The Salar de Uyuni and the Southern Altiplano Part 1

We were relieved to leave the town of San Pedro de Atacama which I hated with a passion and embark on our tour of the Salar de Uyuni despite the prospect of spending three consecutive days in a 4x4 vehicle and spending two nights in yet unseen accommodations.  We left at 8 that morning and stood in line at the Chilean immigration office for an hour or so.  After that it was on to Bolivia and all the uncertainty that entering that country brings for American citizens.  A full account of how to enter Bolivia as an American is forthcoming in a separate blog post. 

We drove up the mountains to the border where a small hut stood with the sign Migracion Bolivia.  Everyone else on the trip had their passports stamped, but we had ours confiscated and then given to the tour director who gave them back to us.  We ate stale ham and cheese sandwiches in the brutal wind and elevation that pushed noonday, spring, desert temperatures below 0 or thereabouts.  We split into two logical groups, all 6 Australians in one car, and the spare nationalities in the other.   Amanda and I were with an Englishman, and 3 French people.  We started off in our 4x4 vehicle over dirt roads that were rarely really roads at all, more ruts carved into the desert floor by decades of 4x4 tours.

 

Not far from the border we reached our first stop.  We paid the admission fee to the ‘park’, about 16 dollars each and rolled down the hill to the first lake.  

 

We hadn’t seen natural water for a while so to see a large oval of light green water broken by islands of white with flamingos dipping their beaks was surreal.  There was no rain; rain was unimaginable as were rivers, glaciers or any other water source but here we were buffeted by the cold wind’s dust on the mossy shores of a lake at an altitude rarely reached by the North American Rockies’ peaks. 

We walked around and took pictures and got back into the car and set off again.  A half hour later we got our first flat tire.  Our driver and another driver who wasn’t far behind were very industrious in fixing it and we were off again.  We stopped about a kilometer (it was very difficult to tell distances the entire time) from some figures of little stone huts or just stones on a hillside which is supposed to be the site that inspired Dali to paint one of his more famous works.

Not far from there we came upon the hot springs.  We changed into our bathing suits in the car, ran through the cold air and jumped in the warm water.  Our friends from La Serena, Kev and Alison, were there with another group so we mingled, marveled, and fancied ourselves very interesting people for participating in such a novel experience, bathing in a small shallow pool of strangely warm water in the middle of a frigid high altitude desert.  My shoulder got sunburnt and we changed back into our clothes with only a towel to preserve our modesty.

Then we were taken to some mud geysers.  The sulfur was strong, but the smoke was warm.  We looked down into the thermodynamic craters, but I was slightly unimpressed having seen a much more colorful version in Yellowstone about nine years ago.  From there we went to our hotel for the night which was not made of salt but which did have a lunch of hot dogs, salad, and mashed potatoes.  I was starving as it was three in the afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten much before that, but I lost my appetite about halfway through what I thought I’d be able to eat.  We had climbed a substantial amount that day, and the altitude was affecting me.  We were in a valley at 4500 m (about 13,500 ft), which is higher than any point in the continental USA.  The acknowledgement of that was a surreal experience for me because I’m always amazed by facts and comparisons and singularities, but Amanda was not impressed and told me her head hurt.

 After lunch our group decided to go to the Laguna Colorada nearby.  It was the most interesting sight of the day.  The wind was whipping up to at least 60 mph, but it felt a little warmer.  This laguna was deep red and much larger than the first green one.   Carine, our French traveling companion, offered us some coca leaves and we chewed them like tobacco at our gums.  This took away my headache for the most part and rid me of the tiredness that had hung about me since I had woken up at 7:15 that morning after being largely unable to sleep the night before.  All of a sudden I bounded down the sandy hill, eyes wide in appreciation of the amazing natural wonder in front of me.  There were many more flamingoes and the deep red of the sea against the sandy mountains was awe inspiring.  Amanda and I walked along the shore and upon observing piles of black balls she informed me that they were llama toilets because llamas pick one place to defecate and continue to always go there until the lead llama chooses another place.

We returned to our hotel, drank coca tea all afternoon in the dining room with our English companion, Adam, exchanging stories and insights.  It wound me up so much that I ended up spilling hot water on myself.  We ate pasta for dinner.  And as the coca had dropped our energy levels like a stone after it wore off, we went to bed in our below freezing room with the promise of breakfast at 7 am the next morning.

 PS.  The joys and consequences of coca tea are similar to, well, you know, hot chocolate (wink, wink), so we don’t touch it anymore.