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Published: April 25th 2006
We weren't really ready to leave, but our pocketbook told us that it was time to head out of Chile and into Bolivia. We were so blessed by our time in Chile and had no regrets about going, even though before we’d entered Chile people questioned, "Why are you going to Chile? The people there are rude and there is not anything to see, and it is expensive!" They were correct about the money situation, but dead wrong about everything else. We found the Chileans to be lovely, kind, and friendly people. We found the sights, cities, and culture intriguing. So it was after some tearful goodbyes to those we had so quickly grown to love, that we headed to northern Chile to buy a ticket out of town, from San Pedro de Atacama, and into Southern Bolivia. As a parting gift, we'd picked up a little tummy flu (nothing major) and an Aussie, named Russell. We crossed the border with both... the Australian was much more pleasant than the other.
We had heard from our British friends, Caroline and James- remember them from Argentina? - that a great way to cross the border into Bolivia was through a 4x4 tour.
Mandy and Russ, the Aussie
Russell liked to gloat about how small his bakcpack was, however as you can see from this shot, I am nice and warm and he is freezing. He ended up borrowing shirts, hat, jacket, wool socks, and then some! There is something to be said for fore-thought when packing for a long trip like this!Usually the word "tour" conjures up all sorts of images in our minds; noisy, demanding foreigners dressed in cheesy t-shirts and gaudy jewelry, but they reassured us that this was nothing like that- turns out that they were right.
We showed up early Thursday morning, and hopped in our Land Cruiser. The journey to the border from San Pedro was short, and after that we entered the amazing landscapes of Bolivia. It's important to keep in mind the general land-layout of Bolivia when you read this or any forthcoming blogs written from Bolivia...mountains-very, very high mountains! The altitude affects almost every physical aspect of a person born and raised at sea-level. As our truck hauled across rugged dirt roads, filled to the brim with two North Americans, one Aussie, and two Swiss, our ears popped and our stomachs turned. Victor, our driver and guide was enthusiastic about his driving and though we never felt unsafe, he really tackled those roads! Vic, as we affectionate called him, enjoyed our gifts of "koo-kies" and chicle, to the point that if his mouth was already occupied by some other sort of tasty morsel, he would stick the gum or cookie in his front
shirt pocket or on his well-worn jacket resting between the passenger and driver's seat.
Victor took us through the mountains, stopping at several lagoons splattered with pink flamingos, which I had only seen thus far in my life in re-runs of "Miami Vice" and in the front yards of some retiree friends. We stopped at a natural hot spring and had a dip, wound around volcanoes, and then stopped at "Laguna Colorado" to eat lunch and stay the night. At the laguna, there was a hostel run by indigenous people as well as a tiny store that sold spirits, water, and candy. The "store" was half shelves of goods for sale, and half someone's bedroom. There was no pueblo, the store and hostel were just plopped in the middle of the mountains for travelers like us, who needed to rest between towns. The dorm room that we shared with the Aussie and the Swiss couple was the brunt of many jokes. We began to call the beds "hammocks", because they dipped down so far in the middle, despite the smashed cardboard boxes that someone had attempted to use to remedy the droop. The room was absolutely freezing, as it is
Griff and Mirrored Mountians
The lagoons are so calm and clear, that the mountians reflect perfectly in them. in Bolivia at an elevation of 5,000 meters, the flies were fervent, and besides walking next to the muddy lagoon, there was not a whole lot to do except sit in our cement-block dorm room.
We sat and talked with the Swiss couple, who had met each other in Scouts learning about outdoor survival and how to tie a Sailor's Knot (how can you not end up liking such upstanding citizens?), and the Aussie, who had taken a caffeine headache pill. Russ was soon bouncing off of the walls, falling into the "Wild Aussie" role, killing flies with his sarong, telling jokes, and generally just cracking us all up. In the middle of all this, he realized that hyper activity and elevation is not the best combo, and sat on his bed to catch his breath, which resulted in the bed breaking at exactly the same time that they cut the power for the lights. We all howled at his misfortune, and in the darkness we went for our headlamps and candles. Griff McGyvered a couple of candle holders from soda bottles and eventually we all fell into a very light sleep. The next morning, none of us having slept
The Crew
Marco, Christina, Griff, Vic,Mandy, Russell, and our trusty Landcruiser. Normally I am totaly anti-SUV, but there are some exceptions!(L.A. Freeways are NOT one of them!) well, we woke ready to leave our hammocks and cold cement room to continue with the adventure. Victor tied our packs onto the roof of the 4x4 and we were off, bellies faux-filled with bread and jam, and coca-leaf tea. We arrived at some geysers, which were bubbling at an incredible 400 degree temperature, with no warning signs, no fences, nothing which us sue-happy North Americans have grown to rely on for our safety instead of our common sense. I asked Vic if anyone had ever fallen into the bubbling pots of mud and gushing geysers. He looked at me with a serious chuckle and said, "Many, many tourists have fallen in. They don't understand how dangerous the geysers are and get too close." How in the world someone has not figured out that anything boiling (much less gigantic natural hot pots of thick mud and steaming water) is dangerous, is beyond me. (Visions of my parents slapping my hand away from a coffee cup and stove top dance in my head.)
We traveled farther north, passing mountain-sides with colors running through them like marble cake, more reflecting lagoons, more flamingos, a fox, llamas with bows in their wool, and
indigenous people traveling through vast open spaces with heavy loads on their backs. (There was no civilization in view for the majority of our tour. Where were these people going and where have they come from? You just cannot help but feel like a wimp thinking back to those pre-Christmas shopping days at the mall, coming home and saying, "My feet are killing me!")
After two amazing days filled with sights that are just too awesome to tell in words, we arrived in Uyuni. This town has boomed in the last few years and evolved into a hot spot for backpackers on their way into and out of Bolivia. However, though there are more foreigners passing through than before, this little town still thrives with tradition. Uyuni was our first exposure to Bolivian markets, and the country's indigenous people. Out of respect for their culture, we don't take blatant photos of people, though their colorful dress, round, wind-chaffed faces, and dark features are a photographer's dream. Any photographs are either paid for or shot from the hip.
After a relatively comfy sleep at our hostel in Uyuni, we prepared ourselves for the last day of our tour, which was a
Mandy in Rock Formations
These rock formations are a result of volcanic activity. drive through the Saltas (salt flats) of Uyuni, Bolivia. We headed out, with Vic again (a bit worse for the wear, as the day before he had celebrated his thirty-third birthday, most certainly making good use of the well-deserved tip we had given him prior). We traveled though a small town that refines salt and sells it for ten cents a bag after hours of hard, back-breaking work. The bags are then sold in the stores for ten times that amount. About ten minutes out of the tiny town, we were struck by a truly unbelievable sight- salt. I know, it sounds silly, but yes, salt.
Another childhood memory hits me hard. My dad used to tell me a story about the journey of Ivan, the son of a wealthy merchant, to an island made of salt. Upon seeing the mass of salt, Ivan was dumb-struck. The young man loaded his ship with the white granules and sailed home only to be ridiculed by everyone. Where was the gold? Where were the jewels that explorers were supposed to come back with? To make a loooooong story shorter (NONE of my dad's stories are ever short), Ivan takes some salt to
the king and after some convincing, the king allows some salt to be sprinkled onto some of his food. He tastes it, and finds that it is "the most delicious thing I have ever tasted", and Ivan is hailed a hero.
Upon seeing the gigantic sea of salt in Uyuni, I knew how Ivan had felt- the excitement, the wonder, the disbelief, the overwhelming feeling of discovery! Had I been Ivan, I would have come to the realization that, stretched out in front of me was my future, my passion, my income! Ah, to see your destiny laid out in front of you as field of Sodium Chloride! But, alas, I am only Mandy Schutt and not Ivan, the Salt Merchant, new friend of the King.
My mind then skipped ahead to my adulthood, only a year ago. Julia Cho (my dear friend and fellow teacher), and I were taking fifty-six fourth graders on a camping trip in Malibu, a city set on the California Coast. The bus traveled along the 10 freeway, until the freeway abruptly ends and contrasting the city scenery, emerges the Pacific Ocean with its white capped waves and blue water as far as the eye
can see. Some of the kids had never seen the ocean before, and once the ocean's view had opened up to them, the school bus filled with deep breaths and squeals of complete wonder. My eyes were turned away from the ocean, and moved to their faces, frozen in childlike disbelief. My face must have looked similar, when I saw what laid in front of me here in Bolivia.
One just cannot escape the awe that consumes the entire body, beginning with the eyes, upon viewing such a vast expanse of total perfection...in this case, as strange as it sounds, that perfection was evident in salt. As we drove through the Salta (which seemed almost a sin; to tread upon such purity) the car fell silent, and the only noise any of us could manage was an occasional whispered, "hoe-lie cow" or gulp of air as we had forgotten to keep breathing in the presence of such beauty. The view became even clearer, and the salt, covered in an inch or two of water, began to perfectly reflect the blue of the sky and the shapes of the clouds. "This is as close to heaven as we were ever going
to get in this life." I thought, "I am treading on God's looking glass". What was he seeing when he looked down at the reflection of himself? Me. I grinned and then, feeling quite royal, realized that I should really try harder to live up to what I am.
After a while, in the distance, appeared a dark shape of what looked like a giant fish. Isla del Pescado (Fish Island). We pulled up to this "island" which is not really in the sea, and hiked around it. It was thick with cactus and dust, a stark contrast to the clouds above and below it. Certainly, this was the strangest and most unique landscape that we had ever seen in our lives! We ate our picnic lunch at the island, on tabletops of salt blocks and chairs made of the same, and then headed back, stopping once to visit a hotel made entirely of salt.
As we left heaven and returned to earth, it began to rain. The scenery changed from faultless to filthy; an old woman hauling a heavy load that I would never be able to lift, a baby with a snotty nose and dirty face, that little boy with the tattered clothes and needy eyes, the man with the cane and his hand out. Stark reality. Heaven- it is an incredible place to get a glimpse of, but earth is where one is supposed to function. Earth is where we are
needed. As un-dreamy as it seems, as much as I would have liked to have stayed amongst the clouds, it's just not the way we were created to live....yet.
Bolivia is poor. It is in the top five countries in the world to receive aid from other countries. The average income here is $980 USD a year. Many of their ways seem ancient, and their working conditions atrocious. They have a long history (even longer than those stories of Dad's) of being taken advantage of by huge companies, and shamefully, the western world. Bolivia is the country that most of us North Americans know nothing about. It is landlocked (thus no surfing or sun-bathing), it is mountainous (thus elevation sickness), it is undeveloped (thus no all-inclusive resorts). It is the country that most of us know exists but don't really know where it exists until we are tested on it in a college geography class, and after that, we quickly forget about it.
The truth is, Bolivia is spilling over with natural resources including minerals of almost every kind (Spain has Bolivia to thank for many of its lavish gold and silver cathedrals, mined by brown and black slaves during the Spanish invasion). As my short time in Bolivia has already proven, the potential for tourism and experiencing the country’s incomprehensible natural beauty also falls short. Bolivia has had a tough go, with many of its exploiters, blaming the country’s failure on the production of Coca leaves. I have yet to meet a single cocaine addict here however. The molecular changing of Coca into Cocaine was sadly a demand brought about by their "friends" to the far north.
Bolivia's people are hopeful however, as they have just voted into office their first indigenous president, Evo Morales. He doesn’t wear suits and ties, he has no college education, and is a Coca Leave farmer (the culture of Coca and how it is vastly misunderstood in the States, is a completely different subject.... Coca is used here in tea bags, with less of a "buzz" affect than caffeine. It is also used to suppress appetite and assist in digestion as well as elevation sickness. It is not snorted or injected or used to get high, as is the very dangerous and addictive cocaine. ) Yet, even with his upcoming five years in office, all his hard work cannot make up for the side effects of a long history of exploitation. Good luck to you Evo, you are in my prayers.
Bolivians, with the exception of the few wealthy, is a nation of strugglers. They are a strong people who have fought hard against European and North American influence. They resisted the Spanish invasion more successfully than many of their South American neighbors. They remain the most indigenous country in South America as well. Though their plight is evident, their mentality is refreshing. Their gusto and will to survive is evident, and for this very western woman, I have a great amount of respect for my fellow Bolivian lady in her many-layered skirt, long black braids, and derby perched atop her noble head.
This country is a dichotomy, filled to the tips of its mountaintops with natural beauty and natural resources, and drowning in poverty as seen by the malnourished babies sleeping in their cardboard boxes on the streets. We await the wonders that still lie unknown, within the walls of such an amazing country.
Ah this world falls on me with dreams of immortality
Everywhere I turn, all the beauty just keeps shaking me
Now I’m running to the end of the earth
And I’m swimming to the edge of the sea
And I’m laughing- I’m under a starry sky
This world was meant for me
Don’t bury me
Carry me
I wish I was a nomad, an indian or a saint
The edge of death would disappear, leave me nothing left to taint
I wish I was a nomad,an indian or a saint
Give me walking shoes, feathered arms, and a key to heaven’s gate
Ah this world falls on me- dreams of immortality
Everywhere I turn, all the beauty just keeps shaking me
-Indigo Girls, "World Falls"
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Terri Langley
non-member comment
WOW
Those pictures are amazing. Travis and I are really enjoying following your trip!