Bolivia and the salt lakes

You guessed it. I came off on ‘The most dangerous road’, the 45km highway to Corioco. I got a little too cocky after the initial terror in bouncing down the mountain slightly out of control. The guide told us that it is much worse going over the rocks if you ride slowly and I took his advice a little too literally, tailing the pro and a more experienced rider with as much courage as I could muster. I won’t be doing a rider like that again so, wel,l you have to go for it. After two near misses I hit a snaking corner too fast (“Watch out for the white cross by the side of the road,” the guide said, draw your own conclusions as to why it was there) and immediately knew I was hitting terra firma or flying off the cliff. As you can see from the bandages I was left with a few scrapes and not a little blood and limped somewhat more slowly to the end of the road. That said, the ride was spectacular, bombing down the tarmac roads through the mountains at frightening speeds before we hit the rock and dirt roads, a completely different ball game and you quickly realise why these bikes are fitted with suspension and pro gear. We had opted for the hard-tailed bikes and were initially paying the price. The fear stiffens you up and you feel every rock and bump at first until you learn that relaxing and using your arms as suspension is far less painful. After five hours we made it down the slopes for a welcome beer (to calm the nerves) hot shower and buffet at a hotel overlooking a beautiful mountain valley. I have to say we were a little galled to discover that two trucks had fallen from the mountain the night before (we could see logs sprawled down a cliff face) and were rather disturbed on the way up in the rain when we saw a fire crew winching up bodies from the valley floor. Apparently thirty-eight vehicles fell from the road last year. I think everyone was somewhat relieved when we turned into the tarmac roads on the mountain top.With the clock ticking on our return home we have quickened our pace immeasurably; within a matter of days we were at the La Paz station booking a bus to Uyuni and the salt lakes. And while we have been trying to keep up with current events and were aware of numerous demonstrations and road blocks in Bolivia (I understand this has something to do with the distribution and sale of natural gas and how much of this benefits Bolivia) we had unwittingly arrived two weeks prior to a general election. On the way down we had heard whispers from travellers held up for six days caused by road blocks. After booking our ticket we had to wait four hours before the bus could leave (obviously they don’t tell you about this little hiccup before you buy the ticket) as the roads around La Paz were blocked. When we finally boarded we knew we were in for a real treat courtesy of a speeding, surly bus driver and I had just read foreign office advice that we “…should not attempt to cross road blockades”. Oh well in for a penny. The driver turned out to be a real gem and found great difficulty in stopping for people to use the loo (why would you need a toilet on an all night bus journey?). After a few of the old ladies stuck the boot in and bent his ear sufficiently (believe me it is pointless to complain if you are a gringo unless you want and earful of rapid-fire, deliberately incomprehensible Spanish), he began driving away when everyone got off the bus for a leak (there was no actual ‘toilet’). Just prior to this we had the driver’s assistant coming around the bus (she showed amazing strength after she grabbed our luggage to load on the bus) asking everyone for money, to bribe the blockade! After a quick stop and the hand over of a few notes we were through and at this point were looking forward to leaving the country (a real shame as it is fabulous). We later discovered one of the windows of the bus had been smashed by a rock thrown by one of younger protestors.
Within a day we had arranged for a three day jeep tour of the salt lakes or the Salar de Uyuni, all that remains of a prehistoric sea, which proved to be one of the most dramatic and impressive parts of our entire trip. The first day took us for a stop at the train graveyard at the edge of town, another 20km to the salt-processing village Colchani, a visit to a hotel made from salt and the beginning of the salt lakes. We could already see there was much more in store than just the salt lakes. We were also very fortunate to be stuck in a jeep for three days with some really interesting and enthusiastic people including two Czechs, a Kiwi and two English girls. After this we were whisked for a spot of lunch (llama I believe or probably more likely alpaca) another 60 km to the Isla de Pescado or Fish Island, by virtue of its shape, which is covered in giant cacti. To say this climate harsh is an understatement and it is a real miracle that anything can survive out there. I heard frequent stories of bleeding lips caused by the desert like ecosystem and we all suffered slightly in this respect. Sunglasses were also and absolute necessity if you were expecting to open your eyes. As night rolled in we took refuge in a ‘hotel’ in a small town literally in the middle of nowhere. We had a quick walk around the tumble-weed-wild-west town in search of a whisky saloon. The buildings had low flat roofs with locked, boarded up windows. We saw just two people, one uncommunicative gaucho and a light in the distance. The second day saw is delving into a weird alien cave called Galacticos Magicos alongside the spooky Cemetery of the Chullpas known locally as the Cave of the Devil, a site discovered only three years ago, built around 500 AD by a tribe that typically mummified their dead.
After driving through lava fields and an entire forest of calcified trees chased by howling winds, we stopped off at Bolivia’s only active volcano Ollagüe, standing at 5865m, from which we saw a thin plum of smoke issuing. From here we plunged on across the lofty volcanic ash desert of Pampa Siloli and stopped briefly to have a glance at surreal, sand blasted shapes including the odd Arbol de Piedra or stone tree. From here, via several green and blue lakes, complete with the requisite pink and white flamingos, we headed to the bloody waters of Laguna Colorada, bizarrely coloured red courtesy of the pigmentation of the algae that live in this mineral lake. Several miles on we saw the sublimely surreal, apocalyptic landscape Salvador Dali chose to paint on canvas.
The following morning saw us all up at five for dawn over the laguna with a quick dash to the steam, boiling mud sulphur spectacle that is the Sol de ManÑana geyser at an altitude of some 5000m. We had prepared well for the freezing night previous taking advantage of the cheap market at Uyuni including an alpaca hoodie, gloves, hat and poncho, but nothing could prepare us for this cold morning. Hence is was a great shock to discover we would be taking a plunge the Laguna Polques. I think most of us were in some disbelief as we stripped off in the freezing temperatures, but were relieved that this was indeed a hot spring. Getting back out was something of a reluctant challenge. From here we had one further dramatic, mad dash through the volcanic landscape to the Chilean border.