The Salar de Uyuni are the largest salt flats in the world and one of the more famous tourist spots of Bolivia, although we weren’t completely sure why. We knew there would be lots of salt involved, and from the odd photo we were quite convinced the sights we’d see would be on the main fairly flat. Our ignorance and the fact we’d arranged to do the tour with our Latvian friends Martins and Dagmara made the anticipated trip all the more potentially exciting. But if all we were going to see was a lot of flat, white salt then I wasn’t sure we were going to do for the other seventy one hours of the three day trip. So was it as potentially boring as we’d feared? What’s this about volcanoes and multi-coloured lakes? Just what exactly is borax?
After the immensely wonderful tour through the Pampas in Rurrenabaque, we were looking forward to a brief stop in La Paz and giving the sweat producing pores a rest, plus squeezing in a few hours of souvenir shopping before taking a night bus to Uyuni, the departure point for the majority of Salt Flat tours. We arrived back in La Paz about nine at night, with no wish to traipse through the dark and forbidding streets on the hunt for a hostel that didn’t resemble a prison. Thankfully we had a fairly vague recommendation of a hostel that unsurprisingly we couldn’t find, so stomping the streets looking mean in an attempt to dissuade muggers from their profession was what we did. As has often happened, our story had a happy ending and we ended up in Bunker Hostel, next door to Wild Rover’s and within range of their Wi-Fi. Happy days, and covered in the previous blog post. The next day we rose with the combined aim of tackling La Paz’s famed markets and booking a night bus to Uyuni, hopefully with more success than the twenty hour torture rack to Rurrenabaque.
One of the stalls at the witch market in La Paz. Have YOU got a dead llama as a travelling present?
Alas, the markets were a bit of a disappointment. We’d been repeatedly told to hold out on shopping until we got to Bolivia, as they had the greatest range and the keenest prices. Whether we were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, we found ourselves wishing we’d taken advantage of the varied and competitive stalls we’d found in Cuzco. The witches market was slightly fascinating, larger than that we’d been to in Trujillo, mummifying was a popular pastime and we managed not to get hexed for our relatively small haul. With a sigh and the shadow of hindsight we headed back to the hostel, grabbed our bags and made our way to the slightly disorganised bus that would take us to Uyuni for the bargain sum of 75 Bs (Sur America we think).
We’d been warned that the bus was going to be cold, so dressed warm with every single layer we owned including thermals, gloves and a hat. Which made our bags exceptionally light and our movements reminiscent of Neil Armstrong. They even gave us blankets on the bus, and for the first third of the trip we were pretty sure we’d way over compensated and wondered how to discretely undress in the cramped bus without distressing our fellow passengers too much. In response, we slowly climbed in altitude and with each ear pop the temperature dropped by about five degrees. Umpteen ear poppings later, Lynette and I were wrapped in each other’s arms, more concerned with conserving body heat than romance, while fractals of ice creeped across the bus windows and our breath frosted in front of us. Later we discovered that the reason our bus was so cheap was that they were the only company that does the trip in an unheated bus. The comedy of the moment eluded us.
A rather impressive, if scary, sculpture in Uyuni.
Arriving in Uyuni we immediately liked the place, principally because it is always the rural outcrops that have a little character, but also because we found a hostel that would put a heater in the room. A hunt through the different tour agencies and we narrowed it down to Ripley’s Tours, who for 550 Bs (with Spanish only driver) would amaze and mystify us with exactly the same tour as every other agency there, but had an iPod connection in the jeep so we didn’t have to endure the local take on country music for the twenty or so driving hours that is necessary to complete the circuit. It was also one of the most competitive there, and Gonzales the owner spoke excellent English so was able to answer all of our questions, and fairly honestly also. Later in the day the Latvians arrived, we booked the tour and immediately moved on to priority number two by ending up in the descriptively titled “Exciting Fun Pub” which in keeping with the local theme has a floor entirely covered in salt, and not because they have clumsy waitresses. They also have a selection of Salt Flat photos to inspire you before the jaunt. As it was happy hour, we dutifully ordered a variety of cocktails; I went for the Sexy Bitch Llama which arrived in the most imaginative drinking vessel I’ve ever guzzled from, designed around the lower half of a female body with the opening you drink from not being above the waist.
Day One
Our first stop on the Salt Flats tour; called a train museum, more like a junk yard, still pretty cool.
Preamble over, the morning arrived and we finally set off on day one of our tour. At 3,665m the sun was refreshingly blazing, with the shade exceptionally cold and feeling rather left out. We met the remaining two members of our sextet, two German girls who had alarmingly similar dislikes for being unrelated. We also became acquainted with our rather sullen driver who grumpily threw our bags into the Toyota 4×4 and didn’t say much until our first stop, where he burst into scripted Spanish to describe the place with all the animation of a ventriloquist. He was essentially mute for the whole trip, triggered into action only when necessary such as the prompt of a stop or a grumbled response to the request ‘slow down before you kill us all’. The first stop was creatively called a railway museum, it was actually the last resting place of some locomotive rust buckets (dating from 1907-1950) and was uniquely interesting in its peculiarity.
Mmmm… no plates required.
We bumped on to a trail across the desert that quickly turned into a never ending expanse of blinding white plains, woven from ridged hexagons and broken only by an occasional pillar of… salt. You guessed it; we’d crossed the threshold of the famous Salt Flats. Eleven thousand square kilometres in area and 120 metres in depth, we were told they’d formed around 40 million years previously and were continuously replenished during the wet season, when they were covered by about a metre of water. The mined salt currently only serves the domestic market, but this may all change with the recent discovery of Lithium which has raised many foreign parties interest due to its increasing need in batteries. America and Bolivia aren’t exactly best of buddies, so expect some heavy Chinese investment in Bolivia in the coming years.
Lacking in toy dinosaurs, Lynette’s bookmark came in handy!
We careered on our way with the odd stop at various locations until we came to Isla Incahuasi, a coral island raised from the ocean bed, covered in exceptionally tall and incredibly old cacti, some over a thousand years. Here we made our attempts at the obligatory ‘small things made big’ photos with varying degrees of success. The uninterrupted white expanse is supposed to make the issue of perspective mute, however camera focus continues to trip you up and directing bodies in front of the lens can easily make you sound a little like Hitler. Having neglected to purchase some toy dinosaurs earlier we were also short on props, thankfully Lynette’s dog bookmark came in handy and will no doubt be exceptionally famous one day. Getting carried away with time we soon started to see steam emanating from our ever cheerful driver’s ears and hurriedly sprinted over Cactus Island which was actually much funnier than it looked at first glance.
I got stuck. We decided to make a photo of it rather than unplug the wounds…
First day done we sped to the horizon in search of our hostel, salt giving way to the more standard sand, skipping past the impressive in name only Salt Hotel swapping the accolade of a name drop for an extra hours lie in. Our eventual stop was an eerily quiet village, a hostel with surprisingly comfy rooms and an even better a great communal area where we whiled away the hours playing Yahtzee by candle light, with a slight disagreement between Latvian and German rules that reminded us of an attempted card game in Ilha Grande that nearly ended in bloodshed. Lynette even got a Yahtzee for the night, and we warn you we now carry five dice with us wherever we go. Shattered, we hit the sack, wondering what delights the next day would bring.
Day Two
Constantly magnificent mountains decorate the horizon through out the trip.
Started badly, our breakfast was literally bread and coffee with Dolce de Leche that tasted like it had been scraped from a car exhaust. It steadily improved as we climbed in altitude, visiting various multi-coloured lakes and seeing a wide variety of flamingos. Geologists have no doubt been fascinated by the area, as volcanic rock droppings and borax lined water edges make for fascinating viewing, and we started to appreciate how unique the area really is for its variety of minerals and alien landscapes. We even found our own Face of the Incas, and pretty much loved the laid back nature of screeching through the desert watching ever changing shades of landscape with the knowledge that although neither of us fully understand the geological processes that had busily created the surroundings, we could definitely appreciate them. Even if we couldn’t wind the window down to look at them properly, because they didn’t work.
With my mystical powers I attempted to swirl the skies into a frenzy…
The highlight was our final stop and the location of our night’s accommodation, Laguna Colorada. Our driver unceremoniously dumped us outside the hostel and wandered off muttering; shortly returning with an uninspired lunch and then vanishing altogether. So off we went exploring around the lagoon’s edge, evidently famous for its redness but we weren’t sure what else. Apparently a seventy kilometre stomp all the way around, it didn’t seem that wise to keep walking as the storm clouds were starting to roll in. However an island of pure white in the distance intrigued us and we hadn’t yet had the chance to actually feel the borax we kept seeing. It might make our hands fall off, which would be quite exciting. With a rush of exhilaration we noticed a path that would take us from our grey, rocky coast on to the lunar landscape that was the Isla de Heilo, or Island of Ice.
A strange land it most certainly is…
Essentially a thankfully stable block of borax (sodium borate) sitting on the edge of the lagoon, it’s certainly not something you’ll find in the centre of London. But in fairness it isn’t something you’d expect to find here either, as borax dissolves completely in water, but here it is and of this earth it isn’t. Darken the lens, hide a few trampolines and you have found the location of the fake lunar landings. It was just me and Lynette at this point; others had turned back or headed for a siesta so we had a great time attempting to hide gravity, sink in mud and generally disappearing into another solar system as the imaginative clouds danced and rolled around us. The hostel again proved an unexpected success, absolutely freezing but after a phenomenal amount of cajoling in hunter gatherer fashion also became the supplier of incredibly cheap rum. Appropriate for our last night with the Latvians, but then reasonably priced pirate juice is fairly appropriate most of the time.
Day Three
In contrast the air was freezing, Lynette and I were the only two to venture out of the jeep.
Was an early start, and we’d been warned that at our planned 5,100m altitude it was also going to be more than freezing. Seventeen degrees more to be precise, but to see the geysers we were heading to properly this is what you have to endure, otherwise the desert sun blasts away the steam and they’re merely bubbling puddles. However with the rising sun, the fountains of water vapour and the stink of sulphur, they were probably the highlight of our trip. Not sure if everybody else felt the same way, they didn’t venture out of the jeep, but Lynette and I had a great time bouncing around the place (attempting to keep warm) trying to resist the urge to plunge our hands into the fizzy ponds – okay that was just me.
But staying in the hot thermal waters was surprisingly easy…
Having completely scraped any remaining body heat from our bones, we sped into the distance in search of food. Which wasn’t hard, we just had to follow the umpteen other Toyota 4x4s heading to the same restaurant in the middle of nowhere, conveniently located next to a thermal pool and its neighbourhood streams. Still freezing, I thought a quick dip to warm up before breakfast would do the trick; on seeing my chattering teeth nearly shatter everyone else skipped the pool and headed in to eat. It was then I realised the trap I had fallen for; between my womb warm location and the no doubt crap but filling breakfast were two hurdles; leaving the bubbling heat for the freezing cold and drying myself with an attempt at decorum and not being arrested for flashing. While I pondered this for a little longer Lynette amused herself by wandering off and taking some more exceptional photos of the never ending sunrise.
Thought that since I wasn’t on crutches, I’d best squeeze in a quick clamber.
From here back to Uyuni was a seven hour road trip with a few stops along the way. We could have been dropped off for Chile if we’d wanted; we politely declined as we were cold enough and had left our bags in the agency office. We saw more impressive rocks, another flamingo filled lake, and then for lunch in the middle of nowhere that randomly had a very successful girl’s basketball team. On arrival back at the agency office we found it conveniently locked with our rucksack inside – to kill time we went for one last beer and burger, checked email, and eventually Aladdin’s cave opened and we were able to retrieve our belongings.
The birds fly in to feed on the organisms breeding in the cocktail of minerals at dawn.
Unfortunately Gonzales of Ripley’s Tours was not around to have a good moan to; the things we’d seen on our trip had been amazing and it wasn’t this we were a little peeved about. The stops on your itinerary are identical no matter which tour agency you travel with. The two things you need to check before a Salt Flat’s tour are the general demeanour of your driver (preferably that he’s not a pissed speed freak) and that the food you get is edible. For failing on both these points, in the future I’d recommend giving the only other reasonably priced tour company we found Nueva Aventura (near the central clock tower in Uyuni) who although small had a very recommended driver, Saul, and even presented a very tasty looking menu for the few days. Again, hindsight gave us a swift kick in the rear.
I really, truly, absolutely love this photo.
The Salar de Uyuni is one of the must do tours of Bolivia and rightly so. When it was created God evidently ran out of his fabled organic paint and resorted experimentally to a variety of explosive mineral shades before giving it a really good shake and the result is fantastic. Also tastes good with chips. With a satisfied smile on our faces we headed to the multitude of bus companies that have taken over one of Uyuni’s streets to board one of the many night buses to Potosi, we took the first available at 25 Bs and it looked as unappealing as any other; but we’re getting pretty used to travelling at one class above the local produce by now. The trip was only six hours and on arrival in Potosi we grabbed a taxi for 8 Bs to Koala Den, our stop for the night which thankfully had space. Time to blow up some dynamite.
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Fabulous photography!