Southern Bolivia - a salty treat

---

After spending longer up in the Amazon than anticipated, and with the clock ticking fast on the remainder of my trip, I had to get a move on. So, having returned to La Paz, I decided to stay there just the 1 night and fly out the next morning to Sucre in southern Bolivia. Normally I would have been content to endure the long bus journey, but I thought that flying would save me much needed time. I was wrong. Bolivia is notorious for its social unrest and political demonstrations, usually in the form of roadblocks. While I knew there was a possibility that I could get caught up in something like this, I could really have done without it! Soon after arriving in Sucre I went into a travel agency to book an onward bus for the next day. The agency made the routine call to the bus company, which relayed the bad news of the announcement of a national transport strike. Wonderful.

With the strike in motion, I was trapped in Sucre. I mustn´t moan too much about this though, as there are certainly worse places than Sucre to be stuck in. It is a very vibrant, attractive city, with 4 universities. That said, there was not all that much to do there, although I did visit the House of Liberty museum, where Bolivia was founded and its constitution drawn up. Sucre remains the constitutional capital of Bolivia.

As nice a place as Sucre is, I was relieved to learn that the strike was called off after just a day, leaving me free to head on to Potosi. Sitting at an altitude of just over 4000 metres above sea level, Potosi is the highest city in the world. It also used to be one of the richest, thanks to the intense mining of silver in Cerro Rico, which overlooks town. I stayed a night in Potosi and found it to be another very enchanting place, with heaps of character and impressive colonial buildings. Sucre is often said to be the most beautiful city in Bolivia but for me, Potosi just pips it.

The real beauty in Bolivia though, is entirely natural. I had been looking forward to visiting the famous salt flats, Salar de Uyuni. But first I had to negotiate the small town of Uyuni, which is a rather odd place in the middle of nowhere. It has the feel of a town in the Australian outback, as if totally disconnected from the entire world. Basically, you don´t want to have to hang around there very long, hence why when I arrived in Uyuni at night I was determined to book myself on a tour leaving the very next morning. Much to my relief, this proved to be a piece of cake. Getting into my hotel room that night, however, was anything but. After a long bus journey I was knackered and really wanted to sleep. I was not at all happy, then, to find my hotel to be completely closed, with the shutters down. There was no way I could get in! There was a door just along the street and I started banging on it. No answer. I asked a local if he knew anything about the hotel and he guided me helpfully to the owner´s house. But there was no sign of life there either. It was getting very cold, with the temperature dipping almost as fast as my mood. After about another 20 minutes of standing outside banging on doors, eventually a staff member emerged from the hotel. She had the cheek to ask me what I was doing standing outside. By this stage I was fuming and I made it very clear how unimpressed I was.

Before my tour left the next morning I had to go to the immigration office in Uyuni to get my Bolivian exit stamp. This wasn't strictly necessary, but the office at the border is notoriously unreliable and so it was strongly recommended to get my stamp in advance. This was straightforward apart from the annoyances of having to pay a fee and of the officer having a good old giggle at my name. The latter is something I've had to put up with throughout my travels in South America, as the people seem to recognise my name solely from the film 'Stuart Little', which is about a mouse. Time and time again I've had to laugh along with this apparently hilarious joke that I have the same name as from the film. So, when even the immigration officer wanted to join in the fun, I wanted to tell him to shut up and do his job and just give me the damn stamp. But as I also wanted to leave the country, it probably wouldn't have been a good idea, and so I laughed along merrily as if it was the funniest thing I'd heard in years.

The duration of the tour was 2 and a half days, spent in the company of 5 others (an interesting mix of French, German and Israeli) and our guide, who could not have been older than 16. When I say 'guide', I don't think he told us anything of note in the entire trip. He wasn't a bad cook, though. Our jeep was surprisingly comfortable despite the generally rocky terrain and, unlike many of the other groups' vehicles, it didn't break down once. Remarkable really, when you think that the word 'maintenance' is unheard of in Bolivia.

The first day was spent visiting the salt flats. The Salar de Uyuni is the world's largest salt flats, the site of a massive lake which evaporated thousands of years ago. The flats were incredible, a vast desert of bright white salt, stretching to the horizon. My photos don't do justice to how dazzlingly bright the salt flats were - even with sunglasses on, my eyes were struggling to cope. Walking along the flats was a fun and surreal experience - it felt like being on another planet. Most of the surface was entirely dry, but there were some sections where the salt was soggy due to rain, which is very, very rare in this part of the world. Right in the heart of this salt desert is a small island called Isla Pescadores (Fisherman's Island), covered in cactus plants. Climbing up to the top of the island's hill gave superb panoramic views of the salt plains.

That night was spent in a reasonably decent lodge on the edge of the flats. The only downside was the food - the portions were ungenerous to say the least. This prompted a revolt from some of the others, who launched a furious verbal attack on the chefs. I didn't want to join in, as you cannot come to Bolivia and expect to be fed well and looked after. It was amusing to watch, though. Once we'd eaten dinner (which didn't take very long...), some of us went outside to admire the night sky. And it was simply the most amazing night sky I've ever seen - the combination of altitude, dry climate and lack of pollution made for a spectacular star gazing experience.

From the salt flats our jeep spent much of the next day meandering through a desert dotted with beautiful lagoons. We stopped at many of the lagoons, some of which were surrounded by mountains and volcanoes. Flamingos were everywhere. My favourite lagoon was Laguna Colorada - with its red glow, many flamingos and stunning setting, it was a serenely peaceful place to spend some time. With scenery like this to boast, it's puzzling why Bolivia hasn't become a major tourist destination. No, it can't offer much when it comes to service, top class hotels and restaurants, but who cares. This is a great, great country to visit. UnBoliviable, in fact (sorry).

Our 'guide' had instructed us to get up at 4.30am the next morning. Having duly obliged, he was nowhere to be seen. He eventually emerged about 5.30am, further disgruntling the group. We set off to some geysers in the far south-west of Bolivia. They looked particularly impressive with the sun rising up behind them. From the geysers we went for an early morning soak in some hot springs, before crossing the border into Chile. The border office did not give us any problems, and so it was 'adios!' to Bolivia and 'hola!' to Chile. Again. I have crossed in and out of Chile so many times in my trip that the number of Chilean stamps in my passport has gone into double figures. I'm not complaining - I was glad to have made it into northern Chile, as it is very different from the southern half explored by me at the beginning of my trip.

The Atacama desert, which dominates northern Chile, is the driest desert in the world. Suffice it to say that it doesn't rain much here and that comparisons with Manchester are few and far between. The end point for my tour was the small tourist town of San Pedro de Atacama, and soon after arriving I booked myself on another trip to see some of the surrounding desert. Deserts aren't usually something that get my pulse racing, but this particular one has a few unique features worth checking out. For instance, this desert landscape has volcanoes and valleys, the most notable of which was the Moon Valley. You may recall that I visited another place called Moon Valley in La Paz which did not remotely resemble the moon. Well, this Moon Valley did actually live up to its name. Of course, having never been on the moon, I'm not exactly qualified to comment on comparisons between the surface of the Moon Valley and the moon. But what the hell - it looked like the moon.

In the evening I watched the sun set over the desert, bringing to an end what was an extraordinarily long day - from gawping at geyzers at sunrise in Bolivia to watching the sun set over a desert in Chile. It was tempting to stay the night in San Pedro but, with time still of the essence, I decided to join the 3 French people from my tour (Jean-Francois, Nicolas and Emilie) on a night bus to Arica in the far north of Chile.

We arrived in Arica early on the Tuesday morning and there was nothing open. Arica is a port town which was formerly part of Peru until Chile claimed it in the War of the Pacific. It is a rather desolate, unattractive place, although it does have a couple of half decent beaches. We spent much of the day relaxing on the beach and went to an excellent restaurant on the seafront at night. Then, the following morning, I hopped on another bus to take me out of Chile and back into Peru for the final chapter of my South American adventures.

---

Comments

[Stu]

Greetings
Sounds sublime, and I'm enjoying the vicarious travelling that your blog affords. I cannot remember when you return, but there will be beers waiting for you and crawl across London to enjoy! Bestest, Eagles.