04.07.08 - Salar Day 1

The Biggest Salt Lake in the World

Emily, Steve, Lipika, and I were energized to get out of town and onto the salar.  Its not every day that you get the chance to drive on the biggest salt expanse in the world.  Our trusty stead was this Toyota Land Cruiser, from the early nineties.

The Land Cruiser is usually stuffed with six passengers in the two furthest back seats.  The four of us had decided to go ahead and "buy out" the other two slots so that we could enjoy the scenery without playing "sardines" for three days of off-roading.  To our collective surprise, we had a little bonus passenger, the cook's daughter.  She was shy and really didn't want much to do with us, in the beginning.

Opposite, were the local school kids, who crowded around the truck to get a good look at the gringos.  These girls loved to have their picture taken, along with the opportunity to laugh at their captured images, in the camera's LCD screen.

First on the day's itinerary was a visit to the "train graveyard".  In the early part of the 20th century, the regions ailing steam trains were collected outside of Uyuni, to gradually decompose in the dry desert conditions.

Entire trains of engines and coal cars stood silently, in place, right where they had been laid to rest.  Salvage seeking steel vultures have picked the cars clean of any loose materials of value.

It is a little strange to see the odd axle and wheel set, free to be pushed through the salty sands.

As a train lover, this was an eery site.  The carcasses almost demanded respect, but it was beyond tempting to go ahead and climb across their spines.

The Bolivian salar is not only a natural wonder, formed when techtonic activity trapped and separated a sea of salt water from the ocean, but a source of income as well.  A local co-op harvests, dries, adds the indoctrination of iodine, and distributes salt from the dried sea bed.  First in the process is for the men to scrape and shovel mounds of top-layer deposits for initial drying.

(Also a good place to start to play with perspective.)

The salt mounds are then transferred to a crude production facility, where wood fired drying tables finish the dehydration process.  Afterward, iodine is sifted through, to avoid salt poisoning, and then women fill one kilo bags by hand.  The process is hardly exacting at any stage, but the guide explained that this saline product is purely for local consumption so process control is not of high importance.  In this final stage, women seal the plastic outer bags by waving the folded open end over a propane gas flame.

After the salt manufacturing tour, we headed to "fish island", which was basically an outcropping in the middle of a salt lake.  During the rainy season, the salt beds are covered with water and then it becomes a "literal island".  The 360 degree vistas were impressive, along with the completely naked exposure to the high altitude radiating sun.  What remains impactful to me were the forests of cactus.  This one and hundreds of others are over 1,000 years old!  Each grows less than a meter over a 100 year period.

Our lunch was a freshly cooked feast of Llama chops, fresh salad, and a nutty grain called quinua.  It was a first for consuming both the protein and grain.  Llama is actually not bad and very lean.  The quinua needed a little finer sifting, as the crunchy husks really weren't that tasty.

Venturing out, on foot, into the expanse made it clear how this is the largest salt lake on the planet.  The texture is punishing, even through boots.  The geometric crystalization process leaves a rugged diamond pointed "cheese grater" surface.  To even set a knee down, for a moment, to stabilize the shot, left indentations.  (For scale, each one of these larger geometric shapes is between three and five feet across.)

Half the fun of the salar plain is to try to trick the camera into horizon perspective illusions.
Watch out for the scary cowboy hat wearing giant.

(Thanks for the shots Steve.)

I think there's something in my boot... better check?

Emily was not only hungry, ...

... but very strong, as well.

Then there was the random, ill advised, "judo moment".  I felt like Inspector Clouseau, when Kado, who is hired to keep him on his toes, constantly attacks him at the wrong time.  The salt flat is not a very good judo mat and not being as sturdy as Lipika's boyfriend it ended with a bruised knee... for the judo queen.  Lesson learned, its not good to doubt the prowess of a judo player because you never know when they might attack.

After our picture taking marathon, we traveled along the flats for several more hours to reach our hostel.  It is amazing, with the rough and corrosive salt roads, that these trucks have any rubber left on their tires or unrusted body panels.

After dinner, we headed out in the moonless night to visit an Inca graveyard.  Despite the passage of over five hundred years and the destruction of grave robbers the naturally mummified bodies are still in remarkable condition.

Even a woven peasant hat remains affixed to this guys head.  It really wasn't very creepy for an perfectly dark night, in strange surroundings.  We marveled at the tombs and mummies, but also took perfect advantage of the millions of stars in the crisp, clear night sky.

04.06.08 - To Uyuni

A Long and Dusty Journey

The bus to Uyuni left about nine in the morning from Sucre and was scheduled to make a stop in Potosi along the way. This was a "no frills" experience, meaning no bathroom, air conditioning, or curtains on my side of the bus to shade the scalding sun. But, the good news was that by day's end I would arrive in the famed salt flats.

Leaving Sucre, the landscape becomes almost instantly arid. The approach from Brazil, heading west, has been an environment rheostat, turning gradually less humid.

The city of Potosi, once the largest and richest city in the world, was only a three hour bus journey from Sucre. In the distance, the infamous silver mine mountain loomed. Five hundred years ago the Spanish built up the city of Potosi and its population to pull millions of tons of silver ore from these very mines. This singular mountain was essentially the greatest source of wealth for the Spanish empire. The human downside is that over 8 million people have died in the wealth extraction process.

From Potosi onward the road turned to a dirt dust entrenched wash board, hanging onto crumbling cliff faces. (Some more gradual than others, but still nothing you would want a bus to roll down.)

Without curtains to block the broiling sun, I donned sunglasses, pulled my cap down as far as possible and finally "gave in" to the draining heat for a nap.

The progress of our trip was marked not in miles but in high tension electrical lines. If we simply followed the wire ribbon it would lead to Uyuni.

Behind us we left the countryside thoroughly and freshly dusted.

As the landscape evolved, we actually came across an unexpected aquifer, where the bus driver made a stop to wash the dust from his face and revive his water bottle levels.

Along the day's journey there were a couple of seat-mates but the longest and most enjoyable were Junior and his Mom. He took a little while to warm up to me and the progressive expressions from this 13 month old tyke were priceless.

Who are you? (Don't mind my drool.)

Ok, I'll sleep on it.

What? You're still here? I thought I just dreamed about the funny looking man sitting next to me.

Ok, let's try out my rested lungs.

Junior's Mom had an ingenious way of making fresh baby food. She cut a corner of an apple off and then worked the meat of the apple out in slushy spoonfuls. This continued around the core until all the fruit was exhausted. This has to be better for kids than jarred and preserved product.

The day continued to wear on... and the scenery changed almost imperceptibly.

Abandoned houses and attempted farms or pasture lands occasionally dotted the landscape, providing a welcome focal point to the visual droning.

Rarely, a cluster of buildings resembling a pueblo swished by, embracing our following dust cloud.

Finally, as the light rays lengthened, we knew that both the day was coming to an end and so was this protracted journey, because these roads are too dangerous for this type of bus to navigate at night.

From the front seat of the bus and by hanging my head out the window for the last time today, I was treated to a double sunset, reflecting in the side bus door.

After a long, tiring, monotonous day (only really sparked by Juniors yearling antics) we finally reached Uyuni just as the last glimpses of light faded. Lipika, my German friend from the Navimag and Buenos Aires, had arrived a few hours prior and given the late hour we were both eager to dive into some pizza. We shared dinner with Steve and Emily, two other passengers from the day's travels and mutually schemed the best options for a trip together on the salar.

04.05.08 - Sucre

A Stranger's Hand and Recovery

What a wild and crazy overnight bus ride that was!  After boarding the bus in Samaipata, I found that my seat was already occupied by a local woman.  Instead of raising a fuss, I just accepted my fate and sat in the seat next to her.  Sometime around two in the morning there was the strange sensation of someone else's hands fishing through my front pocket.  (I keep anything of value either locked in my pack or in this case safely zipped in the thigh cargo pocket of my pants, which I was firmly pressed between my leg and the seat.)  Looking from the corner of my sleeping mask eye cover I could clearly see that it was the woman who had hijacked my seat, who had her right hand in my pocket.  My response was a sharp and quick jab from my pointed elbow into the back of her hand, pinched against my hip bone.  She reflexively retracted and promptly turned to face the window.  We never achieved eye contact through the rest of the trip and she beat a hasty exit once we reached Sucre.

The other typically Bolivian nocturnal event was that the bus didn't stop for a bathroom break throughout the night, except for the drivers.  They would stop the bus, do their business roadside, and then hop back in to continue down the road.  The passenger compartment was separated from the drivers by a wall of Plexiglas and a solid door.  It didn't matter how many people pounded on the door, for the same bio-break privilege as the drivers, it was never granted.

Reaching Sucre mid-morning, my urban Bolivian introduction continued.  When asked if there were rooms available in the hostel, the attendant turned his back, flipped through papers, and then announced that the only vacancy was a single, which just happened to be the most expensive room.  When his European boss randomly appeared in the lobby during the process, with a perfectly amicable and straight face the attendant then offered me three different less expensive options.  I don't know what he would have to gain by "jacking me" or if it was simply a game of "screw the gringo".  This was the same front desk clerk who would defy spirit of the "No downloading porn" internet signs by showing porn movies on the lobby television, while drinking beer with language students.

Oh well, maybe an afternoon of "all night bus" recovery on the back deck would help to put things in perspective.  The cloud structures here are enormous.  Rain seemed immanent on so many occasions throughout the afternoon, but as the heavy clouds approached they elevated and "blew out".  It never rained.

After a nap and with a rejuvenated sense of energy and outlook I headed to the bus station to buy my bus ticket for the morning trip Uyuni.  The return with good natured intentions culminated in another session of "screw the gringo".   The bus ticket should only cost 40 Bolivianos and the receipt said as much, but the ticket clerk insisted on 50 Bolivianos, after the fact.  The way it worked was I gave her a fifty Boliviano note and she refused to give me change.  I grabbed a limp enforcement minded cop, who immediately sided with me, but deferred final judgement to the bus station commissioner, who just happened to be out of the office.  It wasn't worth the few hours of waiting and process to contest the equivalent of a couple of USD, so I finally accepted the fact that I had "been had".  The contrast between the helpful, tourist friendly, western Bolivia and the central region was becoming blatantly clear.

04.04.08 - Samaipata

A Day for Amateur Botanists and Inca Archaeologists

The morning could not have been more perfect.  A gentle rain shower broke in time for us to climb a hill above town, on our way to breakfast, where we could soak in the surroundings of this beautiful little town.

Last night, at dinner, we met a Texan, who had married a Bolivian woman and moved to Samaipata.  After visiting the town, he told his wife that they had to figure out a way to live here.  The answer was opening a hill top hostel and to boast of having the best breakfasts in town.  Our international crew all agreed to be the judge of that honor.

Even walking along the road, wild flowers seems to be bursting with post rain shower vibrancy.

Then, a stroll around the hostel grounds revealed an amazing display of purposeful flowers.

I don't think that you could have made a more perfect collection of raindrops on the flowers, even with a spray bottle.

The flora photo shoot was interrupted by excitement and amazement back on the porch.  Patrick's breakfast had arrived.  Although not a proper "Irish Breakfast", there were absolutely no complaints about the Texas interpretation from our Dublin resident.

Filled almost beyond comfort, we headed to the local Inca Museum.  Along the way, the morning silence was interrupted by a constant "moo-ing" noise echoing throughout the streets.  Curious, I thought it might be some rural equivalent of a school bell.  Instead, it was audibly invasive marketing.  The local "fresh milk" delivery car wandered the street, with stainless steel can at the ready.

The Inca Museum was not to be left out of the botanical bonanza with this "Monkey Tail"  Cactus.  The spikes on this cactus were actually very soft.

There really wasn't much to this museum and admission was included as part of the general archaeological site fee.  Two pieces were of ancillary interest.  First was this "coffee bean" eyed monkey pot.  Our Austrian guide loved to point out that the archaeologists totally miss named this pot because coffee beans hadn't even arrived in South America at the time this vessel was created.  (Sorry for the fuzzy "low light no flash allowed" pictures)

The other piece, or two pieces of similar design, were these warrior "club heads".  The actual stone bludgeons could be carved in a few days, but it took an additional five years for completion.  Instead of cutting a branch for a club handle, the Inca would plant a tree in the center of the stone piece. When the sapling secured the stone star and grew to a sufficient length, it was cut down and the mace was complete. The philosophy of the Inca warrior was that if he were to take life, then the foundation of the power should come from Pache Mama (Mother Earth) herself.

With our Inca introduction, we were prepared for an archaeological expedition of sorts to the ruins of Samaipata.  It turns out that the captivating rock structures from the previous day were actually the naturally created walls of the Inca fortification.  The road was bumpy with several sharp drop-offs, leaving only random inches between the trucks gripping tires and the cliff's edge.

The center of archaeological attention was this strip of sandstone, which from above appeared more as a derelict sloping airfield than a point of international interest.  What we were really viewing was the largest "temple of the sun" in the ancient Inca world.

Instead of the few meters long "liquid sacrifice trenches" of Machupicchu, this site contained two trenches over 32 meters in length.  What makes this Inca site so special is the magnitude of efforts made to worship their Gods.  Nowhere else has the shear size of this temple been matched.  This was due to the fact that Samaipata marked the Western-most edge of the Inca empire, so the local ruler was facing opposing armies, many of whom far outnumbered his warriors.  Therefore, these Inca outpost occupants needed all the good graces of their gods for survival and put an overemphasis on appeasing their deities.

At the base of the trenches are pooling medallions, one of a panther and another of a puma, symbolizing the earth portion of the Inca trinity:  sky, earth, and the under world.  This site was uncovered just over twenty years ago and the soft sandstone carvings have almost been erased by erosion.  Our guide was pretty vehement about the Bolivian neglect of this world heritage site.  In a few years there won't be anything left to protect.

Off to the right of the sacrifice area is a great lawn, where other ceremonies were held.  This side of the rock actually served as a great seating area for the upper class to view events on the centered lawn.  Just beneath their seats were the enclaves for the mummified bodies of "sun virgins" sacrificed in earlier offerings.  It was a supreme honor for you, personally, and for your family if selected to be a virgin sacrifice.  One of the Inca's nobles would search the countryside for girls of the age of eight.  If fortunate enough to be selected, a girl would then receive five years of education and instruction.  At the age of thirteen, the Inca would then select the finest of the girls to serve in the Temple of the Sun.  Other girls would either become a consort to the Inca or another noble or be released back their families.  Of the virgins selected for service in the Temple of the Sun, only the most select would then be sacrificed, should a natural disaster or tribulation occur requiring the satiating of Pache Mama (Mother Earth).

A little further right of the mummies were the niches for gold and silver idols to the various Inca deities.  The remains of the noble seats are more clearly defined here.

A good aspect of this particular archaeological site is the ability to walk through the various portions of the ruins.  On our way to another section we caught a glimpse of this really cool hairy caterpillar.  "Look but don't touch" definitely applied to this situation, as a friendly petting of the quills would be rewarded with a venomous attack to the nervous system.

This is actually much more than a simple "hole in the ground", and still mystifies archaeologists.  First thought to be an Inca water well, it is actually completely dry.  One German archaeologist removed debris from the bottom of the well to a measure of more than 45 feet and never struck the water table.  The Inca were master miners and stone masons, so a more recent theory is that this was an entrance to a "safe depository" where volumes of gold and silver were kept.  There is some evidence to support this theory, since a magnetic compass will not work on the stone temple mount.  This is characteristic of areas with large deposits of silver underneath the ground.  Since the Spaniards never found the cashes of gold and silver in Samaipata, some believe that the Incas successfully "caved in" the leading tunnels, thus keeping their riches secure. 

Returning to the site of the magnetic anomaly, the valley view portion of the temple rock is actually much better preserved than the theatre seating side.  The mummy enclaves are much more crisp here, as the sandstone has been more protected from the elements.  Five-hundred years ago the openings would have been sealed in silver and gold.

Supposedly, this is the classic sign post for an Inca temple, four boxes with a concentric second  and deeper layer.  Our Austrian guide explained that the four carved boxes symbolize the Inca creation story, when four brothers and four sisters emerged from lake Titicaca to populate the world.  This may be a good time to mention that across the roughly twelve generations of Inca rulers, all except for one married his sister to procreate and produce the next generation of Inca.

Our driver has incredibly discriminating eyes, as he was able to spot this tarantula walking across the road.  It was pretty amazing to actually view this large scale furry arachnid finishing his traverse into the safety of the jungle.

I love this town.  Everything seems to ooze character.  The Spanish design influence is apparent but there is an attitude of independence in the residents, who carry an outward looking disposition.

The town square is actually a garden and restored recreation of the key Inca symbols that are withering away to sand on the overlooking hill.

The town church is nothing exceptional, except for the local Catholic priest.  He is an ardent biologist and the only known person to survive being bitten by both forms of local viper, twice, while managing to survive.  These bites have only seemed to reinforce this stalwart environmental crusader.

As much as I have loved my time in Samaipata, it also served as a delineation marker, as evening meant leaving the company of Patrick, Morgan and Kelly.  They have been a great support network and source of consistent humor though out our Brazilian and Bolivian travels.  I hope that we get the chance to meet up again somewhere down the road.