Have a little perspective

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From La Paz we headed further into Bolivia to the town of Potosi – the world’s highest city. Here if you want to you can take a visit deep into the silver and tin mines that the town is famous for. I chose not to for various reasons – the rumours of child labour, the environmental impact of letting tourists buy (and use) dynamite, the exposure to asbestos and silica dust…… - whilst I’ve come away to experience all that south America has to offer I doubt my trip will be any the less richer for not spending a few hours in the mine.

I chose instead to wander the streets of Potosi, every other turning led to another brightly coloured market and I had a happy day, wandering in and out of the stalls, replacing depleted toiletries, buying some clothes, and finding props for the upcoming trip to the salt flats.

From Potosi we headed to Uyuni. Driving into Uyuni feels like you’ve arrived into a town at the end of the world, its all very Mad Max-esk. Everything is covered in sand and dust, litter blows across the road in front of you and piles up at the side of the road.

It’s hot and dry but you get the feeling that once the sun has gone the temperature will drop. A feeling confirmed when checking into the hostel and finding half a dozen blankets on the bed.



Uyuni sits on the edge of the high altiplano, a wilderness that extends for hundreds of kilometres towards the border with Argentina and Chile. In the next few days I’ll be heading out across the altiplano but first we’re to spend the day on the Salt Flats.

The Salar de Uyuni is a dry lake of over 12,000 sq kms made of blinding white interlocking salt crystals. It is Bolivia’s largest salt pan and stretches for miles and miles, as far as the eye can see. Picked up from our hostel this morning by our local guide – Brownie – we set off in a convoy of jeeps to explore the Salt Flats.

On the edge of the flats we stop at a small village, families carving out a living from the salt. From the compacted salt they carve blocks by hand for building, or collect piles of sand for processing in antiquated factories. Covered head to toe in old rags to keep themselves protected from the harsh conditions they work all day to produce bags of salt for sale in Bolivia. Due to competition from another Bolivian Salt Plain and other more lucrative ones in the surrounding South American countries these works cannot afford to export their salt outside of Bolivia, they work all day to produce around 1000 kilos of salt. 50kilos sells for 14 Bolivianos – around £1.20 – it’s a harsh, harsh life. Tourism, showing us round the rudimentary factories and explaining the manufacturing process, go somewhat to help support these people.

Heading out into the Salt Flats proper we experience the unique ‘nothingness’ of the unusual landscape, miles and miles of bright white salt. How Brownie knew in which direction to drive I don’t know, tire tracks crisscross the whiteness ahead of us but there’s no signs, no landmarks to guide by.

But know his way he does and before long we screech to a halt outside the now closed ‘Playa Blanca Salt Hotel’. After a quick picture stop it’s on to the Isla del Pescado. It takes a couple of hours of driving into the whiteness before we reach the Isla del Pescado in the heart of the salar, it’s a hilly island covered in Trichoreus cactus and surrounded by the flat white sea of salt. It feels man made, like part of a film set and after lunch we spend some time exploring the island.



Later in the afternoon we drive further into the salar, stopping in the middle of nowhere to play around with our cameras, taking silly pictures, playing with the loss of perspective you get when there’s nothing but salt.

Heading back in the late afternoon we stopped briefly at the ‘Salt Flat Eyes’ some sulphurous bubbling pools where Brownie told the local legend of how the salt flats were formed. In brief; a princess ran off with a Inca, a man that her father had forbidden her to see, after a few years she became pregnant and the being the cad that her father said he was the Inca discarded her for another. She returned home and begged for forgiveness, her father disowned her and she fled to the nearby mountain with her child. There distraught she cried salty tears for 40 days and 40 nights forming the salt lake, when it dried there salar was left. Brownie also told us some story to do with tectonic plates and volcanos but that sounded much too farfetched to be true!

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