I begin our journey into the Bolivian wilderness, Salar de Uyuni, armed with thermals, six litres of water and factor fifty sun cream. The trip will take three days through landscape my guide book describes as 'worthy of Salvador Dali'. At the 'Atacama Mystica' office in San Pedro de Atacama we meet the rest of our group - Claire from Dorset, Jack from London, Adrian from Spain and David from Austria.
The Chile-Bolivia border is very basic - a small, one room building, a flag pole with no flag and a burnt out bus. Despite their surroundings the immigration officials manage to maintain the scrupulous standards I have come to expect at a border crossing.
No less than forty minutes and five stamps (each) later our bags are loaded onto the roof of a 4x4 and we meet Fermin, who will be our driver and guide for the next three days. He bought the car seven years ago, but it took him five years to make his money back. He is understandably very protective of it, and each time we get in we are shown the best way to clean our boots (kicking them against rocks) and glared at if we slam the doors.
There is no road, just rocks and and mountains. After seven years of driving through this terrain I'm impressed that a crack in the windscreen is the only visible damage to the car. Ten minutes into the drive the windows are covered in dust and I've hit my head on the ceiling/door frame/seat in front more times than I can count. At 4300 metres above sea level the sun is warm but the thin air does not hold the heat and there is a stiff wind, made worse by the sand and small rocks it blows into my face the moment I manage to force open the door (Fermin gives me a look when it slams behind me). The wind, however, has its benefits - churning up the mineral rich waters of Laguna Verde and giving the water it's eponymous emerald colour. Vicuñas, wild relatives of domesticated alpacas and llamas are wondering around the lake side.
Cold and yet sun burnt we pile back into the jeep and continue along the 'road', stopping at the Laguna Blanco, the 'Seven Coloured Mountain' (I think Fermin made this name up) and some hot springs which, as usual, are not natural pools but concrete baths filled with people.
As we approach the Laguna Colorada, an amazing red lake dotted with flamingos, Fermin veers away from the incredible sight ahead of us toward the mountains, ignoring our questions and protests. We arrive at a long, low building at the base of the mountains which is to be our accommodation for the night. It turns out that we are just stopping for lunch (frankfurters and instant mashed potato) before heading out again to look at the red lake.
With full stomachs keeping us warm and 'mate de coca' (coca leaf) tea to ward of altitude sickness we head out into the plains again. Despite it's unnatural colour, flamingos are wading through the water eating what ever flamingos eat. I take endless pictures from every angle, not quite able to believe that I'm standing on green grass by a red lake, surrounded by sandy mountains with white peaks under a blue sky, looking at pink flamingos, in hot sun yet freezing cold and battered by strong winds.
Just as I think the situation can't get any more surreal, I spot a heard of alpaca on the far shore (or maybe they’re llama). We wonder over, a short walk but hard work considering the wind and the altitude. A domesticated heard, the alpaca all have colourful tassells tied to their ears. They are not in the least bit concerned by us, the six cameras pointed at them nor the wind. They look ridiculous - chewing grass and making silly bleating noises. I love alpaca.
Back in the quiet and warm of the jeep I begin to notice the affects of altitude sickness. I have an awful head ache and pins and needles in my fingers. At the guest house we are welcomed with more mate de coca tea, and David produces a bag of dried coca leaves which we all stick in the corners of our mouths to chew whilst we play cards. I give it an hour then spit out the disgusting tasting leaves out and opt for a few paracetamol instead. After a dinner of vegetable soup, spaghetti and cookies I brave the outside for five minutes to look at the amazingly clear stars before hurrying back inside and piling under my endless pile of blankets - thermals, three jumpers, two pairs of socks and scarf still on.
The Chile-Bolivia border is very basic - a small, one room building, a flag pole with no flag and a burnt out bus. Despite their surroundings the immigration officials manage to maintain the scrupulous standards I have come to expect at a border crossing.
No less than forty minutes and five stamps (each) later our bags are loaded onto the roof of a 4x4 and we meet Fermin, who will be our driver and guide for the next three days. He bought the car seven years ago, but it took him five years to make his money back. He is understandably very protective of it, and each time we get in we are shown the best way to clean our boots (kicking them against rocks) and glared at if we slam the doors.
From left to right: Alex, David, Adrian, Jack, Claire
There is no road, just rocks and and mountains. After seven years of driving through this terrain I'm impressed that a crack in the windscreen is the only visible damage to the car. Ten minutes into the drive the windows are covered in dust and I've hit my head on the ceiling/door frame/seat in front more times than I can count. At 4300 metres above sea level the sun is warm but the thin air does not hold the heat and there is a stiff wind, made worse by the sand and small rocks it blows into my face the moment I manage to force open the door (Fermin gives me a look when it slams behind me). The wind, however, has its benefits - churning up the mineral rich waters of Laguna Verde and giving the water it's eponymous emerald colour. Vicuñas, wild relatives of domesticated alpacas and llamas are wondering around the lake side.
Cold and yet sun burnt we pile back into the jeep and continue along the 'road', stopping at the Laguna Blanco, the 'Seven Coloured Mountain' (I think Fermin made this name up) and some hot springs which, as usual, are not natural pools but concrete baths filled with people.
Above: The Seven Coloured Mountains
As we approach the Laguna Colorada, an amazing red lake dotted with flamingos, Fermin veers away from the incredible sight ahead of us toward the mountains, ignoring our questions and protests. We arrive at a long, low building at the base of the mountains which is to be our accommodation for the night. It turns out that we are just stopping for lunch (frankfurters and instant mashed potato) before heading out again to look at the red lake.
With full stomachs keeping us warm and 'mate de coca' (coca leaf) tea to ward of altitude sickness we head out into the plains again. Despite it's unnatural colour, flamingos are wading through the water eating what ever flamingos eat. I take endless pictures from every angle, not quite able to believe that I'm standing on green grass by a red lake, surrounded by sandy mountains with white peaks under a blue sky, looking at pink flamingos, in hot sun yet freezing cold and battered by strong winds.
Just as I think the situation can't get any more surreal, I spot a heard of alpaca on the far shore (or maybe they’re llama). We wonder over, a short walk but hard work considering the wind and the altitude. A domesticated heard, the alpaca all have colourful tassells tied to their ears. They are not in the least bit concerned by us, the six cameras pointed at them nor the wind. They look ridiculous - chewing grass and making silly bleating noises. I love alpaca.
Back in the quiet and warm of the jeep I begin to notice the affects of altitude sickness. I have an awful head ache and pins and needles in my fingers. At the guest house we are welcomed with more mate de coca tea, and David produces a bag of dried coca leaves which we all stick in the corners of our mouths to chew whilst we play cards. I give it an hour then spit out the disgusting tasting leaves out and opt for a few paracetamol instead. After a dinner of vegetable soup, spaghetti and cookies I brave the outside for five minutes to look at the amazingly clear stars before hurrying back inside and piling under my endless pile of blankets - thermals, three jumpers, two pairs of socks and scarf still on.
I so enjoy reading your blogs. Thank you for your lovely observations and comments on your adventures. Please keep them coming. Bolivia sounds quite beautiful. I would love to see vicunas. Love Murv
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