Mining in Potosi
In Potosi we set off to do what Jenny described as the hardest thing she’s ever done, and it wasn’t far down my list either. Potosi was (supposedly) the richest city in the world at one stage. They have mines and I believe it made them rich, but then the Spanish overworked them. I’m not too sharp on the details but I can tell you that for €1.70 you can buy a stick of dynamite there and blow up whatever you want. It’s not like you’re allowed blow up whatever you want, but it’s about as hard to come by as bread is in Ireland. Some English guys blew up a hostel in southern Bolivia with the dynamite they bought in Potosi. They found out fairly lively that that’s against the law and ended up behind bars until daddy bailed them out.
So with all this talk of dynamite we had to check this out. We met a Bolivian who greeting us with a few words of Irish, the quickest way to charm an Irish person, so we immediately decided he was our man. Both myself and Jenny hope to study International Development so we felt we had to experience what these guys do every day, and we were only looking at the work, they were they guys pushing and pulling tons of stones in the heat, with a severe lack of oxygen. Even outside the mine it was hard to breathe. Potosi is the highest city in the world, if the guide book is to be belived, at 4300 metres (around 13,000 feet).
The day of the mine tour rolled around pretty fast, to be expected I suppose when you book the day before. Jenny was still unsure whether or not she wanted to go and I was happy for her to distract me with her self-debate so I wouldn’t start to change my mind. We were told we’d get there, spend 3 hours or so crawling around, get out and blow up some dynamite. Sounded simple enough.
First thing we had to do was get kitted out in our mining gear. This included helmet, helmet lamp, big yellow jacket, bandana to help with the dust inhalation, protective pants and Wellington boots. Next we were all shipped off to the miners market to buy some presents for the miners. Walking around the market in my yellow outfit I started to wish we had been dressed up after the shopping.
We were brought on a quick tour of the refinery and we splashed some pure silver on our fingers. All that was only delaying the inevitable and everyone seemed to want to get the show on the road. We drove up the mountain to the mine used for tours. One of the last things said to us before heading in was that an American engineer came there 11 years ago to inspect it and said it would last a maximum of another 7 years. After that he said it would cave in, trapping anyone left inside. The guide giggled and said he hoped it wasn’t going to happen today. Oh boy. I think this might be what my dad meant when he said there are some blog entires he’s prefer not to read. Turn away now Ger!
We arrived at the opening on the mine, looked like the arch Roadrunner used to draw in the rocks to get away from Coyote. We stepped in, heard a cart coming and jumped back out again. Second time lucky, we all made it into the cave and walked through. We were able to stand at this stage, and had some space to wave our arms around, if we felt the need to do that. We had to flick on our torches once the light from the opening drifted away around the bend.
Once things got tricky I bumped my head for the first of 783 times. And Jenny had her first fall! Things got smaller and darker but soon we came to the museum. Strangest placed museum in the world possibly? We were told to look out for statues that we meant to be of the devil. There was quite a few there. Because these fellas are Christians, they believe God is in the sky, and therefore the devil must be in the ground, where they work. So as to not annoy the devil for taking silver from his spot, they pay their respects. Their respect also comes in a different form. Every Friday the lads get together and drink a beverage that is something like 93% alcohol, all to keep in the good books the man below. We were invited to try the drink, but weren’t in any mood to party (or have our mouths burned off).
We left the museum and had I had to put the bandana on again. It was a constant battle between dealing with the heat inside the bandana, and the dust outside it. The easiest thing was just to put my head down, and follow the person in front. Most of the time I couldn’t even tell who was iin front of me, if I raised my head enough to see my helmet would smash of the ceiling.
After 10 minutes or so of walking we came to the ned of level one. The guide explained there were three and a half levels, the last wasn’t quite far enough below the previous to be called a level. It was up to us how far we wanted to go. He said in every group one or two freak out and go back.
I was almost the first person to through in the towel. I wasn’t scared or anything, but I had serious trouble breathing. I knew if I carried on and went to the second level I would have a long way to go if I needed a quick exit.
But ego kicked in and I made up my mind that I would not be the first to go. Jenny’s only 18, if she can do it I can! What ensued would have been great fun, had we not been in a mine. We took off down a chute, about 2 foot wide and maybe 2 or 3 foot high. It was extremely steep and like the rest of the mine, full of stones and dust, through which we had to find our way. At one point I got to a small clearing, unsure of whether to turn left or right. I raised my head just enough to see the guy ahead of me turning left. Good job I looked, on my right was a hole with a drop of a couple of hundred feet. Our guide saw a guy fall to his death down in a few weeks before.
We stopped for a rest between levels 2 and 3 where our guide explained a few things to us. Looking around everyone was red and puffy, trying to breathe but finding it just as hard as I was. We were told how anything from 25 guys die there every year. The life expectancy of a miner is 10 years after they enter. We later heard of a group who met a boy of 12 down there working. He told them how he was only there for 3 months, but their guide sadly informed him he was there until the day he died.
Only 25% of the miners have health insurance. To be eligable for insurance they have to be in the job for over two years and pay 4000 Bolivianos, that’s €400 to the europeans among us, also known as two months wages for a miner. Our guide, whose name might have been Jose, was an ex-miner who got injured at work. When his recovery was complete his wife forbade him to go back to work, even though the money miners make far exceeds that of other professions, a taxi driver for example would make 800-900 Bolivianos per month.
After our chat we continued down the chute until we were on solid enough ground again. Level 3 was a sight for oxegen starved eyes. Although it was dark and dusty, we could at least stand up straight again. We were given the option of getting on a ladder, which we could see down through a hole in the gound to level 3 1/2 or take the ‘easy’ option of staying on level 3 and watching some men dig. Half the group went south and the other half, including myself and Jenny, headed off to see the digging.
What we saw amazed us. On our way we had to move in every now and then to let a cart pass us by. The carts were everything you would expect from a Western movie. It reminded me of what Donkey Kong used drive around in in the old Nintendo game. We watched the men empty the cart on the ground and take off again, while two other men shoveled the stones into a cauldron that was then hoisted up to level 1. Up to 7 years ago the men had to carry the stones on their backs up the chute we had just struggled down. We were thinking how lucky they were until the Canadian guy Liam announced that in Canada the miners use an elevator.
Our final task of the day was getting out. For this we were given the option of following the guide the way we came or the 7 of us could go off on our own to navigate a more adventurous path in a sort of team building excercise. Once one person said yes to option number 2 no one wanted to be the wimp so we all set off together. After the initial jumping on pipes to pull overselves up to more pipes was over, option 2 didn’t seem all that crazy. All it involved was us literally jumping to level 2, and then crawling along the groud to meet with the guides. Just in case we hadn’t seen enough, he pointed out where he saw the man falling from level 1 and down the hole where his body was later recovered. We all moved very carefully to level 1 after that.
When the guide announced we would be out in 7 minutes we all got excited. At this stage my brain was going crazy and in desperate need of air. I panicked when a cart came and almost cried when I didn’t think we were all going to get into a space in the side in time. My perception must have faded a bit because we all had plenty of time to move in. Failing that, that cart could also have stopped, but I couldn’t think properly; my head was down and I wanted to move. Just as I rounded the bend and saw light someone behind shouted,
“Move to the side, cargo!” meaning cart.
Someone closer behind me shouted, “Screw it, run!”.
And run we did. So fast I stumbled in my Wellington boots. But we made it. Back to the fresh clean air. We were then free to set of the dynamite. Some of the guys had fun putting it in their mouths while it was lit. They had three minutes from the time they lit it to run, very fast. I wasn’t too bothered about the blast. The sound scared the life out of me, even though I was expecting it. Never realised bombs are so incredibly loud! All I cared about was that we had survived and the imminent collapse held off for another day.
Tags: Bolivia, mines, Potosi
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