A Flickering Light

Fog, wind, rain and snow. The day begins in darkness at 6:30 and goes downhill from there. Each time we stop to see something interesting, we all dread getting out of the car. Pink flamingoes on blue-green lakes, a seven-colored mountain, a gigantic stone perched on a toe… it would be a tale from the Arabian Nights if it wasn’t 20F, blizzard conditions. 

We stop at a dismal looking hut by the side of a lake for lunch. As soon as we sit down to eat, a tall man in his twenties comes into the dining room, his hand in a bandage, his clothes dusty. He’s limping, while another guy is supporting him. It doesn’t look too serious, so we go back to picking through our lunch. Suddenly, two more people with injuries come into the hut – a girl near tears with a bandage on the hand, and a guy with what looks like road-rash on his face. Their clothes are as dusty as the tall man’s. They retreat into another room in the hut and a murmur rises among the two-dozen people in the dining room. A girl explains to us that a Jeep going in the opposite direction, from the Chilean Atacama desert to Uyuni, has overturned a kilometer away from the hut and these are the guys from that car. They were all sleeping when the driver attempted to cross dirt tracks at speed, flipping the SUV.

The three injured are quite dazed, while another uninjured girl is nearly hysterical, trying to convince the people running the hut to find a way to put them on a car to Uyuni, more than a day away, so they can get medical help. There’s a sense that there is no one taking care of the emergency. I think to the incident described in the book. In May 2008 two Jeeps collided on the Salar at high speed, bursting into flames, killing 5 Japanese, 6 Israelis, and 3 Bolivians. The Salar is a 10,000 sq. km flat surface with unlimited visibility. How could that happen? How could this?

Finally, other people get involved and a spare Jeep is found. Severino, our driver, helps make sure it’s functional, giving our spare tire and wiring our battery to theirs so they can start. I’m very happy he’s our driver. He’s careful, knowledgeable and helpful. I trust him.

The rest of the day is quite somber. Alex is hitting the height of his illness in the back seat, while the Waygoer seems to be in a world of his own thoughts. By the time we get to the Laguna Colorada, a beautiful crimson lake which can change color according to the wishes of the algae, the weather and the bad light have taken their toll as we film about 3 minutes and get back into the car. Our camp for the night is about 6-7km away, so we drive in at 3pm – a couple of hours ahead of schedule.

The morale in the camp is dismal. Everybody’s taken to their bed trying to be alone in a room with 6 beds next to each other. The Waygoer is eating up a book given to him in Uyuni by an American guy we met at a restaurant. The title is Marching Powder and is about a British man incarcerated at La Paz’s San Pedro prison for drug smuggling. The book describes the amazing community living inside the prison and the Brit’s career development as a prison tour guide for backpackers… Yes, that’s correct! A prison that can be visited on a tour led by inmates. The Waygoer and I are definitely going, once we’re back in La Paz…

I’m sitting on my bed, freezing. I’m worried about the Waygoer film. I’m shooting a lot less material than I thought I would, and even more importantly I need to get the Waygoer to talk more about the things that are important to him. What is all this traveling about? What does he seek? How can I learn more from his photographs? What is his connection to his subjects?

I get up, put on all three sweaters I have brought and go out. I start marching toward the Laguna Colorada, several kilometers away. Various tourists are loitering in the vicinity of the hostel, but I walk fast right past them. The surface is red, littered with large rocks. It’s eerily reminiscent of the photos I’ve seen from Mars.

My thoughts swirl around how to make the best of the remaining 2 weeks and try to see some story emerging. I’m also thinking about the Waygoer. Some of his negative disposition in the last few days is certainly attributable to the altitude, but I need to find a way through.

Before I know it, I’m past the road sign for the turn off to the hostel. I look back, I’m quite far now, but the lake is shimmering in opposite direction, deceitfully close. I notice three figures in the distance. Perhaps, others are trying to get to it as well. I walk for the next half an hour wondering if the three silhouettes are people or not.

Finally, I get close and we pass each other. Now, I’m the furthest one out. The lake seems oh-so-close, but the further I walk the darker it gets, and the less I can judge how much is left. The ground gets softer and there are no longer car tracks in the gravel. I look back again. The lights of the hostel are quite visible in the twilight and reassure me to go on.

I walk for the better part of another hour and start wondering if what looks like a mere 50 meters to the shore could in fact be a kilometer or more. The mountains surrounding the valley are no help. From here they look so close, I can almost touch them, but I know that the ones behind me are hours away. It’s getting really dark now. I’ve descended a couple of ridges and the reassuring lights of the hostel are no longer visible. I am completely alone in middle of the half-light of the giant mountain valley.

I count to 500 to see if the lake would give me a sense that I am really getting closer… I can’t tell, so I do another count to 100. It’s completely dark now. Probably it’s a good idea to turn back, so I do.

I can’t see the hostel, but the fading light in the western sky silhouettes the mountains roughly in its direction, so I aim toward them. In twenty minutes I finally see the lights. Thank god, but they are far… I see nothing on the ground, so walking is a strain at best. What’s worse is that I have no sense of progress. There are no visible landmarks to tell me that I’m moving in the right direction – for all I know I’m standing in one place moving my feet, getting tired.

I fight off the strange irrational feeling by looking at the sky. Stars are beginning to appear and this alien Southern sky takes my thoughts away from my insignificance, isolated in the darkness. At least I’m warm and I know where I’m going. Then I remember that at some point they will turn off the electricity at the hostel leaving me without any orientation. I try to remember the sky, although big clouds are creeping in, concealing the stars.

Suddenly, the lights of the hostel flicker and go out… I didn’t expect it so soon. Now it’s just me and the dark valley around… I focus on the ridge of the mountains ahead and on taking each additional step. The good news is that I’m not at all out of breath, but at this distance I wonder how off a small error in direction could send me – 1km? 5? Could I sleep in the desert? How cold does it get? What if it snows?

I almost trip over a small ridge, but when I get over it the lights flicker back on. So that was it – I must have been between ridges and that’s why I wasn’t seeing anything. At the same moment I notice the moon just over a peak. It’s a faint sliver of light, but against the twilight sky it looks like a whole planet. It seems as if I can walk toward it and reach it. I resist the temptation, but for a moment I feel its very powerful attraction -- like falling into an abyss. That must be the sheltering sky Paul Bowles writes about…

A different light is moving back and forth in front of the hostel. Perhaps it’s a car. Could they be looking for me already? I don’t let the thought bother me yet. It’s reassuring every time the headlights flash into my eyes and I wonder if they can see me. I measure the angle between the two buildings of the compound with my fingers just to get a sense if I’m making progress.

Finally, I think I’m getting closer, but the ground becomes quite difficult to walk on and I’m tripping all over the place. By the time can see people’s shadows in the windows, I’m sweating. At long last I enter a building, but it doesn’t quite look like our hostel. I see other tourists sitting having dinner, and no one is particularly concerned about me. I wonder how far from our building I’ve strayed and get back out into the darkness.

Just a few meters to the side and I recognize the right building. Thank god. A jeep is getting out of the parking area and as soon as the driver sees me, it stops. Severino jumps out. The look of relief on his face is telling. I really must have given him a scare. He invites me straight to his room where Leonidas heats up some lasagna for me and the two look over me as I eat. I try to explain that I was trying to go to the lake when it got dark sooner than I expected, but Severino just shakes his head – loco!

I go to the room where the guys aren’t sure whether to laugh with me or scold me. I guess they figure I had to get some demons out of me. We don’t talk much as we all try to put the day behind, the electricity flickering out in the darkness of the high desert.