A-C-B: Arbol de Piedra, Sol de Mañana, Lagoons

We departed from the hotel Tayka del Desierto on the morning of Oct. 31st headed for the Árbol de Piedra, a famous rock in the high desert of the Potosi department of Bolivia. Howling winds and abrasive sands have blasted away the softer sandstone, leaving the harder pieces behind.

This is the most famous rock of a group of such; there are others.

We weren't the only visitors.

A view from another angle.

 With other rocks in the background.

With one of the many 20,000 foot volcanoes as a backdrop!

There are plenty of other rocks to admire, but we must move on, so I'll spare you.

From the Árbol de Piedra Samuel, our Bolivian driver and guide, drove Joan, Carlos (our Argentinian guide, but just another tourist while in Bolivia), and me to the Laguna Colorada, or Red Lagoon.

The islands are deposits of borax salts; the red tint comes from various species of algae.

 A closer look reveals flamingos.

Llamas were grazing here too!

A bunch of them in closeup.

I like the illumination in this one, and the mists on the water.

The flamingos look like fuzzballs on a stick. Click on the image to enlarge.

On our way to the Sol de Mañana, a geothermal field, everyone agreed it was time for a "rest stop." A wash, or mini-canyon, beckoned.

We just had to find a way down.

Our privacy wasn't absolute: a flock of greenish yellow-finches landed on the rocks to keep us company.

Next up, after a very rocky ride in our four-wheel drive SUV, was the spectacular geothermal field of Sol de Mañana. In North America there would be guardrails and warning signs. In Chile, at the El Tatio geysers, there were suggested paths marked by stones. Here in Bolivia, go wherever you like, but you're warned not to breathe too deeply of the sulfurous fumes.

There were no geysers here, but lots of steam,

and burping mud. Don't touch!

 This pot held floating black pearls, or was it caviar?

Also here was an Australian couple in a van with US plates (Washington state). I asked if they'd driven all the way here, but, no, they offered a vague story about acquiring the van in Uruguay. I wonder if it was a gray market transaction.

Here are four short clips stitched into one video of some of the sights and sounds of Sol de Mañana.

Afterwards we headed for our lunch stop, at Termas de Polques, which had been our initial stop within Bolivia two days ago. Carlos, Joan, and I explored the beach while Samuel completed lunch arrangements.

I managed to capture this flamingo on his runway.

 This bird was checking me out.

Samuel led us to the building where lunch was waiting. The structure was unmarked, with no clue what its function was. Having a Bolivian guide is essential as well as legally required!

Joan took notes: our final Bolivian meal included,

• mixed canned corn and stuffed green olives
• peeled slice cucumbers
• peeled wedges of tomato with chili slices
• rice
• warm canned tuna
• pickled veggies
• canned sliced mushrooms
• canned peaches
• sliced cheese
• sliced lunch meat

During the filling lunch I stepped over to the windows. The small figure at center, on the road, is a woman pushing a loaded wheelbarrow uphill.

Then we were off to see our last two Bolivian lagoons, Laguna Verde (Green Lagoon) and Laguna Blanca (White Lagoon), which were not far away and are barely separated.

The colors come from minerals including arsenic, which deters wildlife from feeding here. However, in the center of the White Lagoon, three flamingos were up to something. (Click on the image to enlarge.)

The Green Lagoon was lifeless, but beautiful, with whitecaps urged on by the relentless wind.

By now it was mid-afternoon, and time to say goodbye to Bolivia and to Samuel. We drove up to the border station, where guides were dropping off their guests, and cars and vans were waiting, as if in a custody exchange, to ferry the guests to the Chilean border station and beyond.

Joan, Carlos, and I entered the Bolivian station, where Joan and I were told we must pay an exit fee of 15 bolivianos apiece. We (especially Joan) had researched this trip extensively, and officially there is no exit fee. Carlos, an Argentinian, was not charged an exit fee. However, we had seen Europeans putting their wallets away when leaving the building. Apparently only citizens of rich countries are subject to this informal tax, which is carefully calibrated: 15 bolivianos is roughly two dollars, not enough to make a fuss about in an isolated border crossing. But the officials were honest about the amount. I had spent all my small money, planning to add the rest to Samuel's tip, and had only a 100 boliviano note to hand them. They made correct change.

We said our goodbyes to Samuel, wishing him well, and boarded our van, where we met Lucy Barnard. This energetic and peripatetic Australian has set herself the goal of being the first woman to walk the length of the Western Hemisphere, from Ushuaia, Argentina to Barrow, Alaska. Chile, being very long, had exhausted her visa, and to renew it she had to leave Chile and re-enter for a fresh visa. Lucy had been advised to pop over to Bolivia and come right back, but the Bolivian officials didn't want to let her go. At first they said she had to stay three days. After argument they said she could stay only one day, and they knew a hotel ... Lucy, a woman traveling alone, was having none of it. She finally deployed the nuclear option, tears, and they let her go. We last saw her at the Chilean crossing, explaining her business in Chile to the border authority. At this writing she is about to stride into Ecuador, and you can follow her journey here.

Back in San Pedro de Atacama, Joan and I decided on a short wander, in particular to check out the town plaza and its old church, which was next door to our hotel (the Terrantai).

This church was constructed in the 17th Century, during Spanish colonial rule, and was built of adobe. Over the centuries it has been modified and added to.

The altar.

In this dry climate the timbers can last a long while.

That evening we were tired enough that the Terrantai's wine and cheese tasting was sufficient for dinner. This was also the evening of Halloween, and the custom of children in costumes begging for treats was in full swing. Some holidays export well into manifold cultures; I still remember the Christmas decorations in the Bangkok airport hotel and in Bhutan.

All three of us, including Carlos, went to bed early, for tomorrow would be a daylong drive from San Pedro to Salta, Argentina. I know Carlos would have preferred an extra day for the journey, but the itinerary had been set long before.

A-C-B: Lagoon Cañapa and the Tayka Del Desierto Hotel

We drove off the Salar Uyuni salt flat after a long morning to reach our lunch spot. On the way we passed agricultural fields, mostly brown. This one had some green showing.

It doesn't look promising, but wait ...

Samuel, our Bolivian guide and driver, told us that it was quinoa, which is planted earlier and remains very short until the rains arrive in December and January. (This was October 30.)

We dined in a small village, San Juan.

Samuel had arranged a feast at the hostel/community-center.

Wonderfully decorated.

We ate our fill, but I must advise, be very careful opening a soda bottled at a lower altitude. It was also a good time for a pit stop, which, as always, cost a few bolivianos. Small change is handy.

Continuing on, we soon left the road system and were either driving in or avoiding previous vehicles' ruts, as Samuel preferred. There was a small business where the route crossed a paved road.

A 500 Bs. fine for taking a pit stop among the rocks. Click to check out the sign.

The horizon included a lofty volcano, complete with puffs of steam.

 A closer look.

We continued cross-country, stopping once for tinamou. Carlos and Joan had spotted a tinamou much earlier in the trip, but this was my first glimpse.

This sparse country can support herds of vicuña. Click on the image to enlarge.

Then spread out before us was the Lagoon Cañapa, host to three different species of flamingo, including the rare James's flamingo, which inhabits only the high Andean plateaus. It was thought extinct until it was rediscovered in 1956!

A closer look at the James's; identifiying marks are brick-red legs and black-tipped yellow bills.

There's a juvenile, merely black-and-white, in this group. It takes one two to three years to "pink up" from its diet.

Zooming in on the youngster ...

Flamingos often provide amusing photos.

Flamingos in flight way above sea level.

The wind was howling across the lagoon. The air may be thin, but kinetic energy increases with the square of the velocity. Afterwards, departing the lagoon, Joan and I posed again.

I'm glad my face is in the shade. The expression is not charming!

On Samuel drove. In one place I worried about a tight climb through a rock-bound ravine, but Samuel downshifted and the SUV made it through. I'm sure he's done it many times before.

The braiding created by the vehicles, whose drivers hate to ride in others' tracks, grew astonishingly severe. We're told that the drivers resist adding a formal road in such places, because that might encourage tourists to drive themselves. I think there are major obstacles to self-tourism in this part of country, including a lack of refueling stations and the ability of the government to require a Bolivian guide accompanying.

But there were brave self-propelled souls out here: we passed a duo of bicyclists setting up camp, out "in the middle of nowhere" at 15,000 feet. That's more of a challenge than my legs or my lungs would want to take on.

We arrived at the Tayka del Desierto, an off-the-grid hotel that is part of the Bolivian Tayka group, but in part owned by a local community association.

This facility provides income to the association and training and jobs for the inhabitants of this region of the Siloli desert. Power is supplied by wind turbines and solar panels. There is sufficient hot water, as long as you aren't profligate, and enough electricity to recharge batteries, but not to run hair dryers.

We checked in and cleaned up and went to dinner, which was a huge surprise. This meal was clearly intended as a first-class training ground for the kitchen and staff. The servers were dressed crisply with white shirts and black vests, the fixed menu was excellent, and the place settings white-tablecloth. Every table had a wonderful view of the desert and mountains outside. We noticed that much of the chatter in the dining room was in French; Europeans make up a large portion of the overseas tourists in Bolivia.

After dinner I resolved to try some nighttime photography of the stars here at 15,000 feet. The air had cooled rapidly with the setting of the sun, and the panoply of stars was bright. I wanted to combine the "night sky" setting with the "delay start" setting on my point-and-shoot, so that I could set the camera on the ground facing up. But I kept having trouble with it. Nonsense or pictures of my chilled fingers were all that I could capture. Then I tried several hand-held shots towards the hotel and sky with different fixed exposure times, and I was able to hold the camera steady enough for one recognizable photo. You can see some of the brighter stars. (I have lightened the image using the GIMP just to the edge of having too much noise.) Click on the image to enlarge and see the stars.

I did not linger any longer in the cold, and soon it was time for bed at our highest overnight altitude. Joan had been taking gingko biloba earlier in the trip as a preventive measure for altitude discomfort, but it hadn't helped, so this morning she had taken prescription Diamox instead. Technically Diamox should be started a few days before reaching high altitude, but in just one day she felt much better. 

I thought I was doing OK on my own; however, twice during this night I awoke feeling short of breath. Huffing and puffing to pull in oxygen relieved the feeling and let me go back to sleep, and I never had a headache, but if there's a next time going this high I'm ready to try Diamox.

In the morning, after a basic but filling breakfast buffet, Samuel, Carlos, Joan and I prepared to depart for the adventures of our last day in Bolivia.

Fuel canisters strapped to the top of the vehicle.

Here's a farewell panoramic sweep of this intriguing hotel, a blend of eco-frugal and white tablecloth.

Saddle up!

A-C-B: San Cristobal, Colchani, and the Salt Hotel

The next stop after our morning adventures and lunch was the town of San Cristobal. This village was moved 8 kilometers as the crow flies, or 20 km. by road, at the turn of the century,

to make room for the expansion of a mine producing silver, zinc, and lead. The church was carefully dismantled, with each stone numbered, and reconstructed in the new location.

The front of the church compound.

The bell towers flanking the gate are impressive.

 Unfortunately the gates were locked, but I shot this photo of the church itself through the gate.

From San Cristobal Samuel, our Bolivian guide, drove us towards the town of Uyuní, first visiting the "railway graveyard". When plans for a transportation hub in the salt flats were abandoned the early 20th century trains were simply left behind.

Panorama shot into the sun.

  
There are over 100 railcars here.

Panorama shot with sun to my back.

They are freely graffiti-covered.

Yet another string of trains!

A closeup of a boiler car.

After this rusty photo-shoot we stopped in Uyuní. Samuel dropped us off for a meander, and this statue in median of the main street caught our attention.

Joan and I decided to exchange a few dollars for bolivianos and stopped in a change shop. I handed them two $20 bills. (It would have been a slightly better rate if I was exchanging $100 bills, but we didn't need that much Bolivian currency.) Here we encountered a quirk that we had read about but never encountered. The clerk carefully inspected each bill, and on finding a tiny tear, perhaps 4 millimeters, on one edge, rejected that bill. No blemishes allowed. We fished out another, which passed inspection, collected our bolivianos, and walked over to the market. (Click on the image to enlarge.) It was varied and colorful, with All Saints' Day coming soon (Nov. 1), but we didn't buy anything.

When driving out of Uyuní we noticed political murals painted on several walls. Featuring Ché Guevara, Simon Bolivar, and other revolutionary figures, they also included visions of the sea. Bolivia has never forgiven Chile for annexing its corridor to the ocean after the War of the Pacific in the late 19th Century, turning Bolivia into a landlocked country. Joan, who understands some Spanish, reports that much of the music our guide played in the 4wd was, shall we say, intensely patriotic.

Outside the village of Colchani we visited an artisanal salt processor. The equipment used to dry, crush, and otherwise prepare the salt before bagging emphasized the modest scale of the operation. Note: by Bolivian law, all salt must be iodized, including that produced by these small shops.

The salt ends up with a flour-like consistency.

We bought one bag of unflavored salt -- there were several choices -- for 2 bolivianos, or about $0.30. Joan later pointed out that we would be taking a bag of white powder from Bolivia through customs, but there were no problems.

After a long day we arrived at our hotel for the night, the Luna Salada, "Salty Moon," a salt hotel. This elegant hotel sits atop a small hill about 6 kilometers (a scant 4 miles) outside Colchani, and is constructed largely of salt, including the exterior and interior walls, hallway floors, and portions of the room. It's a vivid sight, which I'll document in the next blog post, with photos taken in tomorrow morning's light.

This evening I took some sunset pictures. First, an exterior shot.

The sunset that was reflected in the windows above.

A more panoramic view.

When I looked back towards Colchani, other lodging businesses were visible.

I'll close with a photo of this wire sculpture, up high on a pole.

A condor, of course.

Tomorrow, adventures on the Salar de Uyuní, the world's largest salt flat, followed by a drive ending at 4600 meters / 15,000 feet above sea level.