04.12.08 - To Potosi

To the Center of the Known World

Tupiza was a decent one day excursion to a two horse town.  Some people fall in love with the locale, but we planned an early exit instead.  Transportation in Bolivia is either by bus (reasonable in price and speed), train (reasonable in price and who knows when the strike riddled system will deliver), or personal taxi (expensive but fast).  We chose the bus to Potosi, complete with "state of the art" spider web windshield cracks.

Busing Bolivia demands flexibility as well.  Who knows who or what will be sharing this mode of transport... maybe even a shipment of complete stocks of maize?

Speaking of corn, the bio-scape of  under-developed South American countries has not be congenial to my digestive track or my flora has been too amicable to microbial intruders.  Either way, the last 16 hours of chills and sweats left me craving a simple meal of soup and corn.  This is not your average sweet corn but chalky yellow starch nuggets.  The simplicity helped to steady things.

It's got to be good... because if Granny was eating it, then its all good.  She was my tennis shoe wearing culinary inspiration.

Ah, Potosi, the center of life on the planet 500 years ago.  Did you know that in those colonial times Potosi, Bolivia was the wealthiest and largest city on the planet?  London and Paris paled in comparison on both accounts.  The reason being, that Potosi held the largest known silver reserves in the world.  The Spanish held hundreds of thousands of native workers in slave or conscript conditions to feed the wealth of the Empire.  As a result Potosi grew to mammoth economic and human proportions.

What remains is a crumbling framework of opulence.  The colonial structures are a withering reminder of former greatness.  Just as the silver veins have been exhausted and the mines left to native generations, so the former estates and government buildings have followed suite.

Classic Spanish design elements still linger through the old town, in spite modern threshold improvements.

The orange building to the left is our hostel, which seems to be in the very shadow of the Potosi mountain.  It is not a beautiful mountain, but a creepy pyramid of foreboding presence.  Over 8 million miners have died inside since tunneling began around five hundred years ago.  It is said that, "This mountain eats men."

From the roof-deck of the hostel, we could be looking out over any number of clay tile roofed Spanish towns, but instead it is not hard to be reminded that we are in one of the poorest countries in South America.

All it takes is a peek out of the port hole bathroom window towards the mines, noticing the neighborhoods descend in poverty order toward the overwhelming plight of abject want. This is a very odd city of great former beauty, tremendous impoverishment and stolen wealth, that dazzles and deadens it successive moments.

04.11.08 - Tupiza

Ride 'em Cowboy!

There are a couple of reasons to come to Tupiza.  One of them is to ride the canyon's via horseback and imagine yourself as either Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, or if you prefer one of the posse that hunted them down.  But, first you must ride past the "Devil's Gate" on your way into the steep walled canyons.

Being a PG-13 type blog... I won't give you the Spanish name for this valley, but it is called "The valley of ....(s)".  I think you can take one look at the stone pillars pictured and figure it out.

Even though our ride was during the mid-afternoon, the sun was intense and we welcomed the narrowing canyon, with its added shade.

Our horse's seemed to naturally know the way (I'm sure through the drone of daily repetition), but this didn't make the three hour ride any less fun.

At the end of the canyon, Lipika and I were given an hour, by the guide, to scramble up the narrow gaps and enjoy the amplified orange colors.  Deep in the crevasses the ambient lighting on the floor gave evening shadow during the mid-afternoon.

Returning to the horses, my three dollar investment in a cowboy hat on the Salar was reaping dividends once again.  The Bolivian high altitude deserts are no place for the UV wary.

Finally, leaving the valley, we were treated to a Tupiza display of ascending mountain ranges in three distinct colors.  The mineral segregation in Bolivia is truly amazing.  I don't know how this happens geologically, but the result is a pretty cool visual.

Local guides are pretty amicable, but unreliable.  The classic example was on our return to the town of  Tupiza via horseback.  The most direct route is straight up the raid road track.  After asking the guide if there are any trains in the afternoon and receiving reassurance that there were none, guess what chugged up the track?  Oh well, at least the horse's weren't freaked out and there was room to trot off into a playground.  Our five hour ride was cut short through a tour agent miscommunication, resulting in a three hour excursion.  Actually, there were no complaints from us, as the three hour walk, trot, canter, and gallop left us plodding along, nursing our best "cowboy stride" bow-legged walk.

04.10.08 - To Tupiza

Dusty Roads Through the Land of Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid

Leaving Uyuni brought mixed emotions.  We had a really good time in a local bar, which had the most friendly and hospitably proprietor yet encountered in South America, but the calendar pushed us onwards.  Tupiza was the next target and only a mere seven hour bus journey away.  The catch was that, by and large, the journey contained about four hours of "white knuckle" cliff driving on single track, with no bathroom breaks.  Angela, a fellow traveler met in Spain called this leg of the journey, "The scariest bus ride in the world."  ... an understandable statement.

Despite the cloudless, blue skies and penetrating radiant heat, water poured on the engines simply froze in place.  It is a strange sensation to be hot in the direct sunlight and then bone chillingly cold, in a matter of moments, after stepping into the shade.

Part of why our trip became so protracted was an hour plus lay over in some quaint little town between Uyuni and Tupiza.  (These may look like train tracks, but they are really the directions to the local WC, i.e. in and around the tracks is the WC, which took a little while to figure out.)

We killed the time by eating local food and wandering the length of main street.  In the primary town square, a strange erection to local miners combined with a defunct single engine airplane graced the plaza.  We couldn't figure out what the connection could be, but there you have it... installation modern art in minor Bolivian village.

This proved to be our first real exposure to native "country or campo" dress.  The women wear bowler hats, layered sweaters, stockings, and a form of flip-flops.  For a fashion statement, it all comes together and seems to work for them or at least captured our attention any way.

These older ladies in the town square were classic in their attire.

After the break, we headed over several passes and skirted many a gorge.  The bus passed within a few kilometers of where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were finally gunned down.  Countryside miles passed by like an extended Hollywood western set.  As long as you didn't pay attention to the cliff edges and the bus path along the narrow gage, all was well.

Finally we arrive in Tupiza to a find a moderately priced Hostel with a flowering tree, which at the time seemed like an oasis... but later just a big purple tree in a courtyard... haaa.

But we were most excited by the pool option, given the unrelenting heat of the day.  As it turned out, the pool was beyond freezing, so relaxing in chairs to enjoy the cooling of the desert evening proved to be a better option.

04.09.08 - Salar Day 3

Breakdown, Bath, and Bed

Objective number one, get to the thermal geysers for sunrise, was the initial plan.  Our driver had other ideas.  Unfortunately, we have experienced much more of a grumpy, non-english speaking, taxi service than a guided tour of the Salar.  In the pre-dawn hours, our driver stopped to help another tour's truck, which was experiencing engine issues.  No problem, but when two other trucks, from that other company showed up he should have returned attention to his clients.  Instead, the local "let's stare at the engine contest" continued as time pushed towards sunrise.  Then in a desperate attempt to make up squandered time he dashed across a rock strewn valley for an immediate punctured a tire.  Sunrise was resigned to the idiot antics of our "no tip getting" driver.

Then, if I hadn't of insisted, he was going to simply plow right on past the largest geyser and keep on going.  A good guide with a micro-grain of customer service is generally a good idea.

The other truck's guide, and owner of the company, tried to help out as best he could but the methodology that all companies on the Salar are forced to operate with is to hire a truck and driver from a collective co-operative pool.  In essence, the only controllable differences in companies are the quality of food and lodging.  Everything else is left to the luck of the driver pool drawl.

Despite the false start debacle, sunrise in the Salar can be a beautiful, light bending experience.

The good news was, that while breakfast was being prepared, a natural hot spring soaked away the bummer start to the day.

Collectively, we were resolved to make the best of our remaining time by joking and posing for a myriad of Steve photo-ops.

Or, actually I think Emily took this one... note the volcano reflection in the glasses... not the nose hair... haaa.

Despite the lack of guide, i.e. the grumpy driver should have been our guide as well, everyone was happy to have made the trip to the largest salt lake in the world and the driest desert, but we were whipped.  Three days of eight hour plus off-roading can wear you out.  So instead of heading back to the hostel, for another no shower night, we all wandered to a local hotel and soaked in the hot showers.  Clean sheets on clean skin equated to instant sleep, unless you were of the "wild catter" persuasion.

04.08.08 - Salar Day 2

Eggs, Birds, and Wide Open Volcanic Spaces

These volcanic gas bubble eggs were a pretty cool sight this morning.  Over five hundred years ago, the natives would crack open an entrance into these formerly viscus, hollowed, magma chambers to create the perfect cross-dimension capsule for their deceased comrades.  

The native ceremonial belief structure around death was similar to the Egyptians, in that basic mummification was also conducted here, and provisions for the after life were sealed in the vulcan eggs for use in the afterlife.  The broken pottery jars, in the foreground, would have contained grains for later consumption, and of course the internal organs of the deceased as well.  The fetal position of mummies symbolized a return to the womb, but to achieve this final positioning both knees and hips needed to be broken.

Even after desecration by grave robbers, it is amazing how the super dry desert environment has even preserved the discs between vertebra, allowing for a five-hundred year connection to be maintained.

Back to the driest desert in the world, we hunted for volcanoes...

... and managed to catch a glimpse of one smoldering giant on the Chilean border.  Actually, this one was taking a bit of a nap, as I had seen much more impressive pictures from just a few days prior.  (Note the little "puff" half-way down on the left.)

... Speaking of "little puffs", our surprise passenger was up to some gastrointestinal gymnastics.  She was cute as can be and very well behaved, but could wipe out a nine-passenger Landcruiser with a single expulsion.  We spoke in code, so that whomever was sitting next to the windows could arrange an emergency ventilation drill, by saying "Does something smell like Tibet in here?", which was more discretely and instantaneously communicated as simply "Tibet!"  Unfortunately, the whole scenario reminded me of the Friends/Phoebe song "Smelly Cat", specifically the phrase "What are they feeding you?"

Dormant and semi-active volcanoes line the dried Salar lake bed, leaving smaller wet lakes in between.  These waters are densely saline, creating a perfect crustacean habitat for migrating flamingos to feast upon.

The natural coloration of these tiny krill/shrimp type creatures are what actually give the flamingo their pink pigmentation.  Without consuming vast quantities of these salt water crustaceans the flamingos would remain a more subtle dirty white color.

These birds are grazers and walk with their beaks below the water line.  That way they can skim the muddy bottom.  It is fun to watch their wandering "Etch-a-Sketch" patterns left in the lake floor.

There were several lakes on the day's agenda and this one served as "lunch break distraction".  Apparently the resident photographer deemed it "impossible to shoot a reflection" here, so sorry Steve... here's the proof.  :-) 

Probably why he thought the odds were leaning towards impossible was the appearance of multiple dust devils, both in camp and across the shallow lake bed.  These mini-tornadoes could whip up a furry in a matter of moments and sent us scrambling for the trucks when one gave our lunch site the "shake and bake" treatment. 

After lunch it was time to experience lack of humidity in extreme.  To get there our crew continued the off-roading adventure.  (Thought of Dan D. all day... must go to the desert upon returning to CA.)

For a sense of scale, Steve took this picture of Lipika and I walking across the powdery dehydrated surface of the desert.  Vast would be an enormous understatement of the expanse of nothingness.  The silence was dense and almost heavy in this high altitude UV exposure basin.  It was almost as if the grains of sand were consuming every vibration.

Now for some volcanology "coolness".  Apparently, a local volcano started to erupt during the Ice Age.  Millions of tons of ice slowed the magma flow as it struggled to the surface, eventually stunting the eruption.  Then, after the ice age had passed and the volcano had gotten a second chance at releasing some energy, it threw these massive chunks of preformed, semi-solid, rock from the first eruption across the valley and some, like this one, landed with unique form.  This particular rock is called the stone tree.  (Again, for scale, this is about thirty-five feet high and completely impressive.)  

The most visually impactful lake/volcano combo was the last of the day.  The perfect cone, red lake banks, and salt rim were a study in contrast.  (It would have been nice to have a "real camera" here.)

More flamingos enjoyed the brine feast.  There were actually three distinct types of flamingos and today it is safe to say that we witnessed two.

Closer to shore, juvenile llamas captured our collective attention.

The llama herders put colorful yarn tassels in their animal's ears, in lieu of branding.  The added benefit is that they look pretty cool as well.

Just so you don't think that we were "living it up" on the Salar, our cement constructed dormitory could have easily served as a "meat locker" when guests were not present.  The night was cold, but the group's good natured humor and shared libations were warming.