(Note: I realize there is a lot of text at the beginning, but the best pictures are near the end)
Scott and I had been talking about going to the Uyuni Salt Flats in Bolivia since Dusty and I got back from our birding trip at Christmas. The closest we would get would be on January 7-9 in Arica, Chile. I searched several ways, and all of them seemed either too costly, too grueling, or both.
On December 27th, I put out a request to three different travel groups in Chile to see what they could come up with. One said that the cross-border arrangements and distances were going to make it impossible in the time we had. Another said they could do it for $3,000 per person. The other said they would get back to me.
I began adjusting my expectations a bit. Getting up into the high Andes and seeing some wildlife and scenery that was completely new to me would be worth the effort. There was a national park right on the Bolivian border that had some beautiful scenery, and there were some buses that went up there. Maybe I could just rent a car and get a hotel nearby? It was about one hundred miles away, and I am something of a risk-taker. An SUV was $125 for two days, and a hotel about fifteen miles from the park was $45. The price was right, but I did not know the area and would likely miss some good stuff along the way. There was that and also the fact that Dusty said I was out of my mind to try driving in the mountains of Chile. Oh well. I guess we would just try seeing what we could in Arica.
About one AM on the morning before we would arrive in Arica, I got an email from Mayuru Tours saying they could do an overnight trip from Arica to Lauca National Park and wanted to know if I was still interested. I responded that I needed to know the price. At noon the day before arrival, I called his phone number and left a message that I needed a price. About three o’clock, I got the prices for just two people or for four or more. Prices were higher to have an English-speaking driver/guide. I asked for a couple of hours to see who else might want to go. He said I needed to hurry so that he could make the arrangements. So, now you are in a rush? O.K. I can do this.
I started messaging a few people who I thought could do this kind of thing at the last minute. Laura had been with Dusty and me through a lot of travel and always seemed up for an adventure. She said yes, and her two friends, Lauren and Delia, were in too. I actually had to contact Delia in the middle of a yoga class and Lauren right after her massage to confirm their commitment. It was a bit wild, but we had a group. I sent an email to Scott saying that this was not really the big Bolivia bucket list thing, but it was all I could come up with.
I offered to pay when we arrived, but they wanted a deposit of 30%. It had to be made through a third-party app that I did not have. I downloaded the app and filled in the necessary information while everyone else was at dinner. After about half an hour, I managed to get the payment confirmed. Oh, did I mention that we got a pretty good discount? Yeah. We got a Spanish-speaking driver/guide. Not because that is what we wanted, but because that was who was available to take us in about eighteen hours when we would arrive in Arica.
Daniel, our driver/guide, messaged me through WhatsApp in Spanish that he would meet us at 10:30 just outside the port. We would drive into the mountains and see the lake and volcanoes there and then spend the night in Putre near the park. The next day we would come down and see the famous mummies of Chinchorro and tour the city of Arica before returning to our ship. Great. The five of us would have a bit of an adventure without breaking the bank.
I lay down to get some sleep when my phone dinged with a WhatsApp message. It was Scott saying that he would like to come along if there was room. I messaged the owner to ask if it was possible. Then the same to Daniel to ask if the vehicle had room. Daniel immediately responded with a photo of a twelve-passenger Mercedes van. I was getting to like Daniel. It wasn’t until the next morning that it was confirmed, but we were now six in our group.
At breakfast the morning of our arrival, I noticed that we were moving pretty slowly and were still about sixteen kilometers from port. The captain came over the PA to announce that there were some problems with the fuel distribution, and he would let us know when he had an updated time of arrival. I messaged Daniel about the delay. He said to keep him up to date.
I went to the top deck to look around and ended up talking to one of the engineers who said this was not unusual for an older ship. He said in his youth there were times he was stuck at sea for days because of mechanical problems. But not to worry because they knew what they were doing and there was always a workaround, like an old car.
We were in sight of land, so I wasn’t worried about being stuck. I was just concerned about a big delay in our tour making a mess of things. Then the dolphins started jumping. I got my priorities adjusted. I got my camera. I got my pictures and realized that whatever happened, life was still pretty damned good.
The captain came over the loudspeaker again and let us know that it would be about a two-hour delay. I passed that along to Daniel and went back to enjoying the day.
Approaching the harbor at a crawl, we could see deep into the water. As we got closer, we could see pinkish blobs in the water. It didn’t take long to identify them. They were jellyfish. They were huge, and they were just about everywhere. I knew that they were a problem for fish, and their populations were booming with few predators, but they were still really cool to look at from our balcony above.
The hill overlooking the city had a massive Chilean flag with a large bronze statue next to it. What Dusty called “Big Dudes” had become a thing for her. She was looking for, and seeing, lots of grand statues that became a reason to keep her eyes peeled. That and birds. Lots of birds. Did I mention there were tons of birds here?
A few more bird shots as we slowly, slowly came alongside the dock in Arica. Daniel messaged me that he had a change of plans in mind. I had been thinking the same thing. We would not be able to get up to the park with our two-hour delay and have any time to spend there. We would reverse our days and tour the city today, then visit the mummies on our way to the hotel in Putre near the park. Maybe this would be better after all.
When we were finally cleared to disembark, we all made our way down the gangway to the waiting buses. Being a working dock, there were shipping containers being moved all over the place, and we were required to move to the port entrance using these buses.
Getting off the bus, Lauren had already found a young man holding a sign that said “Namikas+5.” He indicated that Daniel was waiting on the other side of the fence that separated the port area from the city street beyond. A tallish man of about sixty years, heavyset and with salt-and-pepper hair and a gray beard, was looking through the bars of the fence. He was smiling as he waved at us and pointed to the gate where he would meet us all.
Both Delia and I spoke Spanish fairly well. Dusty was in Spanish class with me and picked up more than she let on. Over the next two days, it became clear that Scott also had enough exposure to the language to accomplish basic communication. Daniel kind of singled me out as the point man for translation, and I did my best to pass along the information that he shared. From time to time, Delia would help out if I screwed up or missed something.
Daniel led us a block or so to the parking lot where our van was waiting. It was the one in the picture, and I was relieved that we would have plenty of space for everyone. Since the parking was at a premium and he had to block three cars, he had left the key with a couple of guys sitting under an umbrella in case they needed to move it while he was rounding us up. Sensible and simple way to manage the situation. With our stuff tossed into the back and introductions completed, I explained that we would be taking a quick look at the Cathedral of Arica before driving up to see Big Dude at the top of Morro de Arica along with the big flag.
Everyone in the van wanted to pick up some Chilean pesos as soon as possible. Since there was a bank across the street from the Cathedral, everyone except Dusty and me made a beeline for the bank and the “cajero,” or automatic teller inside. It turns out that one of the two ATMs was not accessible for our travelers, and the other had a line.
Dusty and I took a walk around the outside of the Cathedral as it was closed when we were there. Daniel told us that the church had been built there while Arica was still part of Peru. I found out a bit more about the interesting history, including it being designed by Gustave Eiffel and built in France before being assembled on site in its present location.
By the time Dusty and I got back to the van, only one of the four others had returned. Daniel was getting anxious as he was parked illegally in front of the church. I tried to make it clear to the rest that we couldn’t loiter as they worked at getting local currency before we left town.
Delia had said that she wanted to get up to the top of Morro de Arica, and that was our first stop after getting cash and seeing the cathedral. The flag of Chile was big enough to cover a bus, and the view from the hilltop allowed us to see from our ship in the harbor to the cathedral and all the way up to the valley where we would visit the mummies of Chinchorro after lunch.
Like several of the other Big Dudes we had seen around the world, this one was Jesus Christ with outstretched arms. Adjacent to the parking lot was a military history museum that outlined the War of the Pacific (1879-1884) between Chile and Peru/Bolivia, where Arica was taken from Peru by Chile. There is so much we don’t know. Kind of the point of travel.
After a walk around, we drove out of town and into the arid countryside, where we soon saw the petroglyphs on hillsides that were over five hundred years old. Dark stones laid out on the light sand of the hillsides made images of llamas and other shapes that had lasted all these years until we arrived.
The valley floor was verdant green with mango trees, corn, and onions in abundance. Down the center was a trickle of a stream that Daniel insisted was being used in the most efficient manner to produce the produce that Chile exports to the world. The techniques had been brought over by Israeli agricultural specialists and proved perfect for the environment.
We would stop for lunch before visiting the nearby museum and traveling on to the highlands beyond. The highway from Arica into Bolivia was a major artery for commerce, and all the goods and materials that came into the port we just left had to make it inland either by rail or by the highway we were on. Construction was continuing on it and would for some years to come. There was a ten-kilometer stretch around 10,000 feet elevation that would close daily from 1:30 to 5:00, and we were aiming to hit that section at 5:00 when it reopened.
Until then, it would be lunch and a museum. The lunch stop was at a small restaurant called Doña Juanita in the shadow of the hill where a cemetery had been in constant operation for over two thousand years: El Cementerio de Miguel de Azapa. I learned about the cemetery when I stepped outside to take a picture of the restaurant sign. A guy walked up and wanted to show me around. I told him I was having lunch and would talk to our guide about it. He didn’t seem to like that answer.
Back inside, we worked our way through a bit of question and answer in Spanish, resulting in our first of many extremely generous meals in our two-day venture. I had the same lomo saltado that I had enjoyed on several occasions with varying styles of presentation, while Dusty got a “pobre” or poor lunch of steak and rice with two eggs on top. We passed around extra fries and salad and sampled a bit of shrimp or whatever from one another’s plates. I don’t think any of us finished what we were served.
The Chinchorro mummies were just down the road a bit, and we were treated to the archaeological museum as well as the active preservation activities on the oldest mummies in the world. Yep. Oldest in the world. Over 7,000 years old. There were both artificially and naturally mummified remains. We had a chance to see them after touring the actual museum, which showed how the different groups had lived in the area. The artifacts included remains, textiles, pottery, and tools, all of which were impressive in their style and craftsmanship for civilizations that we were scarcely aware of. Well, another jaw-dropping gap in the general Western education filled by just going there.
After eating and visiting Chinchorro, we continued our drive by backtracking toward the coast for a while before climbing up through the adjacent valley, through similar fields and orchards bordered on either side by what could best be described as giant sand dunes that got progressively taller. By the time we had reached 3,000 feet, according to my Apple Watch, the mountain dunes on either side were at least 3,000 feet above the valley floor we were driving up. Then we left the valley and started up and up through switchbacks, and I took the Tylenol that I brought along to avoid altitude sickness. Soon we were looking down on those green fields before crossing over another ridge where the smooth surface switched to rocky mountains with the only vegetation being a strange cactus called a candelabra tree. No rain fell in this area, and the only water that was available was either the wisp of moisture from an occasional cloud or the stream that was channeled quickly from high above to the green valley we left below. When we would occasionally glimpse that stream over the next hour or so, it would be looking nearly straight down several thousand feet. The idea of a seatbelt making any difference in our situation seemed a bit naive.
I counted off the altitude measurements from my watch as we went over 9,000 feet and we stopped at an overlook for an old native fort called Pukara de Copaquilla. We were looking across at the low walls of the archaeological site when Daniel pointed down to the bottom of the cliff to the catch basins that made big ponds. He said this was where the water was collected to send down to the farms and cities below. They didn’t want to waste a drop.
We drove on and up to over 10,000 feet and then stopped for the road construction, arriving at the stop around 8:00. We were at the front of the line of cars to proceed. Unfortunately, that meant that we had just missed the last group going our way and would have to wait until the ten kilometers of traffic went out and the other ten kilometers came back our way. Considering that at this altitude, a forty-year-old truck pulling an overloaded trailer was lucky to go twenty kilometers per hour. That turned into about an hour wait while we enjoyed watching the sun go down and listened to Daniel play the radio with pan flute music and what sounded like parade music. I personally liked the sunset better.
We were finally released to go the final stretch into Putre, the city at over 11,000 feet elevation where we would spend the night. The cobblestone roads in town had a narrow river channel through the middle of the main street. Along that were snapdragon flowers waist high, and the whole thing was really charming. We were going to grab dinner and then get to bed as soon as we could.
After stuffing ourselves at lunch, I don’t think any of us really wanted another full meal right before bed. The little restaurant asked us to stand outside while they cleared a table for us, and they didn’t want the cold air coming in. Oh yeah, it was in the upper forties by now at this elevation. It was refreshing and nice for a change, but it was still getting cold. A couple of people came out after grabbing pizza in the restaurant, and after a short discussion, we all agreed to do the same. Except Scott. Scott does not do gluten, and this was definitely not gluten-free. He got a massive chicken breast with French fries and a salad. It was called pollo supremo. The pizza was big and good and gooey with cheese and probably more than we wanted, but I did my best to eat what we needed to, and it was good enough to peel the whole top off a slice and give the cheese and toppings to Scott to try. He agreed on the goodness of it as well.
A short drive in a small town brought us to the gate of the Terrace Lodge, our stop for the night. A lovely little old stone building adjacent to another lovely little old stone building with five rooms for the night. Up early for breakfast that included Tylenol and coca tea for me, and then back into the van to drive up to the Lauca National Park.
It wasn’t too long until we got to our first stop. The land was now covered in all the lower areas with a moss-like growth called yareta that was bright green, and Daniel said that it grew at a rate of one centimeter a year. You could see water running in and out of these areas, which showed it was filled with small ponds and creeks under the green, dense vegetation.
At over 14,000 feet now, Dusty was not feeling too good when we got out of the van, and Daniel was telling us about where we were. It was a 1.4-kilometer trail running over a hill and around to several old caves that had been used by humans for about ten thousand years, as well as some animals called viscachas. I had never heard of the animal before, and he demonstrated something like bunny ears, and that was the best that I could get on short notice.
About a hundred yards up the hill, Dusty was out of breath, and we paused for a bit. After Lauren saw us talking, she said she would pass on the trail and go back down to wait with Dusty while the rest of us took the trail.
The well-marked trail climbed up over the top of a dry, gravelly hill dotted with little tufts of coarse grass. On the other side, the trail turned left, and we saw the first “cave.” Just a shallow undercut of the large granite stones that made up the far side of the hill. Not impressive. A bit further on, Laura said that she saw an animal. Kind of small and moving into the rocks. I changed to my long lens and hoped that Laura’s look at the critter wouldn’t be the last.
Luck was with us, and Daniel’s promise that we would get to see local fauna was as good as kept. The viscacha was about the size of a medium rabbit, with brown and grey fur, short ears for a rabbit, and a long tail. Later, I found that its closest relative was a chinchilla, and I could see the resemblance. It was calm as it groomed itself on the big rock about twenty meters away. The others moved on while I stayed to watch it change positions and try to get a better shot. A bit further on, another smaller one was nearer the trail, checking out some little yellow flowers. Again, I waited for the shot. Then the big one out in the middle of the field of yareta refused to lift its head as it munched and munched the breakfast it was surrounded by. Finally, it lifted its head and stuck out its little pink tongue. I kid you not. When I looked at the picture, I realized that was what I was looking at. That and what looked like a big Salvador Dalí mustache on this grown one. I had to laugh. Laugh and get going so I could catch up.
When I got back to the road where Delia was ready to cross, she looked back at me and said I had to turn around. The clouds had begun to clear a bit, and we could now see the snow-capped mountains of the Andes that we had hoped to see today. After a lot of tropical sea-level travel, it was an amazing sight.
Dusty was standing on the trail on the other side of the road and was watching one of the viscachas in the thick green yareta nearer the van. I was very happy that she got a chance to see one in real life. I hoped that the medication she finally accepted would kick in pretty quickly so that she could enjoy the rest of our time at altitude without the nasty headache that I had suffered in the past.
We had to make good time to be sure we got through the construction zone before it was closed, forcing us to miss the boat. Literally.
Driving higher still, we crossed through 15,000 feet and saw our first alpaca on a hilltop above us. Just after Delia said she expected to see more because they tend to be pack animals, Daniel brought the van to a stop next to a group of about a dozen of the big brown and white fur balls. Further on were wild vicuñas and some domestic llamas. Yep. We were definitely seeing some local fauna. I will let the overwhelming cuteness of two baby alpacas kissing speak for itself.
Out in some of the small lakes, we started to see flamingos, and I got my obligatory insurance shot. The photo that I take in case I don’t get another chance at seeing that bird or landscape or whatever. My watch said 15,168 feet, and I believed it.
Our last stop was at the lake whose views are the subject of countless tourist paintings. The lake with the alpaca in the foreground and snowcapped volcano in the background. Chungara Lake.
Daniel said that we had twenty minutes to go down to the lake, and that we had to stay on the trail. The bright pink wings on the otherwise white birds got me moving toward the lake after Dusty told me I had to go and she would wait in the van. I promised to take pictures.
Delia and I were the first across the road. She was going to town with her phone, taking pictures. Laura and Scott soon followed. Lauren stayed in the van with Dusty.
To the left of the lake is Parinacota, the classic cone volcano that is the backdrop to those famous paintings and postcards. Unfortunately, it is mostly shrouded in clouds. To the right is the snow-covered border between Chile and Bolivia. Only later would I realize that the peak of Nevado Sajama, the highest point in Bolivia, was just to the left of that peak, hidden in the clouds as well.
Bright objects attract my eye, and soon I was clicking away on the multiple flamingo targets that I could identify in poses that I found pleasing. The clouds cleared on the snow-covered peaks across the lake, and it caught my eye. Then the pair of flamingos with that background. Cool. Then a group of three flamingos I had been watching began to take flight. Cooler. I tried to follow them and keep all three in frame while they danced on the water before taking flight. They banked to the left and landed back on the lake just in time to spook a pair on the left to take off. I had plenty of chances to get my flamingo in flight picture, and hopefully, some of them came out.
With time running out, I started to return to the van so that we could make it to the construction zone in time. As I started to turn away from the lake, I noticed alpacas at the shoreline. Behind them, the clouds were beginning to open a gap on Parinacota Volcano, and the picture was becoming classic. OMG, it was actually happening for me, and I was loving it! The lake, the alpacas, and the volcano. All in one shot. I was excited and grateful all at the same time. I still had to take the pictures and hope that nothing went wrong.
Back in the van, I showed a few pictures to Dusty and Lauren to let them know what was there, and then we all started to lower elevations and hoped that everyone would soon be feeling better.
The drive down got us to the construction site by 11:30, and at 12:00 we were passing through. From here on, it was all literally downhill. Another big lunch with huge glasses of fruit juice and then down to sea level. As we turned onto the road paralleling the coast, there was a cemetery. No walls. No signs. Just irregular rows of crosses on top of little houses with tiny picket fences around hundreds of little memorials. It was something obviously organic. The community had decided that this was where they were going to bury and respect their companions in life. A pet cemetery. Another thing that would never happen in the USA, but it pulled at heartstrings and was as much a part of the landscape as the petroglyphs and monuments.
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