This was my last full day here in Betws-y-Coed (Northern Wales), and I decided my time here wouldn't be complete without a visit to one of the famous slate mines. The largest one, in fact, located in Blaenau Ffestiniog. I swear, I'm not making that name up--it's really a town. So is Dolwyddelan and Beddgelert and Abergwyngregyn. Don't ask me how to pronounce any of them. When I arrived at the mine, I took a photo of what is very typical weather here in Wales--sunny and stormy all in the same moment.
When I pulled in, they had just closed up the main parking lot and a man directed me to drive all the way to the top of the giant hill (it's a mountain, really!) and park there. See those teeny tiny buildings and cars at the bottom right? That's where I had to get to, and this is where I had to hike back to in order to reach my car again. Good thing I am in reasonable shape.
I was grateful to have that helmet on since I immediately clocked my head on the top of the doorway as I was exiting the train. I should probably wear one of those all the time. A few minutes after we arrived below, our guide cut out all the lights. As you can imagine, it was pitch black, and even though I rationally knew it was only temporary, I felt a split second of panic when it went that dark. After turning back on his flashlight and instructing us to turn on our headlamps, our guide explained that the men who worked in the mines in the 19th century worked in that darkness for most of the day. Once they saw their way to their stations and got to work, the candles were extinguished and they marked their progress by sound and by feel. They typically started at dawn and worked 12-14 hours down below, which meant that most of them didn't see light for days on end. Here's a lighted section where our guide demonstrated the tools they'd use. Basically, they'd use these spear-like tools to bore holes down through the rock, then have someone else come in and set the charges for an explosion.
In addition to the darkness, cold, and damp (it was 49 degrees down there), there was also the dust, which caused most of the men to die somewhere in their 40s. But people came from all over Wales to work in the mines (and brought their 8 year old sons down with them) because it was a solid way for an entire family to make a living. They worked full days Monday through Friday, had a half day Saturday, Sundays off (for church) and the only holidays they got were Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter. A detail that particularly moved me was that it was common for them to sing and recite poetry to each other during their brief lunch breaks--a way of lifting each others' spirits in the midst of all that dark cold. This is partly why Wales has a long tradition of Collier's Choirs (Miner's choirs).
Back up top, I drove back to Betws-y-Coed, once again marveling at all the beauty around me. I'm soaking up as much green as I can before heading back to drought-plagued Southern California.
The afternoon found me winding up tiny country roads, trying to find a stables I'd heard about that offered pony-trekking rides (ponies actually being fairly standard-sized horses, just...thicker). I did my best to follow the directions I'd been given, but couldn't find this place for a good half hour. I was getting more and more stressed (some of those roads were really treacherous and I had no phone signal), and seriously thought about just heading home again. But I persevered, and eventually reached my destination--a stable and farm out in the middle of nowhere. I was greeted by chickens, geese, sheep, and a couple of cats. Quite the menagerie, and I wish now that I'd taken a photo, but as I was running late, I was in a rush to get to the stables. There's at least one chicken in there.
This is Max, my ride for about an hour and a half.
It was raining steadily when we started, which made me think again that I should have just gone home, but before long, it cleared up.
It was just my guide, Carrie, and myself. We talked about all sorts of things during the ride. She shared about her father's death a year ago, her children, how she met her current partner, how she used to dream of owning a horse ranch in California when she was a little girl, and her opinion about Brexit. She was strongly for it, and when I asked why, the first thing she said was, "Because I can remember how it was before." When I asked if she thought it was better then, she said, "Oh, yes!" She then went on to talk about immigration and the strain on social services, and that immigrants were sending all the money back home instead of reinvesting it in the local economy. She also shared several stories of abuses of the system she's heard of in the news and from people she knows (interestingly enough, they were stories of Polish and Romanian immigrants). It was tough, in some ways, to just listen, especially since I question some of her generalizations and sources of information, and I disagree with some of her conclusions, but it was instructive. She, like many of the Welsh (who voted overwhelmingly to leave), has a strong feeling of the EU depleting Great Britain's resources, and an indignation at the idea of people "taking advantage," both of which would be justifiable if they were true. Are there likely some people taking advantage of the system, claiming UK pensions for themselves and for families still living in other countries in Europe? Probably so. Is that a majority, and are UK citizens being denied their own privileges as a result? I don't know, but I question that. What I could have asked Carrie if I'd been in a more feisty mood was about the millions of dollars in aid the EU has given Wales over the past decade, which I only learned about by listening to the news here. I refrained, however. Riding ponies through the woods was not the time to provoke an argument, and I must say my heart went out to her after hearing about some of the hardships she's been through in the past few years. And, ultimately, I'm a visitor, which makes my right to pass judgment a flimsy one.
But back to the beauty of my surroundings: here's a shot of a field of foxglove that we happened upon. These flowers are everywhere, but I hadn't seen such a concentration of them until that moment.
Chickens taking shelter from the rain as I was leaving.
Tomorrow I head down to Stratford, and the next day on to London for the final leg of my journey. I'll be sorry to leave the wild beauty of Wales behind, but am looking forward to a working cell phone again and roads that are easier to navigate. I might be posting an abbreviated update or none at all tomorrow as it will be my birthday and time, I think, for an evening off!
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