Altiplano aventura

They told us it would be really cold, and they were right, but it was worth it.



Heeding the warnings, we loaded up on fuzzy sweaters and headed out to the Salar de Uyuni, which we´d never heard of until we reached South America, but that many travelers told us was the high point of their trip through the continent.

And yes, it was worth getting cold. It was even worth having my hands get so dry that they´re spontaneously (still) bleeding. It was worth having the jeep break down three times and learning five Bolivian songs by heart.



To get there, we took a long bus ride from Potosí to Uyuni, which at first glance seemed like a godforsaken town. (And after spending two evenings and a morning there, I can affirm that it really is a godforsaken town.)

That didn´t matter, though, because after trying to evaluate the inflated claims of several tour companies, we picked one and were off on a three-day trip through otherworldliness.



The Salar de Uyuni is a massive, flat, high lake of dried-up salt from an inland sea that existed about 25,000 years ago, we were told. Today, locals mine the salt from the edges and travelers visit the middle. One day, locals (or multinationals) may also mine the lithium there, but for now the salt flats are relatively untouched.

Our tour first visited what is essentially a steam engine graveyard. We were amused to hear from our driver that ¨we put all the old trains together here so they wouldn´t make many places ugly; then we made it a museum for tourists.¨




¨Se necesite un mecanico con experiencia¨

After appreciating the graffiti, we were off to the salt factory.


Our diminutive but very energetic guide, standing where the salt is boiled


Where iodine is added and then the salt is, well, dumped in a big pile


Then you scoop the salt into little bags and seal them up with flame, see?

After visiting a salt factory in Laos, we were interested to learn that Bolivian salt-making does not seem to include a cleaning step. We found this somewhat distressing since they use surface salt, from a place driven on by lots of jeeps.

Once we had refused the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to buy salt ashtrays, we finally got to head out to the desert to take silly photos.



This is a big thing at the Salar, where the air is so dry and clear and the ground so white that you essentially lose all sense of depth perception, at least in photos, and can do all sorts of wacky things. We weren´t really very good at these photos and we hadn´t brought many props. So instead we did cartwheels and yoga poses and had a good time.





You get very breathless doing this, we noticed, as you´re at about 12,000 feet elevation here.


Still salt, not lava, but an interesting texture


Musing over the texture -- notice the hexagonal squares in the salt here too

We stopped at an island in the salt -- once an island in the sea, and just as effectively marooned today -- that was home to some truly enormous cactuses. Apparently there are 2,500 cactuses on the very small Incahuasi island. Also some vizcachas, funny looking rabbit-like creatures that we´d been hoping to see but didn´t.


Nine hundred years old and still growing


The remains of the salty lake lapping up on the shore


An arch of coral, hundreds of miles from any modern sea


And gorgeous views



As the sun went down and the temperature dropped, we headed out to a small pueblito on the edge of the Salar to sleep in a salt hotel. This was not, as I´d been imagining, like those ice rooms or ice hotels they carve in France and Russia. Fortunately it was a good deal warmer. It was more like big cinderblocks that happened to be sparkly if you got them in the right light.

The next morning, we were up early for some Nescafe (yes, we´ve actually gotten quite used to the stuff) and a big day of driving almost to Chile.


Dawn over salt


What, you don´t dry your meat on the nearest cactus?

We had heard the same five-song CD of bouncy Bolivian tunes for the entire day yesterday, and as we drove out into the desert once more, our trusty driver started it up again. I couldn´t decide whether it was better or worse to try to discern the lyrics: yes it was Spanish comprehension practice, but then you were much more aware of the repetition...


Morning light

Today´s landscapes were very different, with sand dunes and distant volcanoes and windswept grass. I kept trying to get pictures of the grass as it was such a distinctive shape.


See the grass in the foreground

We also got to see more wildlife on our second day out. First, we just saw glimpses of animals in the distance, sometimes the more domesticated llamas and their, more delicate wild cousins, the vicuñas. As we visited lakes later in the day, we saw more animals closer up.


Vicuña or llama footprints


Flamingos at Laguna Colorada -- there are several species here. The Salar is an important breeding ground for them, and in the summer, there are thousands -- these are just the hardy winter souls.


Vicuña


The llamas, more domesticated, sport red ribbon earrings


But they are still dignified


A cargo train disappears into the distance, carrying minerals to Chile

There was a lot of driving on this trip, and not a lot of shelter for pit stops. Battle-hardened from India, though, I made it work.


Happy that I found a bush that was more than two feet tall...

Our local companions included a capable but moody driver (who occasionally fell asleep on the Salar, but we didn´t get too worried, since there wasn´t really anything he could run into) and a rather shy but resourceful cook (when confronted with four or five vegetarians after expecting two). Our fellow travelers included a German woman and three young Londoners who kept us entertained.


The backseat peanut gallery

Although the long hours of driving made everyone a little giddy, we were all pretty subdued on the third morning. It had been a cold night in a bare-bones shelter near the large and gorgeous Laguna Colorado, and it hadn´t started getting any warmer at 5 am.

But we got up, packed up, and loaded things into and on top of the jeep. The cook, rather to our amusement, staged a rebellion and sat in the front seat, which the German woman had staked out for the last two days. It turned out it was just too cold in back. Marty and I got her to come in next to us, where Marty had (very cleverly) thought to spread out a sleeping bag. I lent her my hat and mittens, the German woman got up front, and we were off.


The cook´s sun hat was not helping her stay warm, but Marty was well bundled

We drove along for a few minutes when suddenly we stopped. I don´t know how many degrees below zero it was, but the car was overheating. Something was frozen in the engine. Our driver tinkered for a bit and Marty got out to help. Then the driver took the cap off the radiator and steam exploded in both their faces. Fortunately they were OK. That cooled the engine a bit, we went back for more water for the radiator, and we were off again.

As dawn broke, we reached the highest elevation of our trip, at 4,950 meters or about 16,200 feet. It was still very very cold, but I didn´t care; I got out, because this was the first time I´d ever seen geysers!


Not unlike our radiator earlier -- this is an artificial hole drilled for an abandoned energy-generation attempt


Natural geysers

A few minutes later, and somewhat lower in elevation, we arrived at the true testing point: the hot springs.

It was very warm once you were in the water, they said. We all approached the steaming pool and peered in. Some other people had arrived before us and a few brave souls were submerged. The rest of us huddled around it in our giant puffy coats and hats and llama-themed fuzzy things.

Maybe just putting the feet in would do.



But I had put my bikini on at 5 am, damn it. Might as well go for it. Taking off many layers of clothing, I went in. Marty followed.

They were right! It was warm!





Getting out was of course the hard part. We contemplated staying until summer.

But breakfast called and we somehow managed to get out and into dry clothes without any changing rooms and without going hypothermic. We did get some surprising effects on our hair, which due to some hard grey substance in the water ended up closely resembling the local grasses.





Our final day consisted of a long drive through high red deserts past volcanic mountains that looked like giant spilled paint.


Las Montañas Coloradas

Oh, and the car broke down two more times. Once a flat tire -- fixed rapidly -- and once a more serious breakdown when the engine again overheated. Fortunately there´s a spirit of one-for-all among the drivers, and a few others pulled over and crawled under the car and banged on things and replaced other things and eventually got the coolant circulating. Marty got out and helped, I wrote in my journal, the German woman planned how we would fit ourselves and all our things into the other jeeps, and the backseat brigade played 20 questions with pop stars.

Eventually we were on our way once more, speeding back to Uyuni with time only for brief pit stops (wherever I could find tallish rocks or slight depressions in the ground). The scenery continued to be majestic except when sandstorms hit.


Before the polvo


Amid the polvo

Interestingly, at this final point in the journey, we learned that the driver also had an Ipod with lots of other songs besides the 5 greatest hits. Energized by the new playlist, we bumped and bounced over the dirt roads, finally got onto asphalt, and made it back to Uyuni. In spite of three breakdowns in one day, we´d arrived in time for our overnight buses for the next adventure...