The Salar de Uyuni - Part One

This is the start of an account of a three-day trek across some of the most spectacular scenery in Bolivia, including the salt desert (salar) near Uyuni. I apologise for the formatting. I have tried to get the spacing right but Blogger just isn´t behaving itself today.

It commenced just across the border in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, with a minivan ride to the Bolivian immigation office. The story really starts when we transferred to a Toyota 4x4. The tourists in the group were 3 Frenchmen, a Spaniard and myself. The same company was running a companion ´jeep´ in which a French couple were escorted by a French-speaking guide. This was presumably quite an expensive extra. The guide, Guillermo, was Chilean and loved to show off his expertise in both French and English. I suspect he thought of himself as one of the boys, and enjoyed the company of the younger men in my party. With this mixture the lingua franca was French. I managed OK. I think it was the Spaniard who struggled most. But he could talk to our driver/guide much more easily than the rest of us.

There were plenty of specific natural wonders along the route, but the background scenery was sometimes quite breathtaking. I apologise for the quality of the photos. Getting the exposure right to capture the range of colours was a knack I never acquired.

Some mountains sported lacy threads of snow, greenish tinges where there was some grass cover and rocks of many different hues.

For the most part we drove across very level, dry terrain. The jeeps were quite capable of driving all over the level sections, but mostly they followed well established tracks.

I´m writing this up so long after the event that I can´t remember names. I think it was Vincent (I will call him Vincent), a French student, who claimed the premium seat beside the driver. The other two French guys had scrambled into the back first, and thus had the least comfortable bench at the back. For them to get in and out the Spaniard and I in the middle row had to get out first so that the seat could be folded forward. We did offer to swap after the first day, but they stuck to their awkward possie.

The first named attraction was the Laguna Verde (Green Lake), which gets its colour from minerals in the water. For some reason I don´t have a picture of it. It was large and green and fringed with ice. This seemed odd in the sunshine, but we were very high and it got extremely cold at night.

We were allowed 20 minutes at a thermal spring. The Europeans were strangely reluctant to take up the chance of a swim. After the cold showers in San Pedro and the prospect of 2 nights with no shower I was into my togs in no time to get a good soak.

At least my example prompted Vincent to strip off and try the water.

Next stop was "the geysers". These turned out to be an area of fumaroles, although one of the holes contained a small sputtering spray of hot water that might technically have been a geyser. However, it was genuine thermal activity with fumes and boiling mud and much higher than any site in NZ. We were almost at 5,000 masl.

There followed a long drive through the dry, multi-hued rocks towards our lunch destination.

The view over the driver´s shoulder showing the "road" that we were following.

The driver must know the area very well. I´d need a map and a GPS to navigate in this terrain.

Finally we met life. A trickle of water through the rock had attracted a couple of dozen gulls. Goodness knows what they found to eat. Beyond them some low buildings came into view. They were built around three sides of a courtyard to provide some shelter from the wind.

I wonder if they have any function other than hosting high-altitude tourists. There was a rapid exchange of Spanish between our driver and the resident ladies. We were directed to one dormitory, then another. Then our companion jeep arrived and the merry-go-round started again because the French couple wanted a room to themselves and there weren´t any two-bedded rooms. Eventually they did get a room to themselves and Guillermo bunked in with us. The drivers disappeared to unknown quarters, where they turned the page of their job descriptions and cooked lunch.

The Cordillera Tours ´jeeps´ before the other company arrived.

Eventually another company arrived with two full jeeps, so the sleeping quarters ended up quite full. There was strangely little interaction between the tourists of the competing tour companies.

Our afternoon treat was a visit to Lago Colorado, a larger lake. This one is coloured red, due mainly to its occupants. These are red micro-organisms that flourishin the salty water and hundreds of flamingoes feasting on them.

First of all we were driven to a small hill that permitted a wide view over the entire lake. Over this lookout blew a wind that removed hats and threatened to freeze the innermost cells of your body.

We had an hour to explore the lake edge.

For Vincent and me this was an hour of attempted nature photography. Almost the entire world´s population of puna (James´s) flamingo breed on this lake and a good portion of them were enjoying the winter season amongst the ice sheets.

With my regulation camera I had to be content with groups that stalked earnestly over to drink the fresher water that arrived courtesy of a stream. Vincent was brandishing a camera with a massive telephoto lens. It must also have had a monster battery pack because he calculated that he had taken over 100 pictures that afternoon.

Even in the lee of the little hill the wind was more than noticeable. Even I, ardent naturalist that I am, surrendered the last few minutes of my hour for the shelter of the jeep. It was Vincent, oblivious of time, that kept us waiting.

Back to the lodge and French conversation until our driver/chef served dinner. It was hot and nourishing and accompanied by a bottle of wine, but not a patch on Mario´s offerings on the Salkantay Trek.

Heating for the tourists´ quarters was one tiny wood-burning stove with barely a handful of twigs for fuel. If this was a hint to stop nattering and retire early it was entirely successful. Most of us used sleeping bags under the blankets and prayed that we would not need to make a nocturnal trip across the bare concrete floor of the corridor to the bathroom.

The dormitory windows were caked with ice in the morning. Guillermo cheerfully told us that this was nothing compared to a trip some years age when it reached minus 25 during the night. It was quite enough thank you, Guillermo.

Thankfully the previous day´s wind had died down and it was really quite pleasant in the sun. Day 2 started off with another cross-country journey through other-worldly scenery.

Our first destination was the famous stone tree. This is not a fossil, but a weirdly eroded piece of rock that does make you think "tree".

The arbol de piedre.

In fact it is just one of a large number of strangely sculpted rocks. I took several photos of the less renowned examples. I will post them separately or email them to any funny-shaped-rocks fans. Send me an email or post a comment.

And on through desert valleys, some with sparse tussock grasses and some without.

An outcrop of layered rock took my attention. "Could we stop for a photo?" I asked. "Of course," answered our chauffer. The layers reminded me of the pancake rocks at Punakaiki, but these had been tilted at some stage of their history.

What I christened the "Pikelet Rocks". They are not marked on the itinerary because in this area they are not very remarkable. Vincent is in the centre photgraphing a ´living rock´ plant.

And once I got out, Vincent had to unship his sophisticated gear and take a dozen snaps or so.

This is another attempt to capture the range of colours that surrounded us as we drove across the Andes

To be continued in a separate post.