A-C-B: Into Bolivia!

We awoke on October 29th and after breakfast took a hired van, not Carlos's car parked in the modest hotel lot, up to the heights and the border station between Chile and Bolivia. The air was cold in the early morning.

The stations for leaving Argentina and entering Chile had been physically one location, one building, staffed by both countries. In the case of Bolivia, we first passed through the Chilean station and then drove about a mile up the road to the Bolivian counterpart.

The inspections on leaving Chile were less intensive than on entering. The Bolivian customs and immigration station was a small building adjacent to a fleet of compact four-wheel drive SUVs delivering tourists exiting Bolivia and preparing to accept clients entering Bolivia. Joan and I were nervous with anticipation, because this would be the test of our Bolivian visas.

Most Europeans can enter Bolivia without a visa, but as the U.S. and Bolivia are not the best of friends at the moment, we were required to obtain a visa ahead of time. Our research showed that there were several Bolivian consulates in the U.S., and where you lived determined which consulate you must apply to. In our case, it was Washington, DC. The on-line application program wasn't always clear, and comparing the instructions from the DC consulate with those from other consulates, they didn't always agree. Joan was forced to create a gmail account to receive the authorization code to fill out an on-line form; I already had an account. We forged ahead, obtaining passport-sized photos, money orders for the application fee, and filling out and printing the on-line forms, including scans of our photos, proof of financial responsibility, and copies of our itinerary. All these materials, plus our US passports, were put in one express envelope with two return express envelopes, and sent to DC.

Ben's passport came back in two weeks, as estimated, with the glossy visa and its stamps and signatures attached. Joan's did not arrive then, or the next day. Shouldn't they have been processed at the same time? There was never an email address for the consulate, so Joan ended up calling them innumerable times. Mostly the phone was not answered. One time her call was answered but the staffer just transferred the call to a prerecorded message we'd already heard more than once. Another time a woman answered the phone and told Joan to call her after a certain hour, and that was the last time her phone was picked up. Joan sent a fax, with no response.

After two more weeks passed we began researching what to do to replace a passport, and how to transfer Joan's Global Entry account to a new passport. Our only consolation was that our next need of the passports was still a few months away.

Finally, Joan sent a letter whose central theme was, in large type, "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're my Only Hope," in the red - yellow - green of the Bolivian flag. (Joan is very creative.) Several days later her passport arrived, with visa, six weeks after the applications had been sent. Soon the Bolivian consul phoned from DC to say how much she loved the letter, and would put it on her wall. We were both greatly relieved.

Joan, Carlos, and I entered the door for incoming visitors. Carlos' examination was unremarkable, but an older gentleman effusively greeted Joan and me, and shook our hands. He was greatly pleased to see Americans, who are much more rarely seen here than Europeans, particularly the French. Our passports were stamped, and we exited to meet our Bolivian guide. Carlos was demoted to fellow tourist due to Bolivian regulations.

Our guide was Samuel. He spoke only Spanish, so Carlos translated the important stuff that couldn't be transmitted by hand gestures. Joan and especially I had little Spanish with which to make friendly conservation with Samuel, and we regretted that.

He transferred our duffels to the back of the SUV and we headed off into the high desert, along with many other vehicles involved in this mass custody exchange.

We passed the Green Lagoon, which we would see with better light on our return. The next zone held exposed rock formations.

The colors of the mountains behind us portrayed a tortured history here on the "ring of fire."

Our first stop, almost everybody's first stop,

was at Termas de Polques, an extensive lagoon fed by thermal waters,

We're at 4000 m / 14400 ft.

with the amenity of an artificial pool for bathing.

Joan, Carlos, and I took advantage of the stop for leg stretching and bird spotting.

Driving on, we skirted what Samuel explained was a borax mining area, and then found a "restroom" stop with a view. One keeps an eye out for promising rock formations in the back country.

Wherever water trickles out of the ground in this high, dry country greenery springs up, and wherever greenery survives, llamas will be pastured.

Samuel took us into the small settlement of Mallku Villa Mar,

which appears on Google Maps as Villamar Mallcu. We had some time to walk about as Samuel collected the lunch fixings he'd arranged for, and added gas to the SUV from two blue plastic containers strapped to its roof.

This is the front of the church.

Although soccer/football is the national sport, apparently basketball is also popular. Here's the court next to the school.

Carlos ended up in a conversation with a well-dressed man in a blue suit, a teacher at the school.

At this time of day we were beginning to see dust devils. They would be a common sight for the next two days.

After lunch Samuel drove us to a destination not on the itinerary, a "hidden valley," which became one of Carlos' two favorite spots.

This was our first viewpoint.

A pool attracted many birds, including a juvenile black-crowned night heron.

Zooming in ...

Not far away there was a bare-faced ibis.

Ours was not the only vantage point.

Don't fall!

We clambered down to the valley floor, where I caught this image of Samuel.

The many jumbled and crevice-split boulders piled at the foot of the wall beckoned as secluded pit stops. (Sometimes paid restrooms are available in Bolivia, but are in poor shape.) Unfortunately earlier waves of tourists visiting this "hidden valley" had a created a disgusting mess, including fouled and discarded underwear.

Bolivia is at a critical point regarding tourism; the roads, rest stops, and other facilities must be upgraded or created, otherwise the landscape will be despoiled by the tire ruts and other leavings of the tourist traffic. Then who will come?

Another sighting here was of viscachas, who resemble rabbits but are not actually related. They are considered an example of convergent evolution, the development of similar features in different genetic lineages.

This one was sleepy.

This one was on guard.

With several places yet to visit today, we walked back to the vehicle and headed off for the village of San Cristobal. To be continued!

A-C-B: El Tatio Geysers

Our alarm rang at 3:30. Joan and I hit the breakfast table at 4:30, along with everyone from the hotel headed for the El Tatio geysers. The Terrantai makes a point that "geyser breakfasts" are available; the goal is to reach the geysers while the day is still young "for best effect," although I don't really know what means. Admission is free in the afternoon!

Vans and small buses idled outside in the dark, lined up and down the street waiting for their clients to board. Carlos drove us out of San Pedro ahead of them, and all went well at first on paved roads. The sky was deep black.

The surface went from paved to unpaved, then from unpaved to awful. Graders supposedly smooth it out, as seen in this Google Street View,

but I bet only once a year at most. Once the incessant washboards get bad, drivers seek out a parallel cross-country path which itself soon becomes washboards. As daylight broke we could see braiding routes winding back and forth.

Carlos' Toyota sedan vibrated many times like it might fall apart. We slowed and turned on and off the main road, trying to find the least teeth-jarring surface. The big-tire trucks and the commercial traffic caught up and blitzed past us. They must have been equipped with heavy-duty shocks and springs.

Joan and I were worried for the integrity of Carlos' car, and I'm sure he was too. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and slowed the car to a walking pace when necessary to avoid bottoming out. We did scrape the gravel once or twice, but the Toyota made it.

The geyser field is around the next few bends in this photo.

Shot through the windshield.

We stopped to pay our fees and look at the signage,

then headed for the geyser parking area, after turning in the tickets we just bought just a few yards away.

There's plenty of steam in the third-largest geothermal field in the world. (Technically, much of what we saw here were fumaroles rather than geysers.)

Shade, sunlight, steam, and the moon. (Click on the image to enlarge.)

Backlighting!

Shadows!

And some were very tall.

Life has found a way to survive even in the hot outflow from the geysers.

I didn't stick my finger in.

At 4300 meters, or 14,000 ft., with a clear sky,

the morning air was bitterly cold. However, the braver souls bathed in a hot pool, changing rooms provided. Water boils at only 185º F/85º C up here, but I'd still be careful! 

Beyond the field of great plumes were varied cracks and mounds, some active and some extinct.

A video of bubbling, splashing, and burping.


In the distance sat the ruin of a failed geothermal energy experiment.

On the first leg of the return I took some road images from within our car.

Rush hour in the high desert.

Don't like the road? Make another!

This road may never be paved; otherwise, tourists could drive their own cars and the tour operators and drivers might go out of business. We'll also see this imperative at work in Bolivia.

Several buses paused at a lagoon with waterfowl.

We stopped too, before the sharp bend.

A posing Andean Goose.

A Giant Coot swam by.

It was building a nest out of water weeds, and didn't mind us at all, probably accustomed to the gawkers.

We drove a short minute to the high point beyond the bend.

There was a vicuña down there.

And the silhouette of a duck in the middle left.

On the horizon a volcano was venting.

Also on the way back we passed the Machuca church and a village of about 20 houses,

Tourists taking selfies at the church gate.

but, fatigued, decided not to stop. Soon another lagoon appeared.

The signs in the distance say "Don't walk on the beach."

Here Carlos found us an Andean Gull,

Andean flamingos, always in a flock,

and an Andean Negrito.

This last bird drew Carlos well down the beach; then, another guide drove up and ordered us back to the road. We got back into the car and passed the "no pasar" signs we hadn't yet seen.

The three of us ate a filling late lunch in San Pedro, just down the street from the hotel. There was a tower of various meats, plus potatoes and an onion-tomato-hot pepper salad. In meat-obsessed Argentina, and presumably this nearby part of Chile, the saying goes, "Chicken is considered a vegetable."

Back in our room Joan and I had a chance to clean up. Then we had to repack, having been informed that we could take only one duffel with us to Bolivia due to space limitations. Our excess luggage would be saved at the hotel.

The hotel wine-and-cheese tasting was a satisfactory dinner after our huge, late lunch. Tomorrow we would climb back up to high altitudes and another international border for three days in Bolivia.