Uyuni: the salt flats

Uyuni, at the edge of the salt flats

This is how Uyuni presented itself a little over a week ago when we caught our first glimpse of it, coming down the last switchbacks on the four-hour bus ride from Potosí – on a smooth new road, by the way.

Entering town all the tourists in the bus probably asked themselves the same question: where have we landed now? And how can anyone live here unless they have to? Not a single green plant was in sight, the buildings along the dusty roads looked in poor shape, garbage was piled in the middle of wider streets, center points for traffic circles.

But – as so often one shouldn't judge a book by its cover. We had talked to the young couple in front of us on the bus (who turned out to be Alex and Kristina, of course) and decided to hook up to find a hostel, which, by now, has become more than a week of travelling together. Once we had oriented ourselves and walked further into town it didn't look quite as desolate anymore. There were even a few trees to provided some shade for the colourful benches along the wide walkway. It is a mystery to me how they get enough water to grow in these sere surroundings. Overall, I'd agree with the judgment of the Lonely Planet, however: there is not much to keep you here beyond the time necessary to get ready for a tour or to leave for elsewhere after coming back. We had no trouble finding a hotel, the 'Hotel Julia', the first one we reached once we had turned onto 'Avenida Ferrocarril'. It proved to be a good choice, well-run, clean – and with a great breakfast, as we found out the next morning. Alex and Kristina had booked their tour in Potosí already. We soon found their tour agency a few metres from the hotel and made sure we'd be in the same car the next day. There are dozens of tour operators in this little town, taking people on trips of three or four days, mostly, but also on custom designed trips of a week or even two. Cost varies, and so does quality, and the Lonely Planet warned to compare and make sure to use a reputable company. Tourists have got killed when drivers showed up drunk after the first or second night, and supposedly the quality of the vehicles can vary as well. 'Andes Salt Expeditions', the company we decided on, has been in business for almost twenty years and has a high rating by 'trip advisor'.

At ten the next morning we gathered at the tour agency. Our vehicle – a red Toyota Landcruiser – was waiting already, as was our driver Bemer who, to our great surprise and delight, turned out to be well versed in English. We picked up the two Swiss girls at a different tour agency and soon were on our way. We had a full program for those three days, with many stops.

Trains on one side of the track ...

... and cars waiting for their tourists to return on the other

The first one was just at the outskirts of town at a 'train cemetery'. Here, locomotives used mainly in the 19^th century for rail traffic between Bolivia and Chile, have found their final resting place, stripped of anything that might turn out to be useful, like copper pipes, for instance. They are a strange sight, these steel skeletons, their wheels partly buried in sandy salt, and for many of the predominantly young travellers a great place to take pictures. Gazing into the distance along the abandoned tracks I got my first impression of the vastness and emptiness of the place.

 

We picked up big boxes with our provisions for the next few days on the way through town, and then we entered the salt plains proper. Stops were frequent this first day. We saw how the salt is being extracted and prepared for sale, simply by digging it up, letting it dry in small heaps before it is mixed with iodine imported from Chile and packed for sale. Water is close to the surface, and the salt is wet when it is dug up. 

We only stopped at a 'demonstration site, however; the real salt excavation is done away from tourist cars and tourist feet to keep it pure. It was not quite clear to us how it is separated from the dust blowing incessantly across these big plains; surely it must settle on the drying salt heaps as well? Bemer could not provide a satisfactory answer either.

For this first while I was quite affected by the sheer amount of cars and tourists at every stop. It seemed as if it would be impossible to get a feel of the space, the huge flat stretching out to all sides, because wherever I looked I saw people taking pictures (much like I was, of course), barring the view into the distance. It is unavoidable, of course, when everyone is looking at the same thing and roughly has the same schedule every day. Walking away from the parking spots when time allowed it changed this a lot, and in the following days it was much less pronounced anyway since stops were less frequent and much further apart. 

The 'salt highway'

 

The road – one of many criss-crossing the plains - was smooth like a paved highway, and Bemer drove fast to get us to the next stop, this one 'in the middle of nowhere' to take 'funny pictures', as he called it, those photos where perspective is changed. I don't know why this is so: the wide open plain? Different quality of air? Whatever causes it, it produces interesting results, although some of us thought we spent maybe a little too much time creating 'scenes' using objects like rubber dinosaurs (brought by our guide), among other things.

 It's an interesting thought to drive along the bottom of what once was a huge 'Dead Sea'. In the middle, the salt extends up to 120m down. Now, after months without rain and dust blowing across, it is not really white, but after the rainy season this will change for a while. 

The salt dries to geometric shapes: pentagons, hexagons, even octagons – why they wouldn't all be the same seems to be a mystery so far, too, according to Bemer.

Driving across what seemed to be an endless expanse of ice rather than salt (we identify with what is familiar), hardly any dust rising from our tires, black dots in the distance suggesting people walking, maybe, but turning out to be cars or even buses, several black elevations appeared in the distance, definitely bigger than any of the moving objects. These had been underwater islands in the salt sea, partly of volcanic origin, one at least the size of a mountain. We stopped at 'fish island', called so because of its shape.

 

For about forty minutes we climbed up and down the rocky slopes on a carefully outlined path studded with ancient cacti up to two thousand years old. It was a strange feeling to be in such venerable company among plants that grow maybe one or two centimetres a year and have survived the harsh climate, 'thrived' in these surroundings. Bemer told us that when the cactus fruit ripens (now, the cacti were just starting to bloom) the place is filled with birds feasting on the fruit. A few birds darted between the low shrubs growing here also, and even a couple of butterflies seem to call the island home. 

 

The sun had slowly slipped lower while we explored the island, and now the only item left of the day's program was to watch the sunset at what was deemed a strategic point, I guess, with a few mountains in the background. Bemer parked the vehicle, and we were free to wander the salt plain until the sun had set, which took much longer than he had predicted. I took off my sandals and walked barefoot for a while: how often do I get the opportunity to feel salt under my feet? It was a little rough; quite pleasant to walk on, actually. Here, closer to the edge of the salt plain, it seemed to have rained a little recently: the salt was softer in spots, and Johann once stepped into a little hole that immediately filled with water. 

 

We were quite cold from waiting around by the time the sun set at about seven, and happy to come to the salt hostel at the edge of the Uyuni where we would spend the night. The building is not actually made of salt, of course: it would dissolve in the rainy season. The walls are made of brick, but the furniture – chairs, tables, beds etc – are indeed made of salt, the chairs covered with colourful cushions, the beds actually very comfortable, the floor a little hard to walk on because it is simply grainy salt that feels much like loose gravel and makes a lot of noise, a fact we noticed the next morning when the first group left at four, the second at five while we could, in theory, have slept until almost six. There must be much fancier salt hotels along the edge of the Uyuni; some tour operators charge a lot more, and Bemer told us ours was very basic. We were very happy with the experience nonetheless, and slept well in our white, salty bedrooms. 

I realized that I didn't take any pictures of our lodgings, neither the first nor the second night; I guess I was tired after the day's adventures. Bemer had offered to take us out onto the salt plains once more after supper to look at the stars, and the two Swiss girls and I gladly took him up on that offer while Johann, Alex and Kristina stayed behind to play cards. The sky - immense in this place unspoiled by any artificial light - seemed filled with more stars than I had ever seen, so much so that it was a bit difficult at first to even find familiar constellations in all that brightness. Soon, however, I could point out Orion and Taurus with the Seven Sisters to the girls, and - treat of the southern sky - the Magellanic Clouds, two 'small' galaxies low above the southern horizon. I knew I would not find Cassiopeia: wherever the Southern Cross is visible Cassiopeia is not, just like the Big Dipper, it seems, for whom I also looked in vain. I had to wait until the next morning to see the southern cross: it rises around one, so the early departure to watch the sun rise behind the geysers the following day allowed me to finally see it again, too.