Bolivia Journal
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9/13/04  MK

Since we had to cancel the Bolivian leg of our world tour due to my back surgery and our lost time, we were both very glad that we could squeeze back in a short Bolivian excursion.   

 

Based on the recommendation of Patrick and Kirsten, friends we made in the Galapagos, we signed on with Cordillera Tours to guide us on our four-day journey through the desert and enormous salt flats of Bolivia.  Having heard numerous horror stories about dangerous driving, and drunken guides, we were concerned about hiring a reputable outfit.

 

Day 1 began at 8am with a couple hour drive to the border where we switched vehicles to a 1980’s Toyota Landcruiser, and met our guide, an amiable Bolivian named Noelle.  Joining us were four American students from a program in Santiago.  Andrea, Jackie and Christie, who we met the day before on a tour to the geysers, and Matt.  Once again we were the oldest in our party by a wide margin.  Besides being great companions, our new friends were fluent in Spanish and served as great interpreters.

 

The Bolivian desert is more of a barren wasteland from a Mad Max movie than the fine grain sands of the Sahara.  The terrain was very rocky, sporadically covered with small stout shrubs, rolling hills and distant mountains.  Along the way we visited several beautiful lagoons, each a different color.  The first two were Laguna Verde and Laguna Blanco, green and white respectively.  The third was Laguna Colorado but should have been called Laguna Rojo as its waters were a deep red.  We learned the colors were the result of different microorganisms living in each.  Several of the lagoons were full of white deposits that we initially thought was salt, after all we were headed to the salt flats, however we learned that it was a mineral called borax which the locals use for cleaning (think Boraxo).  Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of the lagoons is that many of them were home to anywhere between 100 and several thousand pink flamingos.  Laguna Colorado was a particularly magnificent site.  A few square kilometers in size, with deep red waters and mountains in the distance.  It was home to what must have been ten thousand flamingos, which from the distance appeared as pink dots against the red water.  When we pulled up for a closer look and a walk around, the sheer numbers and beauty of the flamingos staggered us all.  I was particularly taken by the contrast of the harsh desert environment being home to such beautiful and delicate appearing birds. 

 

Day 2 began well enough, but after only a few hours we pulled over to the side of the dirt.  As we slowed down, what appeared to be a cloud caught up and engulfed us.  Our engine was overheating.  Since it was very cold in the morning, Noelle, our guide, placed newspaper over the radiator to limit the flow of air and help the engine to warm up.  I’m not sure if he left the paper there too long, if it simply was a bad idea, or if he was a complete idiot.  Regardless, it thankfully turned out to be an easy fix, but perhaps should have served as a warning about the idiot potential.  It was perhaps an hour later when the hood was up again.  This time there appeared to be either a fuel or spark plug problem.  All we knew was that when Noelle stepped on the gas the truck would stall.  After unattaching and reattaching this, and banging on that, we were back on our way.  Clearly not a qualified mechanic, we were shortly once again stopped with the hood up.  After following this cycle four or five times, we (the guests) began discussing weather it was better to walk the many miles back to our earlier evenings camp, or to prepare for a very cold night.  As the debate was raging, we miraculously were met by 2 jeeps from another tour group.  One had a more qualified mechanic who immediately took apart the carburetor, removed the fuel filter, and blew threw it several times.  Apparently we had been taken out by a few grains of sand stuck in a $1.50 part.  After much applause we were back on our way.

 

A few hours later, we arrived at our evening’s accommodations, the Salt Hotel, in a small town called Atulcha.  A fully functioning hotel with about thirty rooms entirely made from salt.  All walls, all chairs, all tables, even the beds were made from salt and the floor was covered in it.  At first glance the hotel looked like most any other building, but after we each took turns licking the wall there was no doubt…it was salt. 

 

When we first arrived we heard music in the near distance, so after settling in, we walked to town to explore.  When I say walked to town, I mean about 200 feet down a dirt road.  When I say town, I’m talking about a couple dozen buildings and a population of maybe 200.  As it turned out there was a celebration happening for Saint de Exaltacion.  I have no idea who this saint was, however, he must be important to the townspeople of Atulcha as we walked into the second day of a three-day blowout.  When I say blowout, I’m saying the entire town was partying in the street, and when I say partying, I mean every man and woman old enough to drink, and they start young, was as drunk as a human being can possibly be.  I’m talking stumbling, dribbling, falling down in the street drunk, and Lisa and I jumped right in.  She of course, was immediately scooped up to dance while I had to go it alone feeling very unsure as to how the men of Atulcha would feel about me dancing with one of their own.  Fortunately, it didn’t take too long until I managed to cut in and grab myself a proper Bolivian dance partner.  She immediately took control and led me around the floor joining everybody in their version of the chicken dance.  Every several minutes a random guy would appear with a silver tray full of shot glasses filled with a vile red fluid.  After a few I could no longer feel my gums.  This was one great party and we thoroughly enjoyed it.  With the exception of one angry drunk, the townspeople took us in as one of their own and showed us a great time. 

 

Day 3.   Last night feeling particularly adventurous, or just liquored up, we bravely agreed to get up at 5am to view sunrise from the salt flat.  After rounding up the troops we realized the only one missing was our trusty guide.  After searching for a while, one of the hotel employees showed up and reported that Noelle had disappeared last night with the chef (female), and made it clear that he was unlikely to be found.  Resigned to our fate, we watched the sunrise from the semi-warmth of the hotel.  Around 8am, a still very drunk Noelle literally stumbled in.  Embarrassed over his drunken state and for having missed our wake up time, Noelle did what he must have felt was best, and went back to town for more beer.  Around 9am, he reappeared and heartily announced it was time to leave.  After a quick group meeting we agreed he was in no position to drive, and then each took turns struggling to convince him of the same.  He put up a bit of an argument, but eventually I ended up behind the wheel. 

 

After a short bit on the windy dirt roads, we entered the salt flats.  The Bolivian salt flat is the largest, highest salt flat in the world.  Since I don‘t have the exact dimensions, I will simply say it is friggin’ huge.  The land is perfectly flat and white.  The white being salt.  As a result of the occasional rains pooling and evaporating, the salt forms trapezoidal lines making the entire salt flat look like an intricate mosaic.  In the distance we can see what I would describe as islands.  They look exactly like a body of land in the ocean, but here the ocean is salt.  After stopping at one for a brief hike, we headed back across the flat to our lunch spot.  Before leaving we reluctantly agreed to let Noelle take the wheel.  However, while barreling across the flat, Andrea suddenly posed the question “is our driver asleep?”  We all looked and sure enough his head was hanging limp.  Given the scope of the flat and the fact there is no real road and nothing to hit, I don’t think we were in any serious danger.  The truth is he could have been asleep for minutes and we wouldn’t have noticed.  Needless to say, we promptly removed him from behind the wheel and had a talk with the tour operator after arriving at our final destination.

 

All done and said, we had an excellent time in Bolivia, despite our borracho (drunk) guide. 

 

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