Fuzzy Funnel: Salyar de Uyunyi Trip

From San Pedro de Atacama I set out on a three day trip by jeep across the salt flats in the high Altiplano of southern Bolivia. There were five of us in our jeep along with out driver Theo, Alexandra and Isabela from Poland (travelling independently though), Jo Jo from Germany, Richard from England and me. We adopted the moniker 'Ill team' or 'team sickness' as quite a few of us were a bit sick, especially Richard with his spectacularly hacking cough. The first few stops were at salt lakes, Laguna Blanco and Laguna Verde or something like that, which were of course coloured white and green. You have to realise that although we were in the tropics we were up on the Altiplano, mostly at heights between 3600 and 5000m up, so it was well baltic during the day, and a scary -20 or something during the night. The height meant that we would also be prone to altitude sickness, Richard had a large stack of altidude pills, and I took some to ameliorate the effects, it was only after that he told me about the side effects; tingly fingers and a blue tinge to vision were definitely experienced, along with making any fizzy drink just taste plain weird. The next stop was as the hot springs, which were much smaller than those at Pucon, but at an ideal temperature. Unfortunately you had to get changed outside in the freezing balticness under your small towel, it was very tempting to remain in the water indefinately. Another stop was at the geyser or fumerole fields, these were nearly at 5000m and there was plenty of bubbling and steaming going on. We'd had a very late breakfast stop so we had lunch when we arrived at our final stop, at Laguna Colarado, a red and white salt lake with some flamingos in. There was time for a walk up to a viewpoint nearby over the lake in the afternoon. The accommodation was somewhat basic and staffed by grumpy Bolivian women in traditional dress. They did have nice soup though. In the evening we had a few bottles of localish wine, which was not at its best when chilled to about freezing, the bottle with a poem on it was the best, obviously infused with culture. Also here we first discovered that most Bolivians and most travellers seem to have been brought up in a barn, and didn't understant that leaving a door open when it was -20 or something outside is a bad idea. Next day we had breakfast and did what morning ablutions we could tolerate given that the bathroom floor had ice on it. Indeed one of our party managed to yank the toilet cistern of the wall, which actually made the dour local women laugh as they tried to stem the flow and immenent formation of an ice rink. This day we had a bit more driving and had a few more stops at viewpoints at lakes, and at some interesting rock formations. We also came upon some middle of nowhere villages that were pretty desparate looking, including where we stopped for lunch (nice soup again) and one where there seemed to be an abandoned station. When you see some photos you'll realise how barren the landscape was (moonlike?) with practically no vegetation. Though we did eventually see some vicuñas (wild llama like creatures). We also stopped for the obligratory changing of a flat tire. In the evening we had slightly better (more insulated) accomodation behind a village right on the edge of the main salt flat. We had a wander around this one donkey town, below cactus hill. The donkey was the only sign of life, thought there seemed to be some scattered llama legs randomly left around! That night we again had dinner, chilled red wine and coughing fits. There was curious incident in the night time with a somnambulent German finding his way into the 'wrong' bed, as with most things lets just put it down to the effects of altitude. On the final day it was on to the salt flats proper - just flat whiteness all around. This is a great oportunity for lots of silly photos as you can mess with perspective... cue giant penguin. The main stop was at "fish island" and rocky cactus strewn island on the salt flat where you can climb to the top, which is reasonably strenuous at altitude. At the top we found a sign commemoreating the 1st of August, and what do you know, it was the 1st of August. We got some more team photos of out sick team, taken by out official photographer from out rival team, christened team loser. It was then that we realised that there was some blood near the 1st of August sign where people had left offerings to Pachamama (the local mother earth god; our team managed to contribute a sachet of mayonnaise and a small necklace I got in a surprise package in Chile). Further investigations nearby revealed a decapitated and disembowelled sheep, obviously a sacrifice on this auspicious date. On a different note, throughout the trip we had been subjected to the one CD that Theo our driver seemed to own, on constant repeat. This consisted mainly of whiny love songs (in Spannish) which seemed quite unbefitting for a stocky aging Bolivian with half a mouthfull of teeth. The CD did grow on us eventually, especially certain tracks such as "¿Donde esta mi Padre?" which we adopted and tried to sing atop fish island. Upon decending we found the local celebrations in full swing, with some drumming and dancing, yes, a few of the bowler hatted local women were actually dancing with gringos and smiling! The local men had the beers out. All in the name of Pachamama, no doubt. Back in the jeep and the final stop was at a salt hotel (building made out of blocks of salt) where we again took some silly photos. Just the vast flat expanse of the salt flats that day was amazing. We got into Uyunyi -afternoon to discover that it was a shithole. The first thing we did was book our travel out, with JoJo and Izabella of to La Paz early evening, Alexandra back south that night, and myself and Richard heading to Potosi early next day. We had lunch, internetted then it was just about time for dinner. The dinner restaurant was interupted by a fairly dire singer coming in to serenade us and ask for a donation (not forthcoming). The highlight of the night however was the comedy translations on the English menu, when it finally came (service in Bolivia generally seeming a fairly grudging afterthought). It was hard to choose between ordering "Fried Pope, with Salad" or the undecipherable "Male Itch, without salad". We were pretty glad to leave Uyunyi the next morning, en route to the highest city in the world.

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