Uyuni - Bolivia

Finally in Bolivia! The overnight journey from Salta in Argentina to the border town was the prediction of what was to await us in Bolivia. Bumpy roads, people shuffling seats on the bus, and cold nights. I was first seated next to a young female tourist but ended up (not sure how and why) being seated next to an overweight but friendly Bolivian in his 60s. Right as we met, he very proudly mentioned he had been visiting with his “senora” in Salta but he later also added that he also had a wife and family in Bolivia. Still, he never quite admitted that he in fact had two girlfriends! I stopped questioning his ethics when he pulled out his large winter coat and covered the both of us so we did not freeze at night. The border crossing took just 10 minutes, but when we passed the bridge separating Argentina from Bolivia, we encountered a whole new world. The population was obviously more indigenous - people were darker, smaller, and vast majority wearing traditional outfits. While they definitely appeared shyer than Argentineans, Bolivians exhibited much more ostentatiousness. Dresses, house decorations, even their flag explode in bright and happy colors. As expected, the streets seemed to be also dirtier and people poorer, but nice and definitely authentic nevertheless.

We had until mid afternoon to catch a train to our next stop - Uyuni - and so we had enough time to get a nice breakfast and recharge after a bumpy night journey. Given the fact that the restaurant we chose looked more like a karaoke bar and we were being served by a 7-year old boy, our expectations for the food were low. But our meal was excellent! An egg/cheese sandwich came with fresh veggies, and the coffee actually tasted like it was made from coffee beans. To the boy’s delight, we ordered a second round. Then, the real entertainment came - a 4-year old girl showed us several traditional dances, often running back to the kitchen only to come back even more rowdy. It was obvious she had an eye for Nick as she gave him a huge smile as we were leaving.

The train To Uyuni was surprisingly nice. After hesitating between the 1st class and couch, we chose the latter one so that we could travel with the locals, but this class was actually quite comfortable as well - with reclining seats and more TV entertainment on board. After a 10-hour journey in the mountainous desert, we finally arrived in Uyuni, at midnight. Very conveniently, albeit little disappointingly, Uyuni was extremely touristy-ready, with numerous travel agencies, pizza joints, and internet cafes along the main drag. However, just a few steps out of the center revealed the real city - half broken houses, dusty streets, and garbage bags flying in the air, a city without real border looking to the desert. Here we had a truly embarrassing moment: when exploring what looked like an abandoned airport, we came across a man squatting next to his bike. We thought he was meditating. I took a close-up of the desert monk. Only later, a careful look at the zoomed picture revealed that the man was using the open space as a restroom! We later saw more people heading the same way. Perhaps not everyone here has sanitation facilities at home??? I still can’t believe how peaceful the man was when we were observing him for minutes and even taking pictures, in his private moments…

Really, the only reason why tourists come here is for the Salare de Uyuni, the largest salt flats in the world. We signed up for a 3-day tour and were packed into a 10-year, 230,000 km old Toyota 4x4 along with 2 Bostonians (Nikki and Dan) and two girls from Belgium (Delphi and Lorentz). Our guides were Rodrigo, a 25-year smiley but slightly austere Bolivian, and his 46-year old mom, a strong yet very sweet woman. While Rodrigo was the driver and officially the leader and his mom his companion and the cook, it was really her who was wearing the pants (literally, as she never wore the traditional colorful skirt). Without a sign of discomfort or resistance, Rodrigo followed her orders as she directed him in the seemingly un-navigable terrain of the mountains and desert and even as he was parking his 4x4. What a shame that I could not much enjoy her amazing cooking skills as I fell sick the very first night.

The first evening was amazing. After passing through the never-ending salt flats and semi-deserted land of the Altiplano, we arrived to a remote village that was to be our home that night. As we were arriving in the village, so were the llamas and sheep, heading to the only source of water here - in the small artificial lake on the outskirts of the town. By then, the sun was already coming down. I chose the highest point just on the outskirts of the town to observe the sunset, and did some stretching, pushups, and meditation while watching the llamas gather next to their night homes made of rock and the locals come home from the fields. I completely lost the sense of time and was only compelled to get up to take photos of these amazing animals.

That evening I felt connected with the nature. I almost felt I belonged here for a moment. So little did I know that I would spend also much of the night outside. That night reminded me of the one I experienced in Guatemala a long time ago - with an incredible pressure in the stomach I rushed out of the house to be greeted by the cold light of the moon, the wind lifting the dust on the road, and the tree shades looking like ghosts. It was a long and lonely night.

Next day I was grateful just to be alive, still with the pressures in the stomach but nothing to go out. It did not help that we were in the altitude over 4000 m above the sea level and the road was even more bumpy and curvy than the day before. No matter the state I was in, it was impossible not to enjoy the scenery we were passing through. We saw herds of wild vicunas roaming in the absolutely deserted land, flamingoes fishing in the bloody-red laguna, an otherwise elusive Andean fox looking for a hunt, and numerous llamas that desperately needed a haircut. All of this was set in the psychedelic surrounding of weirdly shaped rocks sticking out from sand, mountains looking like a fruit ice cream, powerful geysers filling the sky with white clouds, and lagunas colored in bloody-red to copper-green. Was it real or was I hallucinating with a fever and an empty stomach?

Next morning we woke up before sunrise, at 4am and at the pass 4,500 m above sea level, and headed for the hot springs. How unbelievable this sounded as the guides packed us in the car with frozen windows. Hot springs - here? Just as the sun colored the mountains in red, we arrived to an immaculately clean village sitting on the shore of a large, steaming lake. (The cleanliness of the place was explained by the sign reading that the village was paid for and built by the government of Japan as the gift to Bolivian people. Bolivia is the 4th largest recipient of foreign help in the world, with just 10 million inhabitants and vast natural resources. Thus, it is often referred to as the beggar in the golden cradle. Most nice buildings, schools, or hospitals in the rural communities have been paid for, as proudly indicated on the billboards, by foreign governments.) After a short hesitation, I took off my trousers and jumper (can you tell by my lingo that I have been traveling with a Britton?) and jumped in the lake. What an orgasmic feeling! I think the water had healed me - I felt great again! I soon had my first real meal in 30 hours. I left my underwear to dry outside - foolish - only to find it frozen when I came back from the dining room. We did descend from the highest point of 5,000 masl but were still in the altitude of 4,500 meters.

The return to Uyuni was long, apparently longer than usual. When at the beginning of the trip Nick asked Rodrigo what would happen if we had an accident, he simply responded: “No reason to worry, my friend. I have never had an accident here.” Well, the last day he had an opportunity to show off his mechanical skills - we had two flat tires and just one spare! Luckily he really knew his car and was able to get us on the road safely.

That day we passed perhaps thousand llamas. Apparently each shepherd can own up to 1,000 of these beautiful animals, letting them roam during the day and herding them back home at night. Llamas here are fashionable - each with a colorful earring and some even red pieces of fabric sown in their wool. (A much better way to differentiate the animals than the US custom of spray painting the sheep.) 500 llamas per each farmer. That would explain why some of the mountain villages looked so well maintained and rich. I even saw a basketball court made of beautifully elaborated stone. And the village art! A huge concrete gate, a weirdly shaped spiral wall leading to the sky, concrete blocks hanging from supporting pillars, all in towns of less than 100 people, in the middle of nowhere. One llama can sell for $50. That is $25,000 per farmer or $250,000 per village of 100 farmers. Not bad for a small, self sufficient village. By the way people really eat llamas here. They are not pets! Vikunas are a different case. These animals which have the softest wool in the world (for which they were hunted for close to an extinction) are now strictly protected. A dead vikuna gets you 30 years in jail. If you really want to, you can still buy vikuna textiles but a sweater will cost you north of $2,000. Still easier to come by than in the Inca times when only the emperor was allowed to wear textiles made of this precious wool.

We arrived home already at dark, had a nice steak, and headed to bed.

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