Salar de Uyuni (Uyuni - Bolivia) via San Pedro de Atacama (Chile)
02 May - 06 May 2015
02 May - 06 May 2015
Sometimes when travelling you find yourself in the midst of one, or sometimes many, travelling stereotypes. Heading north out of La Serena, via what ''should have been" a direct route to San Pedro de Atacama was a wailing 2 yr old that had such a piercing scream it would have made Rob Halford put down his microphone and walk away from the scene. In those moments, when homocide feels more than justifiable, I usually resort to trance like medidation induced through unfocused gazing at the surrounding scenery, but, in its stead, on this day, whilst cruising up the Chilean Pacific coast, in an area where the desert meets the sea and sea mists painted everything in a shade of dirty grey, this noise just needed to be ended. Thankfully the bus gave out prior to me doing anything idiotic and possibly getting sentenced to living 12yrs in squalor and unnecessarily acquiring the attention of random prison bum buddies named Raul and Ramon.
In typical South American fashion, when the bus broke down the driver kind of sat there bemused for a while, stepped outside, kicked a few tyres and then gazed forlornly down this empty stretch of road. It took Inga and I around 30 mins to figure out that these jokers had no clue as to what the next step should be in the process of transporting people from one predetermined destination to another after a forced stop had occurred. In my mind it should have gone something like this;
1. Call for back up bus,
2. Advise passengers of arrival of next bus,
3. Advise of likely arrival time at location.
The way it actually went down was like this;
1. Pray for a bus from the same company to show up,
2. Pray that a bus, any bus really, shows up,
3. Advise passangers that they'll be lucky if they make it to the nearest down by the next day,
4. Advise passengers that walking would not be the worst option but neither would it be the best.
Somewhere in the midst of the organised mess we were actually delivered to the main bus station in town of Calama, several hours after our scheduled arrival time in San Pedro. There the duty fell upon the stranded passengers notify the bus company that had failed us, because no one else in the company was advised, and ask the bus company to kindly honour the tickets which now needed to take us an additional 110kms south-east from where we were to our original destination. Thankfully they were gracious enough to do this although it meant that we'd be rolling into the small town of San Pedro after midnight. Now if you're like me then you tend to run the logistics of what arriving in a small town, like San Pedro, after midnight, might hold in store for you several hours before actually getting there. You can readily assume that there will be no taxis, a tin shed bus station with two flickering 25 watt globe lights illuminating an area of 2mtrs squared around the back tyres of the bus, a map of the town that will inevitably make no sense and a broken vending machine whose only operating function will provide you with tissues...why? I don't know, it just does!
In any case, we rolled into San Pedro around 12:30am and of course its pitch black. No streets lights, no anything really. The bitumen streets give way to dirt tracks and the bus station seems like the sort of place where you used to sit down to have lunch in high school. All bags are offloaded and the small residual band of gringos that had by now become familiar with each others faces headed to the exit in search of something, anything actually.
A large black ute pulls up out the front of the bus station, somehow we all deduce that "this is our ride". How the hell we thought that I don't know, perhaps there's some weird type of telepathy going on here in the northern parts of Chile. As we take our places in the back the guy in the drivers seat looks around with a WTF type of expression - huh, this apparently was not our ride then, this in fact was not anything but a random local that was in the right place at the wrong time. A few mins after being dumped unceremoniously to the curb an amphibious vehicle/bus emerges from the desert darkness. At the front door some words of English are exchanged and names of hotels/hostels are mentioned intermittently. It turns out that for a small fee Mr.Random amphibious guy will take us all to where we need to go. OK mate, you have yourself a deal! So off we head, the random French guy with his multi-purpose vehicle driving a bunch of foreignors to who knows where with bastardised Spanish being utilised as the conversational currency. It all makes sense, right!?
The next day Inga and I utilise the bikes provided by the Cabanas and rode into town. It's relatively small, as in small in stature and size but big on enterprise. Its small dusty streets belie what truly lies behind its mainly adobe walls, that being boutique hotels, quaint restaurants, a myriad of souvenier shops and tourist agencies that go on for days. In fact many people who transiting through this area use San Pedro as a launch point for the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia and as a method of finding an interesting way of crossing the border into Bolivia, both of which Inga and I had elected to do also. After stumbling up and down the main street a couple of times we booked a three day tour with an agent that "looked" the most appealing. When I say "looked" appealing I think it just meant that it was the tidiest and most organised agent that we saw on first glance, because really, what the hell did we know about the quality of tours in this part of the world? Ten minutes later we were locked into a three day, two night tour through the Eduardo Avaroa national reserve with the culminating highlight to be the well known Salar de Uyuni.
In typical South American fashion, when the bus broke down the driver kind of sat there bemused for a while, stepped outside, kicked a few tyres and then gazed forlornly down this empty stretch of road. It took Inga and I around 30 mins to figure out that these jokers had no clue as to what the next step should be in the process of transporting people from one predetermined destination to another after a forced stop had occurred. In my mind it should have gone something like this;
1. Call for back up bus,
2. Advise passengers of arrival of next bus,
3. Advise of likely arrival time at location.
The way it actually went down was like this;
1. Pray for a bus from the same company to show up,
2. Pray that a bus, any bus really, shows up,
3. Advise passangers that they'll be lucky if they make it to the nearest down by the next day,
4. Advise passengers that walking would not be the worst option but neither would it be the best.
Somewhere in the midst of the organised mess we were actually delivered to the main bus station in town of Calama, several hours after our scheduled arrival time in San Pedro. There the duty fell upon the stranded passengers notify the bus company that had failed us, because no one else in the company was advised, and ask the bus company to kindly honour the tickets which now needed to take us an additional 110kms south-east from where we were to our original destination. Thankfully they were gracious enough to do this although it meant that we'd be rolling into the small town of San Pedro after midnight. Now if you're like me then you tend to run the logistics of what arriving in a small town, like San Pedro, after midnight, might hold in store for you several hours before actually getting there. You can readily assume that there will be no taxis, a tin shed bus station with two flickering 25 watt globe lights illuminating an area of 2mtrs squared around the back tyres of the bus, a map of the town that will inevitably make no sense and a broken vending machine whose only operating function will provide you with tissues...why? I don't know, it just does!
In any case, we rolled into San Pedro around 12:30am and of course its pitch black. No streets lights, no anything really. The bitumen streets give way to dirt tracks and the bus station seems like the sort of place where you used to sit down to have lunch in high school. All bags are offloaded and the small residual band of gringos that had by now become familiar with each others faces headed to the exit in search of something, anything actually.
A large black ute pulls up out the front of the bus station, somehow we all deduce that "this is our ride". How the hell we thought that I don't know, perhaps there's some weird type of telepathy going on here in the northern parts of Chile. As we take our places in the back the guy in the drivers seat looks around with a WTF type of expression - huh, this apparently was not our ride then, this in fact was not anything but a random local that was in the right place at the wrong time. A few mins after being dumped unceremoniously to the curb an amphibious vehicle/bus emerges from the desert darkness. At the front door some words of English are exchanged and names of hotels/hostels are mentioned intermittently. It turns out that for a small fee Mr.Random amphibious guy will take us all to where we need to go. OK mate, you have yourself a deal! So off we head, the random French guy with his multi-purpose vehicle driving a bunch of foreignors to who knows where with bastardised Spanish being utilised as the conversational currency. It all makes sense, right!?
Valle de la Luna - San Pedro de Atacama - Chile
Valle de la Luna - San Pedro de Atacama - Chile
Our amphibious vehicle drops us off at the front gates of Cabanas - Camping Altos de Quitor. We buzz a few times at the front gates but there's no movement at the station. Somehow we find a way into the compound and locate the owner standing near a bonfire, beer in hand, talking to a group of Chileans, also with beers in their hands. Quickly we're offered a drink and in the same breath discover that we've arrived on a public holiday when a cross country cycle race had come to town and now that its all done and dusted everyone is glowing brightly in their amber cheer.
The next day Inga and I utilise the bikes provided by the Cabanas and rode into town. It's relatively small, as in small in stature and size but big on enterprise. Its small dusty streets belie what truly lies behind its mainly adobe walls, that being boutique hotels, quaint restaurants, a myriad of souvenier shops and tourist agencies that go on for days. In fact many people who transiting through this area use San Pedro as a launch point for the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia and as a method of finding an interesting way of crossing the border into Bolivia, both of which Inga and I had elected to do also. After stumbling up and down the main street a couple of times we booked a three day tour with an agent that "looked" the most appealing. When I say "looked" appealing I think it just meant that it was the tidiest and most organised agent that we saw on first glance, because really, what the hell did we know about the quality of tours in this part of the world? Ten minutes later we were locked into a three day, two night tour through the Eduardo Avaroa national reserve with the culminating highlight to be the well known Salar de Uyuni.
Valle de la Luna - San Pedro de Atacama - Chile
Journey to the Salar
The capacity for Bolivians to organise anything kind of reminds me of the organisational skills of Serbians. The main concept or idea usually gets completed but there's A LOT missed in the finer detail. Whether that detail gets missed out of sheer laziness or re-delegation of duties, due to laziness, I'm not sure, but an example of what I mean can be garnered from our first morning. After being picked up at our accommodation quite early, (6am), we were driven by Chilean drivers to the border post where the standard administrative tasks were completed. Our Bolivian drivers then took over for the rest of the tour. Now at this stage it would have been, and perhaps should have been, nice for our drivers to advise us that we would be immediately climbing to altitude and that temperatures were going to drop significantly due to the climb. Most of us were oblivious to the topography of the area and didn't have any clue as to what altitude we'd be spending most of the next three days, elements that both our agent and drivers could have forewarned us about. Why I say this is because we had all packed and tied our bags onto the rooves, (yes, this is the old school spelling of 'roofs' that I still use), of our respective 4WD's and hence this situation nicely negated our ability to access additional clothing with ease when it was urgently required. I only realised that there might be some sort of trouble when I all of a sudden started to feel like I'd walked out of a café in Amsterdam with my need for oxygen now becoming half a breath short of what my lungs were asking for. That increase in altitude inevitably meant a significant drop in temperature also, so when we exited the vehicles at the Bolivian border post our t-shirts and light pullovers were no match for the low single digit temperatures, high winds and +4000mtrs altitude. Asking our drivers to scramble and take down our bags was also a chore especially when they had it in their minds that their "real" task was to provide us with breakfast first and foremost. Only after that would the desperate need for warmth be catered for.
Laguna Blanca - Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
After finishing up customs formalities and an uncomfortable breakfast we jumped into our 4WD's and were off cruising the altiplano, a sparse, stark and desolate region but filled never the less with richness in terms of colour and contrast. The mountains of the Andes act as the border between Chile and Boliva, their slopes coloured uniquely with rich veins of purple, dark blue, orange/red and green soil. The sky at these altitudes also seems deeper and fuller, providing a magnificent backdrop to the rugged scenery. What a few of us started to notice at this time was the mild onset of hypoxia (oxygen deficiency). That continued need for an additional half breath or the light headedness that we were encountering was simply due to the fact that we had made the climb to 4000mtrs+ rather rapidly that (again, something we should have been alerted to). Something we also should have been advised of was that our sleeping quarters for that evening was going to be at an altitude of 4900mtrs. Not that we could do anything about it now, we were already up and away, it just shows however that those finer details are never really at the forefront of these Bolivian minds.
Bolivian colours - Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
I found that most of the first day I was struggling to keep warm. With frequent stops and jumping in and out of the vehicle for photo ops, there seemed to be a constant struggle between enjoyment and need for well being. The highlight of the first day was a stop at Laguna de Colorada, a shallow salt lake whose red colour is derived from red soil sediments and the pigmentation of some algae. The lake is also home to a colony of James's flamingos (yes, their really name) whose pink colour is apparently derived from a carotene rich diet, although in all honesty that didn't mean much to me other than the ability to take cool pink flamingo shots.
Laguna de Colorada - Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
James's flamingos (yes, their real name) - Laguna de Colorada - Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
James's flamingos -Laguna de Colorada - Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
James's flamingos -Laguna de Colorada
The one thing that we were advised of by the tourist agency was that accommodation on our first evening would "basic", as in, there would be running water, there would be no showers, electricity would be restricted to just a few hours and the blankets they provided would probably not be enough to keep us warm. To this they stuck true to their words. Generators powered two lights for a duration of about three hours, enough to make it through dinner and allow for a handful of dumb refugio selfies. Once the mountains were blanketed by darkness however it literally was lights out. We were all in bed at about 7:45pm wondering out aloud and in our minds as to how the hell we'd force ourselves to sleep for the next 12 hours. Not only was that concept mind numbingly boring but the shortness of breath and dull headaches brought on by our oxygen deficit meant that all of us were finding out what it was like to have a prolonged asthma attack/or panic attack, take your pick. Either way, when the first rays of sun busted through our windows in the morning we were thankful for both the alleviation of boredom and the much needed warmth - sleeping under a mound of 10 blankets does not make for a good time.
Day 2 of our 4WD drive adventure was relatively uneventful. It was more of that rugged altiplano terrain, shallow salt lakes, the odd interesting rock formation and a late afternoon arrival at the salt hotel/motel, the later of which was interesting in part. The salt was real, the walls were real salt and so too the floors. I wonder if it ever suffered from severe bloating? I mean from my perspective I couldn't be sure. Needless to say, even though I'm a doctor (and not the real type, just a Juris Doctor, which really isn't even a fake/fake doctor, like say, having a Phd in Philosophy isn't really a 'traditional, fix your spleen Dr', but more of that fake Phd fake/fake, like I have the title of Dr without going the actual Phd miles...anyway...that really is a whole other story), so where am I...Oh yeah, my credentials don't allow me to make any sort of accurate diagnoses from the symptoms. Anyway, the REAL DEAL, as in the real highlight, of not just the three days but one of the REAL highlights of the entire trip was scheduled for the next, so why the hell should I wax lyrical any more than I need to regarding what was a pretty ordinary salt hotel, all things considered.
Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve - Sur Lipez Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Day 3 of the 4WD excursion commenced at the head spinning time of 4:30am. An awful time to commence any day of course but for me this was to be special for more than just one reason. The idea of seeing the Salar had been with me for many years and five years earlier this was to have been my very next port of call after La Paz, that part of the journey was of course was halted by the stolen wallet incident, the moment in time when my 1st South American escapade unravelled completely. This day therefore felt like I had almost come full circle. Not a bad place to have it happen either, let me say.
As we headed out into the morning the moon was high and shone brightly, the night lights were on display and the sky seemed beautifully clear. With our early morning coffees wearing off quickly, most of us dosed the 40 mins of the drive until we hit the salt plains but the moment we did everything changed. The vehicle glided effortlessly along the flat surface of salt and as the sun started to awake from its own slumber we started to get a feel for our immediate surrounds, a totally surreal world that felt more like a moonscape than anywhere I knew on this planet. Several minutes later our driver slowed to a complete stop in sight of Isla Incahuasi.
The scene that morning on the Salar was unworldly. To use words such as mystical or transcendent to describe the scenery might seem odd but standing out in the midst of that vast,flat expanse of cracked, plated salt, the purple, blue sky carrying the setting moon on one side of us and the orange hues of the sun stretching further into the frame with each passing second, it was something else. Even the nasty bite of the cold wind running across the plain added to the rare atmosphere. It was a picture that I had waited quite a few years to see and one that in only a few seconds had surpassed all of my lofty expectations.
Moonset on the salar - Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Panoramic shot of Salar de Uyuni with Isla Incahuasi in the foreground- Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
After making a morning pit-stop for breakfast on Isla Incahuasi and then almost missing our ride out onto the salt plains due to my poor comprehension of Spanish, (we figured out something was wrong when both Inga and I walked to the other side of the island, on what we thought were the correct instructions, only to witness vehicle after vehicle shooting off into the salty sea horizon without us), we got the opportunity to stop in the middle of the blindingly bright salt plain and utilise our cameras to play around a little with perspective and depth of field.
Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
"Message in a bottle" - Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Looks like a Bolle sunglasses advert (just ignore the obvious RayBan brand name) - Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
Inga, Building bridges - Salar de Uyuni - Daniel Campos Province - Potosi Department - Bolivia
TOYOTA!
Dakar Bolivia - a reminder of a stop on the salt flats and a reminder that the Paris to Dakar is no longer what it used to be
Some 90 minutes after we were dropped off onto the plains both Inga and I had somehow outlasted our more energetic happy snappers of earlier that morning. I think by the time we had well and truly established our photo taking rhythm the others in our vehicle had tapped out their energy reserves by having gone too hard too early.
After spending most of the morning on the lake we moved on to the one street town of Colchani for lunch before heading the Cemetario de trenes outside of Uyuni in the early afternoon for a view more shots. Surprisingly a great place to take photos, especially black and whites.
Our three days came to an end in the small town of Uyuni, a place that was nowhere near as depressing as some of the guide books had suggested. Some of the write-ups had us worried that there may just be piles of dirt and a bus station to look forward to but it seems that the town is fully aware of the attraction residing on its doorstep. In any case, for those of you that are wondering about doing the trip that we did then here's a few handy tips should you choose to take it on yourselves;
1. Additional warm clothing always comes in handy
2. Be prepared that altitude may affect you in odd ways. To counter that start with anti-altitude sickness pills 3-4 days prior to heading onto the altiplano
3. Take a sleeping bag or two
4. Uyuni is not a hole
5. Take flashlights, candles, things to do when hanging out in the refugio on night one
6. Take toilet paper, you just never know when necessity will strike
7. Take additional food/drinks with you
8. The tour guides recommend taking 4litres of bottled water. It's a waste. Grab a few bottles that can easily be carried in a bag or in the car and not tied down to the roof rack of the 4WD
9. Get onto the Salar just before the sun rises
Cemetario de trenes - Uyuni - Bolivia
Cemetario de trenes - Uyuni - Bolivia
