin there as well. We had heard that it was an eye opener from many travellers and they were all absolutely right. As part of a group of six, and with an English speaking guide we made our way firstly to the processing plant. For me this was an essential part of the trip, as we not only learned how the minerals were delivered by the miners, but also how they sometimes could fix the batch so they got more money. Not that they get much, an average wage is around 600 Bolivianos for a month´s slog (thats around $70 USD). More about the working conditions in a sec. We were shown how the minerals were checked for quality to determine the pay to the miners, then how they where separated from the rubbish that is invariably part of the batch. Being in dangerously close contact with heavy industrial machinery and vats of slooshing cyanide (sp?) is something that would never happen in the UK (even in Wales) and something that we are both glad to have seen first hand. The main destination for the refined minerals, a surprise to me at least, is the UK.

From the plant we moved onto the miners market, a place where a child of 5 years can purchase 96% alcohol and sticks of dynamite! For the first time in my life, I was allowed to collect the ingredients for a bomb. We were given a quick run down on what the miners need everyday, and advised what to get them as presents. Kat got a bottle of pop, I got a stick of dynamite, a small bag of fertaliser, a bag of coca leaves, a detonator with a three minute fuse and two bottles of pure alochol (one for them, one for my troubles).

Then up the hill a bit more and into the tiny opening into the heart of the mountain at about 11 o´clock. From the outside you wouldn´t imagine what you were getting into! We had already been given our miners garb complete with head torches and Coca leaves to chew (helps you cope with the lack of air and intense heat, makes your mouth numb too). We set off for 200 metres or so along a narrow, low tunnel into the dark. This was the oldest part of the mine dating back to the 16th century. Every now and again we were having to dodge out of the way of trolleys hurtling down the tracks towards us bouncing off their wheels and groaning under the 2000 kilo load. Before long we came to a tiny hole beside the track. I joked with the guide that it would be really funny if we were to go down there, and he joked back that we were. There was no way I thought we could, until he went down first. The coca must have been working because we all followed him into the hole and onto a ladder several feet below our reach. Ok, so we could practically fall down the hole but I wasn´t even thinking how we where going to get back.

On level two we settled into a tiny "clearing" for lunch. There was a family of miners here eating lunch (coca leaves and alcohol - only on Fridays though, the weekend is for partying) and we spent the next 30 minutes chatting and drinking with the guide and the miners. Perhaps it was the consumption, perhaps the words of the guide, but at no time did either myself or Kat feel that we were even under the ground, let alone in any danger. It must be said (and has been in many books and by many other travellers) that safety standards are the lowest imaginable. There are no unions here, every miner is in it for himself, hence the gifts of explosives.

By the forth level the heat had got much greater and the tunnels newer, but much smaller. We were frequently on our hand and knees and on occasions being dragged by our feet through holes too small to breath in. For me this was the best part, and at the end of the tightest crawl we met two miners (brothers I think) with hammer and chisel, clearing the loose stone from a blast less than an hour before. I gave them the last of my alcohol (feeling they needed it more than me now) and crawled back to the sunlight.

I don´t know if I will ever go down a mine again but I can only imagine the reasons that these miners do it. The conditions are unhealthy, there is very little safety provision and the pay is tiny. But from what we were told there is a great tradition in mining and the money is still better than other jobs in the area.

To finish the tour our guide made a nice bomb for us to play with. When he pulled the lighter out of his pocket and lit the fuse I felt sick. However once he handed the armed dynamite to the big mouthed english girl for a fun picture I had to do it as well. With what felt like seconds to spare the guide grabbed the innocent looking bag of fertilser and explosives and ran down the hill. Before I had time to turn my camera on it had gone off sending earth and hearing skywards. I think I am going to have nightmares about that one.

There where many things that made us open our eyes on the tour of the mines, but the thng that saddened us the most was the amount of blood spilt by money grabbing politicans and looters. Throughout history thousands of slaves and locals have been killed needlessly over miners disputes, not to mention due to lung realated illness (the average age that the miners live to is 45 years).

For me, one of the industrial highlights so far.......