Salar de Uyuni Tour, Day 4 finale

By the time that we reacquainted ourselves with our vehicle and our gear, and set out once more for the famous salt flats, I must admit that I was ready to be underwhelmed. Maybe it was just being tired. Our tour had been interesting, for sure, but a lot of driving for only a few real “sights.” There was grumbling among the passengers, and already talk of getting some of our money back for all of the trouble and the lack of sightseeing.

Around lunch time we made it to the first real tourist stop… a restaurant made of salt, replete with a gift store, carved salt figurines, and a roof that looked likely to collapse at any minute. But out front was a collection of many flags ripping in the wind, and they were quite pretty against the white and the blue.

And in truth, the place was starting to get pretty. We drove through a salt-gathering operation where trucks, light machinery, and people were gathering the salt into piles to be picked up and carted away, and the triangular shapes of them were strange and symmetric in an increasingly strange landscape. And we were starting to see our first large expanses of water, too.

But it was probably an hour or so later that the Salar de Uyuni began to show itself as the most incredible sight I was to see inBolivia.

It was explained to me by a tour guide at Lake Titicaca that the salt flats at Uyuni are the leftover remnants of a sea that was trapped inland by the rising mountains of the Andesand evaporated. A similar story to the Great Salt Lake in Utah. But in the case of Bolivia, Lake Titicacais on the same high, flat plateau (altiplano) as the salt flats… and Titicaca is certainly not salty. Apparently there is an outlet down near Uyuni, and over the course of however many thousands of years, the fresh water pouring out of the mountains onto the altiplano slowly pushed the salt water down to the vicinity of Uyuni before things dried out and the whole thing evaporated.

In any case, the take-home message is that the Uyuni salt flats is a huge expanse of salt left over from the slow evaporation of an inland sea. And it is very flat. And it had just snowed for several days in the high country.

All of this meant that there was a 2” deep or so layer of water, let’s call it a sheen of water for poetry’s sake, spread evenly across miles of white salt. And the sky was liberally scattered with beautiful clouds to break up the neverending blue. In the distance deep blue hulks of mountains and volcanoes gathered clouds to their heads before letting them sally out across the flats.

And there was not a whisper of wind.

The salt flats were a giant mirror reflecting all of this.

Now, I suppose you can imagine, perhaps, the beauty and strangeness of this. But this wasn’t just an isolated vista somewhere; this was hours of driving in this alien landscape. It looked like we would reach the mountains at any time, but we were driving for hours in this surreal beauty. At times it was almost too much. I could feel brain cells smoking and exploding as they tried to reconcile the fact that I was sitting in a Landcruiser, but that somehow the horizon had disappeared. There were times when I could feel vertigo and had to stop looking out the window and fix my gaze on something concrete and unchanging. My hat on the dashboard. The steering wheel.

After a few hours of this, one of the mountains on the horizon began to separate itself and creep closer. Incahuasi. Out in the middle of the salt flats there exist a couple of small islands, and one of these islands is maintained as a tourist destination. And it is covered in large, ancient cacti. We were told these grow about 1 cm a year… and some of these specimens were up to 12 meters tall. Old beings.

One of the strangest feelings of the day was when our Landcruiser circled half around the island to reach the trailhead on the back side. After hours of driving on a sheen of water, it truly felt like we were a boat taking a wide berth around the shallows and seeking the safe landing on the back side of the island.

Before long we were safely ashore and snapping photos.

salt "surf"

After our allotted hour on the island, Victor broke the news that climbing Tonopa, the volcano to the north, wasn’t going to happen. We didn’t have time.

What we did have time for, however, was a stop on the way back to Uyuni to watch the sun bid its fiery farewell to the day. As the light faded the clouds took up its colors in a wide spectrum of changing colors and textures that was, of course, reflected upon itself upon the skin of water.

And well after dark we rolled into Uyuni in salt-covered vehicles, found a hostel, and brought our guides and cook out to dinner in Uyuni. And slept well. Very well.

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Salar de Uyuni tour, day 4: If it weren’t for bad luck…

4 am. The world still dark and sleeping, but when I stumbled out of the half-finished quarters Victor was already on top of the Landcruiser getting ready for a day on the road. The engine purred, warming forced air to release the frosted windows from winter’s touch. And somehow, magically, we managed to get everything packed up, including the groggy tourists.

Two hours to Uyuni’s quiet morning streets, another half hour approaching the salt flat… and a misty light was growing on the eastern horizon. You could sense the beginning of something beautiful. And then up ahead, vehicles with hazard lights flashing. The Bolivian army.

It seemed a routine check. Raoul’s ‘cruiser was ahead of us, but our army man seemed satisfied with our papers pretty quickly and waved us on. And we almost made it. We were partway past Raoul when some shouts and another camouflaged man waving at us to stop again. And meanwhile the steady sun was gathering its colors for a morning appearance.

And suddenly we seemed to be the focus of a small, disorganized military operation. Two more truckloads of soldiers pulled in from further down the road. Seated in the back seat, watching the commotion ahead of us, I could see a drawn pistol silhouetted briefly in the hand of a soldier. Suddenly this seemed very serious. And it seemed like we were going to be pulled over at this spot, just short of the famous salt flat, for a bit of time.

The word was that there were stolen cars being driven toChileon this road, and they wanted to be sure that these vehicles weren’t hot property. Unfortunately for us, the registration papers weren’t in the vehicles. According to Ema and Victor, they had never, in years of tours, been required to have registration papers for the vehicles. This argument did little for the soldiers. Apparently the requirement was new. It all seemed a little strange – I just couldn’t wrap my head around why they would think that the rigs were stolen if they were chock full of tourists and their equipment. Stolen tourists, too?

But soldiers aren’t trained to think for themselves.

We waited while one drove off to find cell service to call the agency in Tupiza. He came back and apparently whatever he found wasn’t good enough, for soon enough we found ourselves a part of a small train of vehicles and camouflage headed back to Uyuni. We even had our own, quietly threatening soldier ride in the passenger seat with us to make sure there was no trouble.

Victor sneaks a look at our camouflaged (and masked!) companion

I don’t believe that Uyuni is a good place to spend much time. It is one of those towns that seems to have just sprung buildings up in the sole need of occupying a space for tourists to arrive and depart for their towns. It reminds me of a railroad town out west.

I can say with surety that a curb just outside the gate of a military compound in Uyuni is a very poor place to spend hours of your time. And this is where we spent the next three or four hours. Waiting. Tupiza Tours was faxing the registration papers to the military, and until they received said papers and matched them to the vehicles, our trucks were locked inside the gates of the compound while we waited outside.

Unfortunately, since we didn’t know when the Landcruisers would be released, we couldn’t even wander far from the gates to spend our time more productively. Léa borrowed my cell phone to get in touch with Tupiza Tours to express our disapproval of our morning being ruined by them not having the papers in their vehicles. Spirits were pretty low. And it only got worse when a small contingent of camouflaged army men came outside the gate to practice their military band skills. Luckily, their efforts seemed to tire them out and there were long breaks between songs.

Eventually – and I don’t exaggerate when I say I think it was four hours later… they released our vehicles back to our possession. Apparently the caveat for the new law about carrying your registration papers was that if you didn’t have proof of ownership, the military was allowed to confiscate the vehicle for their own use. So it would seem that the situation was less about tourists and vehicles being stolen and driven toChile, and more about soldados hoping to get themselves some stylish rides. An hour or so later we passed the spot where we had been stopped. Not a soldier in sight.

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Salar de Uyuni Tour, Day 3

There is something about snowfall that makes everything quiet. Imagine millions of little sound-absorbing particles on the wind, blanketing the ground, filling cracks. It is as if, during a snowfall, someone has sound-proofed the world. When I woke on the third morning of our Salar de Uyuni tour, I noted two things – that it was warmer than I thought it would be at over 15,000 feet, and that the morning was unnaturally quiet. And so I wandered out of the room and down the hallway to the doorway that led outside to see how much snow there was. There was over a foot on the ground, and more still falling hard.

Now I should mention that every time I see a snowfall like this, it always makes me happy. There is something magical about a storm that is burying you in whiteness and giving you the gift of such beauty. However, my normal elation in this case was tempered with a slight concern about the future and fate of our tour. Our discussion with Victor the night before about trying to see some of the sights in the morning seemed a touch absurd. Were we going to need to be rescued? No chains in these Landcruisers, I was pretty sure, but a fair share of bald tires. Hmm.

Over breakfast the rumors started flying… we were going to spend another day holed up in the tourist quarters and see if tomorrow was a better day. But what if tomorrow was a worse day? The drivers held a congress while the passengers all discussed what they wanted and didn’t want. In the end it didn’t really matter. The word came back from the drivers that we were leaving – quickly – and heading toward Uyuni and the Salt Flat. We were getting out while the getting was good.

In retrospect, this was a wise decision considering the conditions. Victor had mentioned earlier in the trip that in 2004, fifteen meters of snow had fallen on the high country around Laguna Colorada. People in several small villages had to be evacuated by helicopter while their livestock were left to flounder and die. Snow like this was unusual (haven’t seen snow like this since 2006, Victor said over tea), but who was to say it wouldn’t keep snowing until we were 15 meters under?

photo by Anne Kalker

Still, there were grumblings from the tourists. We’d already missed most of the sightseeing in the park and high country, and now we were going to go to Uyuni and see the salt flat from there? One of the reasons for doing the tour Tupiza-to-Uyuni was that on the last day, you arrived out on the salt flats at sunrise. And in the process you enjoyed a touch of solitude while the caravans of tourists from Uyuni were still on their way out there. All of this seemed very much in jeopardy.

But, for me at least, it didn’t take long before it was clear that what mattered was just finding the way out.

We helped Victor gas up the Landcruiser, did our best to secure the gear and our packs tightly in a tarp on top, and set out into the whiteness. Not thirty meters from the front door, one of the ‘cruisers was already spinning its wheels. It was going to be a long day. Before long we were in a thirty vehicle chain on the flat, white expanse around Laguna Colorada. The vehicles in front were in charge of finding the buried road, while those in back simply tried to follow the tracks of the truck in front of them without getting stuck.

Victor, a 7-year or more veteran of this route, eventually turned and asked if one of us would drive while he went up ahead to help find the road. And so this is how I found myself in the driver’s seat of a Landcruiser in whiteout conditions, doing my part to stay in the tracks and keep from burying the ‘cruiser or ramming the Landcruiser in front of me.

photo by Denis Marechal

It was slow going, but eventually we reached the park entrance, where Victor assumed control of the vehicle again. The weather changed, too. Instead of heavy snowfall, a strong wind took over, so now there was a shifting sheet of white snow about three feet high, being blown sideways across the landscape and gathering in the lee of wind breaks like the road.

We passed Laguna Capina again, and before long we found ourselves on the safe, low ground, where the sun was even beginning to show its face a little.

And we found one last beautiful place before the sun said its farewell. I forget the name…Valley of the Rocks? This was a Utah-like setting where orange and tan sandstone blocks stood silent and eroding in an open landscape surrounded by mountains. With the sun setting and touching everything lightly, there was a glow to the landscape that was truly magical.

And so, with darkness well-established, we pulled into a village two hours from Uyuni. After some searching, we found an alojamiento with open rooms, though we had to wait a few minutes while the pillows were stitched, a door was finished, and some carpet was laid.

And after some discussion, Victor agreed that we would get up and out of there at 4 am in order to see the sunrise on the famous Salar de Uyuni.

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Salar de Uyuni Tour, day 2

In the morning, we reluctantly pulled our fully-layered bodies out of our fully-zipped sleeping bags, adjusted the hats we’d worn through the night, and looked out upon a still-dark morning tinted in white. Snow. Two inches or more of snow. This was scheduled to be one of the longest days of the tour, and so we were up early. The cooks and drivers were up even earlier, and were already together and discussing the weather.

As we sipped our coca tea, the word came from Victor… because of the weather, we were going to avoid the high country and the normal road, and take a new road, lower in elevation, that would get us to Laguna Colorada. We began to worry a little… would we still be able to see everything we were scheduled to see? … two lagunas, some glaciers… Victor said he wasn’t sure. There was a good chance that the road to Laguna Verde would be impassable, but we would have to wait and see.

And so, with daylight just bringing a gray light to the spitting snow and Landcruisers, we pulled out of the little town with the ten or so other Landcruisers we had been at lunch with the day before. With Ema repeatedly wiping the windshield so that Victor could see, we set off on our adventure. It was still snowing hard.

What followed was a slow morning. The Landcruisers were in pretty good shape, but there seems to be a dearth of tires with treads inBolivia. Ours had good tires in the front, but one of the back tires was bald… the state of tires in our little entourage was a mixed bag. And so things got a little slippery and there was the occasional sideways slip. And on descents and climbs the whole line stopped and worked on the road a bit before attempting to pass. Denis and I joined the others in kicking snow off the road and exposing secure ground for the iffy tires. By the end of the morning I was glad to have waterproof boots and Denis was wishing for dry socks.

Throughout the morning the clouds hovered low and the snow kept spitting. But by noon or so we began to see breaks in the clouds and started to anticipate what this landscape might look like painted in white under a blue sky. Even as it was, there was a sparse, rugged beauty to the clouded-in world. But it could definitely get better.

We learned from Victor that none of the drivers had ever been on the route we were now on. One of the Landcruisers was carrying a local from the village where we had slept, and he was showing the group how to get where we were going. And the plan seemed to be working. Before long a wan sun was beginning to melt away some of the snow cover, and we had descended enough that we were often on firm ground looking up at heights baptized in snow.

There were occasional stops where the drivers got together and discussed where we were and where we were headed. Sometimes this was accompanied by tinkering with the vehicles. Raoul seemed to have an electrical trouble of some sort and occasionally had to fiddle with some wires a bit before his ‘cruiser would start up. One such stopping point was on a wide, flat, dry riverbed covered in a few inches of snow. Someone in our group reached down and gathered a ball-sized bit of snow in his hand. Another member of our group was promptly pegged in the back with a snowball. This, of course, developed into a minor skirmish which eventually involved our group of four, a couple of other French tourists, as well as Victor and Ema. One of my favorite memories of the trip was Ema, braids and skirt flapping, chasing me down with a large snowball in her hand. It was a welcome break from being in the rig. For us at least. Our lunch companions in Raoul’s Landcruiser never exited their vehicle.

At this point our guide from the village turned back, since we now had a riverbed to follow to the road that our drivers knew, and the sun began to come out. Although we were barely on a road (sometimes creating a road through the brush) and we weren’t exactly doing what was scheduled, there was something promising about being here.

There were some stops… lunch, a small village. And then we started climbing back up into the clouds a bit. We stopped at Laguna Capina for a look. On a good day I imagine it would have been quite beautiful, but the colors were muted by the gray sky and the surrounding mountains were a bit clouded in.

This laguna was being worked as a source of borax. Heavy equipment was at work scouring the flat… digging holes and collecting the borax. The edges were tinged in yellow, which Victor explained was sulfur. He also explained that, although many Bolivians were working at Capina, for the most part they were the grunts, while the bosses and executives were Chilean. And we all suspected that most of the profit was headed to Chile.

As the day began waning, we continued our climb to Laguna Colorada. And eventually, down below us, we made out a reddish lake. It became more and more beautiful as we got closer.

Unfortunately, there was a gate and a ranger station in the way. We stopped, and a discussion began about paying for entry into the park. On a normal tour, this wouldn’t be that big of a deal. The park encompasses the high country that holds many sights for eager tourists, and it is one of the major draws for choosing a 4-day tour instead of just paying to see the salt flats themselves out of Uyuni. But this was no normal tour, and the necessity of us paying the full price for entering the park was a valid question.

While we huddled in the lee of the tiny ranger station (the wind was quite cold), the drivers and rangers engaged in a quiet, reserved discussion about the subject. A few of the tourists paid and got back into the vehicles, while the rest of us waited outside to see the outcome of the congress. It was taking quite a while.

And that’s when Ema stepped in. Running out of patience, she pushed her way through the throng of men and into the ranger shack, and began dressing the parkies down about charging us. A second-hand account indicated that her arguments ranged from the practical (we’re just going in for Laguna Colorada and spending one night, not even seeing most of the park) to the somewhat personal (besides, you guys don’t do anything anyway, the roads aren’t even graded or plowed… why should we pay?), but throughout was quite animated. It didn’t take her too long to say her piece and return to the Landcruiser, but it did seem to be the tipping point in the discussion. We were allowed to enter the park without paying, and would negotiate a price on our way back out. This only increased out appreciation for Ema.

And Laguna Colorada was beautiful and amazing.

Yes, those are flamingoes. Forget your image of flamingoes hanging out in warm, tropical climes. These guys are forging in food-rich waters at about 15,000 feet or higher on the edge of the Bolivian altiplano. Tough birds, and very pretty. As I understand, during the summer there are many, many more of them. And flamingo babies…

photo by Anne Kalker

And so, after some last looks at the red waters of Laguna Colorada, we drove the final mile or so to the tourist compound. In the middle of nowhere, but within striking distance of the laguna, is a sprawling complex that exists, I imagine, only to serve the tourists seeing the park. We drove around to the side and found our niche with other familiar Landcruisers from our group, and settled in for the night.

The first night was just us and our companion foursome, but tonight there was a communal dining area where the occupants of eight or more vehicles gathered together for a meal and socialization. Not far away was a tienda that sold rum and whiskey. So after a good meal, a guitar came out and people gathered around the pitiful wood stove in the middle of the room. Fun was had by all.

And during this evening, over drinks, we raised the possibility with Victor of getting an early start to see some glaciers that Anne really wanted to see. Victor seemed uncomfortable at this. We’d already heard that Laguna Verde was out of the question, and our next day of touring seemed a little thin. There was discussion of simply heading to Uyuni and seeing the salt flats from there. None of this sounded very promising. But Victor was open to possibilities. Still, wisely, he adopted a “let’s see in the morning” attitude. Smart guy.

Eventually we zipped into our sleeping bags wearing all the clothes we owned. As it turned out, the night was fairly warm… as it often is when clouds come in (again) and snow is falling…

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The Salar de Uyuni Tour, Day One

There we sat at Tupiza Tours, our bags piled in one corner of the office, as several other tour groups had a landcruiser pull up in front of the hotel and whisk them and their bags away into the ether of beauty and adventure. A tour lady called a number and told us that Victor was running a little late… they were stopping to pick up fresh vegetables for the trip. We took this as a good sign. Among other things, the French couple from the hotel had informed us that the food had been very good, thanks to Ema. And luckily for us, delaying our trip a day to accommodate Anne also meant that Ema could make this trip, so all seemed quite good. The sun was shining and we were ready to be amazed.

Before long our bags were secured on the roof with a tarp over them along with the extra barrels of gas and a canister of propane for cooking. We weaved through town for a little bit and then began the long climb out of Tupiza. It wasn’t long before we were in a train of Landcruisers (and at least one Nissan Patrol, I should mention, just for correctness) stopping at a high point… a saddle with crazy rock formations below us to the right (Valle de Luna) and a wide vista of mountains, folded valleys, and colored rocks. The area around Tupiza is a truly magical place, and here we were with a condor’s view of it all.

It was about this time that we learned, to our disappointment, that we were actually paired up with another Tupiza Tours Landcruiser. Ema mentioned that we had to wait for the other ‘cruiser because she was fixing them lunch, too. This is what we had tried to avoid when booking the tour… and why we delayed a day so that Anne could come with us. And, as it turned out, this day might have been pretty important.

Overall, Victor and Ema were pretty quiet. Victor pointed out a few things, and was very knowledgeable when asked questions, but it was clear from the start that he was a quiet, respectful person by nature. Ema was more talkative, in a motherly sort of way. She wanted to know if we were comfortable, and did we want some coca? We did. I would like to think that this was the beginning of a fine relationship between us and our hosts. I am sure that all tourists like to believe that they are somehow more special to their guides than other tours, but I think in our case this might have actually come to be true. Sharing coca leaves in Boliviais an ice-breaker… a way of saying hello and initiating a bit of time spent together. And so, contently chewing hojas de coca, we left the colored canyons of Tupiza behind and found ourselves on a high, grassy plateau.

And it was here that I began to fall in love with the golden bunchgrasses in the high country ofBolivia…

I can’t explain it, but sometimes a place just feels right. And beautiful. Perhaps beauty is the key to it all in the end. To me, these endless expanses of yellow grasses in the foreground before a blue sky and reaching ridges and peaks… it touched me somehow. I kept looking at the grasses, knowing that a photograph couldn’t capture it, but admiring the subtle texture and color they added to everything. This would continue for days until we dropped down into the salt flats themselves.

For lunch we found ourselves on a wide, flat valley floor covered in bright yellow grass and llamas. While the various cooks set to work, the tourists scattered to collect their llama pictures. A few of the llamas, two in particular, had obviously learned something about the Landcruisers and associated tourists, for they were soon wandering among the vehicles looking for handouts. They seemed willing to eat anything.

Or try anything…

Denis corrupts a llama

Our partner Landcruiser seemed full of loud and somewhat obnoxious tourists. Two fromCanadaand two fromBritain. We heard one of the Brits saying that she was not getting out of the vehicle for lunch (it was a bit cold in the wind), and one of the Canadians, Nick, seemed to need a lot of attention and was loud enough to demand it. We tried to separate ourselves from them, but it was hard with two rigs parked side by side. Even Ema seemed less-than-enthusiastic about them.

a quick stop for some futbal - photo by Anne Kalker

After lunch was a blur of bunchgrass and scenery. And some vicuñas. Vicuñas are llama-like animals of the high country… long-necked like a llama, but less fluffy and more compact. They are a soft brown and white, a slightly more delicate version of a llama. We learned from Victor that vicuña wool is a prized commodity – it sells for $100 US dollars per kilo! They are protected animals inBolivia, so the local people capture them once a year (I don’t know how), liberate them of their wool, and then let them go. A similar story for alpacas, though their wool is worth much less, and the llama is unprotected and its wool worth the least.

vicunas and bunchgrass

Over the course of our tour together, I really came to like and admire my French friends, Denis and Léa. It started the first evening as we pulled into a small village to spend the night. A nearby mountain towering over everything with snowy flanks caught all of our attention, but so did Victor and Ema unloading the Landcruiser. The helping hands were quick to come from all three of us, carrying supplies to the kitchen, getting all the backpacks into a room, checking to see if there was anything else we could do. The kitchen didn’t have a light, and Ema was soon wearing Denis’ headlamp.

And it continued later, when we made sure that both Victor and Emma sat with us for a bit and sampled the rum that we had brought for the trip. There was a sense that we were all in this together, while the four from the other Landcruiser were happy to stay separate and to be served. I was quite happy with our side of the room.

The other driver, Raoul, joined us for a bit, too. He was another quiet, unassuming Bolivian, but often joked with Victor, and his face was capable of lighting up with a brilliant smile. The other group also had an English-speaking guide, Reynaldo, who was funny and outgoing. It quickly became obvious that he was already developing quite a crush on our young, blonde-haired Anne.

And sometime in the course of our conversation and imbibery, I stepped out of the walls of our little enclosure for the night, and found it to be snowing. And there was already an inch or so on the ground.

It was to become the theme of our trip.

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Bolivian Side Note – Showers

Being in Boliviafor any length of time has the effect of curing you of any inclination to take a hot shower for granted. It also makes you begin to consider the value of safety laws and building codes. But then the less fearful side of your brain comes back and says… yeah, but it seems to work down here. And it is true… for all of the chaotic traffic, there are few accidents. For all the exposed wires and lack of fire alarms, you don’t hear much about electrocutions or fires. Maybe I should start reading the papers…

When I first got toBolivia, the first showerhead I saw looked much like the one pictured above. And mind you, this was in one of the most gringo hostels I’ve slept in down here. I turned the water on, was pleased with the pressure, but noticed that the water was lukewarm at best. Being an enterprising, curious person, I examined the device. There were three settings. Maybe, I thought, someone had changed a setting. I reached up and clicked the knob to the right one slot, and was rewarded by a somewhat unpleasant tickle of electricity in my finger and hand. Yikes. The water got colder. I braved the lick of current one more time to return the knob to its original position. The water warmed ever so slightly.

Eventually my brain caught up with the world and realized that there were coils inside the showerhead heating water as it passed through, and that maybe, just maybe, if there was less water, there would be more heat. I tried this experiment with success. Less pressure, more heat… more pressure, less heat. And so I was indoctrinated into the culture of standing beneath a trickle of pleasantly hot water… the Bolivian shower.

Since then, I have used many a bathroom and shower in Bolivia, mostly compartido, some privado. The bathroom is usually a small, completely tiled room with a toilet in one corner and a showerhead in the other. Usually this space is less than 6 feet across. In lieu of a shower curtain, there is a 6 inch high border around the base of the shower area. There is a drain in the shower, and also a drain in the center of the room. As you take your shower, the 6” high “curtain” does very little, and you tend to splash water all over the room, including the toilet and the toilet paper, if there is any (which is rare).

There is always some variation, of course. If you look closely, you’ll notice that some kind person has wrapped the water handle with electrical tape… so that you don’t get shocked a little when you touch the metal handle (I forgot to mention that this is also somewhat common and unnerving). And of course, notice how the breaker is conveniently located within splashing distance of the showerhead. At least there is a breaker…

Above is a luxury bathroom. Note that they have installed a shower curtain to shield the toilet from water, and see that brown pipe coming in from the left? That’s hot water! Note the normal showerhead… this shower is fueled by a water heater somewhere. No chance of electrocution here. Hotel Alem inLa Paz… a very good deal at 40 Bolivianos a night.

Sometimes I find it a wonder that there is electricity at all inBolivia. While on a stroll in the nicer part ofLa Paz, I happened to look up at all of the lines crossing and re-crossing the streets. And when I looked at the utility poles, well, let’s just say that being a lineman here in Bolivia looks to be very hazardous and frustrating work…

a typical utility pole in La Paz

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Tupiza

Not far from Tupiza is a tiny town called San Vicente, where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid famously met their maker at the hands of a contingent of the Bolivian army. As our second bus to Tupiza began to wind its way down and into the town, it was easy to see why a couple of bandits from the American southwest would make their way down to this area. The landscape of Tupiza is a combination of the red rocks ofUtahand the ridges and cacti ofArizona. It is a beautiful place, and having spent a fair amount of time in such desert locales, I immediately felt at home and happy. Not for the last time, I uttered the words, “Wow, this reminds me ofUtah…” It wouldn’t be long before this became a joke among our crew.

But there was work to do. Friday morning… we needed a place to stay, a tour company, and a fourth person to fill the last seat in a landcruiser (6 seats – driver, cook, and 4 passengers). Annexo Mitru filled the first need, and turned out to be a very nice hotel at which to stay. The hot showers were wonderful, the breakfast buffet a good one, and one of the two men who worked the front desk was friendly and helpful.

The Mitru hotels are affiliated with Tupiza Tours, which claimed to be the oldest tour company in town and by all reports was well-respected. Plus we had a first-hand recommendation. A French couple was staying at the Annexo, and as it turns out, Léa had met them in La Pazbriefly. A rapid and long conversation in French ensued. I drifted away, but heard the report later from Denis in English – the couple had loved their tour and highly recommended their driver/guide, Victor, and the cocinera, Ema.

And so it began. Tupiza tours tried to get us into a two-jeep caravan with one cook – 6 other people we didn’t know (British). We didn’t like the sound of it. We pushed for our own jeep and cook, and asked if they had anyone to fill in as our 4^th. They didn’t… but told us to come back at 6 and see if any single person had shown up. Otherwise, we agreed that we would spend a little more money and go as 3 the next morning.

When we came back, they had a person. There was confusion about if it was a boy or girl, and what its name was. But we had a country…Holland. AND… the mystery person couldn’t leave the next morning… wanted to leave on Sunday. We took the deal.

So with an extra day in hand, Denis and Léa went for a tour on horses, and I figured on a mellow day of bumming around town and perhaps getting some writing done for the blog.

Funny how my mellow days go sometimes. I ended up on a four-hour or so hike. It started with my climbing a little hill I’d seen with a cross on it. Once up there, I could see the jeep route that led to the sights and canyons listed on this awful little tour map I had in my pocket. I had some water with me and a small bag of peanuts… and decent navigational skills… why not?

I aimed for Canon del Duende, and only missed it by a little bit. I followed horse tracks up a fine wash with some lovely red fins of rock beside it, and found myself traipsing into Canon del Inca.

entrance to Canon del Inca

My timing was good, too. Just where the horse tracks ran out, there was a small crowd of horses and guides sleeping in the shade… and the tourists were just arriving back at the horses. This meant that the upper part of the canyon, accessible only by walking, bouldering, and climbing, was now blessedly free of other human souls.

There are, after all, people like myself out there that long for moments of pure solitude and beauty. For me, it is worth some physical exertion, the danger of slips and falls, and the knowledge that if I were to truly hurt myself, there would be no one there to help. The reward is being surrounded by towering rock, a slice of brilliant blue sky above, and a profound silence that somehow the occasional whispering breeze or echo of a bird do not disturb. And so, on this day, I climbed and scrambled away from the horses and people and into beauty and solitude.

in the canyon

Refreshed and happy, I sauntered back out of the canyon, and wasn’t really that surprised when I ran into a few horses with a couple of French people I knew. Not entirely in control of their steeds, there was only a quick hello and yes, we’re enjoying our tour before the horses got on with their business.

All of us found our way back to town successfully, and that evening we met Anne, a 19-year-old Dutch girl traveling solo. It turned out to be a pretty good match. And the next morning, lugging all of our bags and warm clothes, we arrived at Tupiza tours for our four-day tour, which would culminate at the Salar de Uyuni.

Tupiza was a wonderful town, and in the event of my return to Bolvia, I will be sure to schedule some more time there, and in the tortured rock that surrounds it. Maybe find me a landcruiser…

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Bolivian Side Note – Landcruisers

I noticed a couple in Santa Cruz de la Sierra. Some more in Cochabamba. There were probably a few in Sucre, but it was Potosi that had me really noticing the Landcruisers in Bolivia. And I don’t mean the ones I was used to seeing occasionally in the United States… the elongated SUV kind. I mean the old ones. The ones that look like Land Rovers, like square jeeps, like they could get you anywhere. The ones with the curved glass windows in the back.

think this might be a Nissan Patrol

note the Che sticker...

Once I started looking, these things were pretty common. They’re cool, people. I want one. It’s almost enough to make me move to Bolivia. Maybe I could start my own tour company, with 4 seats instead of 6… Wait, that might not work.

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Ah, Sweet Life (arriving in Tupiza)

I can honestly say that I nearly died getting to Tupiza. The other eighty or so people on the bus, too. Yet another episode of the overnight bus ride…

Denis, Léa, and I got on a bus – Boqueron was the company – hoping in vain for the ever-elusive overnight ride in a comfortable reclining seat, thus getting to our destination and claiming some much-needed rest in the process. It all sounds so lovely.

According to the company, we could expect to arrive in Tupiza at around 6:30 in the morning or so.

It didn’t take long for me to notice that it was a very difficult ride to get any sleep on. The road seemed very rough, and the bus kept listing one way and then the other. Or was it that we were going very fast?

Sometime in the middle of the night, all of the passengers suddenly levitated in their seats and then came back down. There were audible gasps of terror. I believe that the bus was actually airborne for a second or so, which is quite a feat for one of these big passenger busses. And then a hard swerve to the left and the bus leaned hard to the right, more audible breaths… and then we were still alive.

Several cholitas began making a fuss, knocking on the door that separated the driving crew from the passengers. Turns out the driver was quite drunk. There was no response from the cab of the bus. At about 5 in the morning we came to a stop. We lingered on the bus, thinking that we still had a little bit before Tupiza. I noticed a police car pulling up with its blue lights turning circles. A man came and told us we needed to get our bags because we were at the end of the line… in Villazon. The Argentinean border. Apparently we had been going so fast in our inebriated bus that we flew through Tupiza at 3:30 in the morning (I still don’t know whether we actually stopped) and were now well past where we needed to be. The police had stopped the bus 200 yards short of the terminal, and it looked as though our driver might be in a little bit of trouble.

So we bought another set of tickets for Tupiza and waited out the cold dawning of the day on the edge ofArgentina. But at least we were still alive.

Once again I told myself, never again will I buy an overnight ticket…

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Potosi

Somehow, in flipping through the pages of Lonely Planet and comparing hostels, I failed to notice that in leaving Sucre (2750 meters) and finding my way to Potosi (4070 meters) I was gaining over a thousand meters in elevation and actually getting higher than I would be in La Paz. 4070 meters… that’s 13, 431 feet! The bus topped out its climb less than an hour from Potosi, and on that high, open plateau (altiplano) there was nothing stopping the wind. Some form of grass-like weed here had released millions of small, yellow seeds that were jettisoned sideways by the gale… and there were foot-deep or more accumulations in ditches and on the lee side of objects.

What this translated to, as I stepped out of Potosi’s sparkling new, modern bus station to find a cab, was cold. Very cold.

Luckily, I found a hostel room with a heater… and fell in love with the rooms there. La Casona Hostel. A restored colonial building with a nice courtyard and some corners and tunnels… a metal spiral staircase near my front door. Perhaps my favorite thing (after the heater) was the arched doorway and door. I even took a picture or two…

Unfortunately, I was less enchanted withPotosithan I was with my hostel room. I’m not sure why, but the place just didn’t do it for me. Narrow streets and buildings crowded overhead are designed as a defense against the wind, I believe, but it gave me a claustrophobic feel and I grew tired of bumping into people on the overcrowded sidewalks. And it was always cold. Still, there were some nice buildings and statues…

Plaza 10 de Noviembre with liberty statue and Cerro Rico in the background

And, as luck would have it, this is the place where I finally met Denis and Léa. After dinner at a nice place (Potocchi…loved the Quinua) I stopped by a place described as a hip evening spot. 4060… named for its elevation in meters. I wasn’t that impressed, but lingered long enough to finish my beer at the bar (which can take a while, they’re big beers). About halfway through, I recognized the couple from the hostel and the bus station inSucre. They sat down beside me and made introductions. As it turned out, they too were leavingPotosishortly for Uyuni and the salt flat tour. A four day tour, like me, and they had another Belgian friend who might be coming down to join. This was a fortuitous turn of events, because that would make our group 4 people, which was perfect for filling a landcruiser. They seemed nice, and apparently liked me, for we agreed to make ourselves a group and go together for the tour. I gave them my phone number and called it a night.

It wasn’t until the next day that I realized that phone calls inBoliviaare notoriously difficult. Denis had said he would give me a call in the afternoon once he heard from his Belgian friend. By 4 o’clock I was kicking myself for not giving my e-mail address or even finding out what hostel they were in. I imagined a lost opportunity, and resigned myself to a Uyuni tour with random people I’d never met. But, as a last hope, I went back to 4060 that night hoping that perhaps they would be there again… and there they were, smoking contentedly and happy to see me.

We went to the “mint” inPotosi, but ended up on different tours (English/French).Potosimade its name as the world’s biggest supply of silver, and at one time supplied coins to most of the world. The tour itself was ok… the building was really cool (and cold) and the mule-driven machinery for pressing coins was impressive (supplied bySpainof course). The most amusing thing about the tour was that when we arrived, in the early afternoon, the fountain in the entrance still held icicles. Ugh.

icy fountain and strange Bacchus face at the Casa Nacional de Moneda

I should mention, too, that I did not go on an infamous mine tour inPotosi– and it is the city’s star attraction. On the tour you get to experience the inhumane and frightening conditions in which the miners under Cerro Rico work. My French friends were visibly shaken from it, and said it was an experience they wouldn’t forget.

Plans changed a little… the Belgian friend hadn’t gotten in touch, so we were moving ahead – to Tupiza instead of Uyuni. Most agree that doing the Uyuni tour “backwards” (Tupiza to Uyuni) is a better experience… especially the opportunity to be on the Salar at sunrise… and avoiding most of the other tours. Denis had his heart set on climbing up to a vantage point on Tunupa, a volcano on the north side of the Salar. It all sounded good to me, and as we were to find out, Tupiza was a much better place to spend some time than Uyuni.

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