The King of the High Desert

The streets of Uyuni are deserted at 8am. Somewhere off into the distance I can hear singing. It sounds like many deep voices chanting from different directions over the dusty desert. Soon I see the source. Three different platoons from the nearby base are on their morning run covering three different routes around the city. The soldiers don’t look particularly disciplined or their lines well formed, but they’re all smiling and enjoying themselves. If the Waygoer could see them, he’d have a heart attack, as he can barely walk in the thin air. Thankfully, he’s still in his room.

A 3-year-old kid is beside himself with joy. Every time the soldiers take a turn by his corner he jumps up and down and sings along, his face radiating with a huge smile. I feel this is going to be a good day.

At breakfast, Alex announces that he has a fever and is thinking about not going with us. I suggest that if he wants, we can postpone for a day or two, but that prospect seems even less agreeable to him, so he decides to proceed on, fever and all.

When we get to the tour office we meet our guide and driver Severino and our cook Leonidas. Alex and I share a look of disbelief at the suggestion that the legendary Spartan king has been reincarnated into the body of a small Bolivian woman. Then we’re introduced to the other two female members of our small expedition – a 45-year old Irish teacher and a 30-some Canadian from Winnipeg.

The first stop is just out of town at the train cemetery. It’s a strange place, this. Two columns of rusting train cars and locomotives lined up in the desolate plain – half a mile of twisted metal against the blindingly blue sky. Severino tells us that among the wreck is a train that was robbed by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but he has no idea which one exactly. There are 6-7 other Land-Cruisers with sightseers parked on the side. I guess we’ll have company throughout.

The next attraction is the Salar. An ocean of white salt stretching as far as the eye can see. It rained heavily overnight, so there are patches of standing water over the white ground, perfectly reflecting the endless sky. In certain spots, small pyramids of salt are lined up. A man is digging sand in one place, his bicycle to the side. We film him as he threateningly waves his pickaxe. 

We’re speeding along the Salar, racing other Jeeps. The white surface patched by hexagonal tiles is flying by. Far away mountains shimmer in the heat. I’ve taken over the car stereo, so Faithless is blasting us further into the sea of white. I take the camera out of the window for a low shot of the tires hurtling over the magical surface. In seconds the lens is covered with liquid salt drops. Good thing I got an extra filter.

Finally, we approach our lunch site, Incahuasi, a lonely island of coral in the middle of the salt sea. Giant cacti populate this odd place. Apparently it used to be a stop on the ancient trade route across the Salar. Some of the cacti are well over 1,000 years old. The Waygoer is very excited as he starts experimenting with his camera on the fantastic white surface stretching to the horizon. He even decides to do a few flying photos which soon exhausts him completely.

After another two hours of dirt roads out of the Salar, interrupted by the occasional sighting of llamas and their more elegant cousins, the vicuñas, both the Waygoer and Alex are beat. We’re finally approaching our shelter for the night – an alojamento in a small village on a llama-filled, windswept plane between two large hills. It’s worth mentioning that even the small hills around here are all well over 4,000m in altitude.

It’s 5pm and the light is just becoming the magical glow of the setting sun, so the Waygoer grabs his camera and excitedly takes me to take photos of the llamas of the green valley. The wind is brutal and the combination of dust and sunscreen running down my face completely blind me. I suffer it through as the Waygoer has suddenly found superhuman strength chasing his dream shot of a small child with a llama.

The sun is just about to fade behind a hill and I have only 2-3 minutes of tape in the camera, so I decide to go to a nearby playground and do a few pull-ups. As I enter, I see a beautiful shot – three small boys are standing in a sunny spot against a beige wall talking, a dog sitting next to them. Their discussion is extremely lively and they don’t even notice me. I shoot all 3 minutes remaining on the tape and then yell over to the Waygoer to come quick. By the time he struts over, the light is gone and he’s missed the moment.

I put the camera on the ground and do my pull-ups. One of kids finally notices us and comes over determined to show off his abilities. After I laughingly refuse to hoist him onto the 8-foot goal-frame lest he falls and breaks a leg, he gets his two small accomplices to push him up until he almost succeeds to grab onto the crossbar, then he promptly lets go and falls with a thud.

No damage is done and he jumps to his feet with renewed enthusiasm. I decide to channel his energy into something the Waygoer might appreciate and manage to convince to him to go and get a photo together with a llama. That’s when all hell breaks loose. Children, dog and Waygoer are all running after frightened llamas, which have probably never experienced such an assault on their serenity. I am breathless with laughter as I try to explain to the kids that they need to approach the animals slowly and be in the same shot as the llama. It doesn’t help – chasing the frantic beasts is too much fun when you’re five and the whole mountain belongs to you.

It’s dark and cold now, so we retreat to a sausage and French fries dinner, an hour of electricity, and a freezing bedroom for three with no key. It’s been a beautiful day.