In Tupiza we signed up with the reputable Tupiza Tours (excellent service across the board, I highly recommend them) and met our guide, Mario, and our cook, Daylia (sp?) and our traveling companions, a surprisingly non-terrible group trio of French-Canadians. (Seriously, in all my travels only the Israelis top French-Canadians for sheer arrogance, annoyingness, anti-American snootiness, or some horrifying combination of the three.) Our transportation was a 1994 teal Toyota Land Cruiser which looked in surprisingly good shape given the wear and tear it must have absorbed over the years. It even had a tape adapter for the ipod. We spent the first day driving through the badlands of southern Bolivia listening to the likes of Stereolab, Dan Deacon, Panda Bear, and Johnny Cash. It was every hipster music nerds (which in the interest of full disclosure, I must somewhat sheepishly admit myself to being) wet dream come true. Our traveling companions were very nice in their tolerance of the more esoteric choices. (We threw on the Johnny Cash to ease down the pill of the more experimental electronic music we played) When pressed one admit ed "It was....OK."
The vistas were amazing, once again very reminiscent of the American SW. This time, some of the redrock areas of Colorado and Arizona coupled with some of the more surreal rock structures of a Zion in Utah or Badlands in South Dakota. As we were taking in the majesty, we were flagged down by a man in a ski mask. Theres no polite way to describe what was happening in my pants as we slowed down in answer to his urgent waves, but lets just say that he had my full attention. It turns out he just wanted some coca leaves, which if you'll remember from previous emails, are a huge part of the culture down here. Mario happily handed some over from his personal stash (Daylia consistently fed him leaves every fifteen minutes or so for the duration of the first day, but his wad never reached "Killer from the mines of Potosi" proportions.) and we were on our way!
Next stop was the tiny mining village of San Vicente. This collection of mudbrick houses and prefab trailers is little changed in 150 years. It has endured constant cycles of booms and busts since its inception and since zinc prices are currently high, San Vicente is currently booming.
But Ben, what the hell are you doing in a tiny mining village 4700 m above sea level, and hours by jeep from any settlement of significant size? Ah, great question, I knew there was a reason I kept writing to you all. San Vicente, aside from being one of Bolivia's leading zinc producers, is notable for being where the law finally caught up with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. They pulled one job too many and were gunned down (or committed suicide depending on whose version you believe) not too far from the locked cemetery gates through which we vainly searched for their actual graves. Amazingly enough, Butch and Sundance didn't have a lot of friends and family in southern Bolivia so they were buried in unmarked pauper's graves at the back of the cemetery. We did find a sign commemorating the occasion. It reads "Here Deaths Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." Awesome.
That night we slept in the spare room of a village (San Antonio de Lipez) that subsisted through llama farming. Seriously, the things are everywhere down here, kind of like cow meets deer back home. The room was spartan and freezing, but it did have generator powered electric light, and was a shelter from the merciless wind. Up at 4:30 the next day as we had a full day of driving ahead of us...
EARLY the next day we hit the road. About 800 m higher up the mountain we stoipped to view some ruins. Interestingly enough, they were also called San Antonio de Lipez, after the Volcano Lipez that towers over it. (I know what you´re thinking, "Ben, is there any locale in Bolivia that doesn´t have some sort of mountain or volcano ´looming´or ´towering´over it?" The answer is no.) 500 years ago, this village was inhabited by 400 Spanish conquistadors and their 400 Inca slaves. The slaves were forced to work in the Lipez silver mines. One winter was particularly fierce and over three meters of snow fell in just over a week. The pass the village lay situated in was completely cut off, no supplies could be brought in, and no one could get out. The entire village perished, and it is still said that you can hear their plaintive cries to this day. While exploring this Pueblo de Fantasmas (Ghost Village) I didn´t hear the voices of the departed, but I certainly felt the weight of history.
Other highlights of the day included a series of lagoons. These lagoons are really alpine salt ponds completely cut off from the ocean they were originally part of millions of years ago. We visited Laguna Verde (Green) which, due to the winter season was frozen solid in a delightful shade of seafoam green (Mainly wrote the preceding sentence to use the word "seafoam," something I don´t get to do too often) and Laguna Colorado (Red) so named because of a particular species of algae that lives there giving the lagoon its distinctive tint. Also, despite the frigid temperatures and biting winds, we observed many flamingos, which apparently are not naturally pink, but that color because they ingest the algae that colors the lake.
Also geysers. I expected something lame like Old Faithful (I know that´s sacrilege, but admit it. It is kind of lame, especially now that it´s irregular.) where we would stand around in the cold for fifteen minutes, watch an eruption for 30 seconds before getting back in the car and driving away. These geysers were much more proactive. You saw the billows of steam before you got close, and once we got out of the car we were overwhelmed by a roar like a jet engine eminating from the earth itself. Mario literally had to shout to make himself heard. Plus there was boiling volcanic mud which I think might have been the coolest thing of all. Very hypnotic watching bubbles form and pop from a gurgling hole in the ground.
The next day we visited rock formations the size of houses that just begged to be climbed upon. Even with several jeeps full of tourists present there were still enough for everyone to have their own. Upon ascending mine, I set aside the initial displeasure I felt at finding a bootprint ahead of me and simply looked out over the desert plateau and the snow capped mountains beyond. As I thought about just how far off the grid I was at the time (at least a bumpy 20 hour jeep ride from any sort of civilization) I felt happy that there are still places on earth that are miles away from eveything. It´s an interesting feeling to be so isolated, but one that I think we should all undergo at some point. Life is possible without cellphones, internet, even showers or mirrors, and I think we (be we I mean I) have forgotten what that is like.
Last day was the salt flats themselves. The Salar de Uyuni used to be an inland branch of the Pacific ocean waaaay back when they Andes were young. As the Andes rose, the Salar got cut off from its source and eventually dried up, leaving the barren expanses of pure white salt that remain today. Each year during the rainy season, flow from the mountains returns and replenishes the materials of the Salar long after the water has evaporated. It is estimated that the salt is 20-25 meters thick in places, and despite the fact that 20,000 tons of salt are removed each year, the surpluses remain vast.
That night we reached the edge of the Salt Flats, the Salar de Uyuni. We stayed in the Hotel del Sal (Hotel of Salt), where, true to its name, everything was made from blocks of salt, the walls, the bedframes, the tables, the chairs, eveything. I dutifully tasted several different items in the hotel and can somewhat queasilly vouch for the authenticity of their chemical compositions.
We awoke before dawn to catch the sunrise over the Salar. As the sun poked its head up over the distant mountains we were treated to fantastic interplay of light, shadow, and the intense white of the salt. (Thus ends my feeble attempt at artistic description. I think I´ll just take the H.P. Lovecraft copout and call it "indescribably beautiful" The pictures will do it more justice than I ever could)
We then headed to the "island" of Incahausi (Inca House) It rises out of the salt just like a real island rises out of the sea. Speaking of, the whole island is proof of the geological history of the Salar, as you realize when you begin to walk on it that it is actually petrified coral that you are treading upon. It is also home to thousands of cacti, the oldest and largest of which is 1200 years old and over 12 m high. We ended our tour by passing through a town on the outskirts that made its living harvesting and exporting salt. An interesting and much more pleasant (although equally demanding physically) job than working in the mines of Potosi.
Took another all night bus back to La Paz (as equally pleasant as the one down from Potosi) only to find La Paz virtually shut down today. Apparently there is a bit of friction between Bolivia´s two capitals, La Paz and Sucre. La Paz is the executive and administrative capital, while Sucre is the judicial capital. La Paz is home to more of the indigenous population while Sucre houses the more European (White) Bolivians. The current president, Evo Morales, is the first indigenous President in the history of the country. He is beloved by the poor, but due to his social programs he is not very popular among the upper class, especially in the Sucre area. Today there was a massive rally in support of keeping the government in La Paz. Thousands of people in the streets chanting "La sede no se muve!" (The seat
Once again I´ve droned on forever and I congratulate your dilligence if you actually made it this far. I´ll try to be pithier in the future.
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