Shells to Stones - The Sea to the Sky

Travel log of Susana and I making our way through South America to our new home in Chile

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Trains, Buses, Deserts and an Indian: Part Three

After a couple of kilometres, we could see some activity up ahead in the heat lines that you normally see on Formula One tracks. However, distances are impossibly deceptive in that environment, and it was a long time until we covered the first 5km and reached a small group of people waiting astutely in no mans land. Here we learned there were buses going to Calama from the border, but the border was another 5km from here and the people were waiting for buses to pick them up. Apparently this was all part of an elaborate system of swapping buses and passengers to prevent Bolivian cocaine entering Chile. At this point we realised we were all starving and running out of water, and considering the time frame offered to us, we decided to walk to the border all the same. So off we go again. It being hundreds of miles from anything at all, including people to cross it, this border control post should have been fast and easy to cross. In reality it was a lot like trying to get into the US of A with a nail clipper in your pocket. Everything was scrutinised, you had to show them your dirty underwear, which we had lots of, and explain why we were stupid enough to walk to the border. After we had done that we had to wait for the Bolivians to do it all too, and they have considerably more paperwork to demonstrate that they aren't smuggling slave children or cocaine. Seriously, isn't this a bit of a slur on the Bolivians! All in all, we waited 6 hours there until we finally got on the bus to Calama. The worst part was we could only find a few chocolate bars, luckily we still had some wine and finished it off and sat with some music. It being the driest desert on the planet, you really notice yourself physically dry out within a very short period of time, it even dried out my ability to talk about cricket.

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Amazing young artist that captures your attention instantly in this video

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Trains, Buses, Deserts and an Indian: Part Two

I was doing pretty well at maintaining my positivity, and just trying to enjoy the experience for what it was. I was struggling at first I admit. But then I got a window open, then the sun came up slowly, and then I cracked a smile as we trundled oh so very slowly into the salt flats once again.

At first it was painfully cramped in that carriage, I saw a sign that said maximum 180 people, but I don’t think that was assuming each person was bringing a dead body sized table cloth as their luggage allowance. However, as we moved on, the train deposited great swaths of people in the desert, and within the first hour the carriage emptied almost entirely. Leaving a just a few Bolivians, Susana, myself and an Indian gentleman.

Obviously, I attempted starting a conversation with cricket, which I know nothing about. Thankfully, nor did he, and we started talking about his degree in advanced mathematics from Paris, which I know a lot about, with my secondary school education in Mathematics…

Anyway, eventually the conversation turned to “why is there no one left on the train?”. Which, despite our education, neither of us could answer. Sure enough, time will always tell.

After a few more hours of stunning views, which Susana slept though, the train came to a stop amongst a few ramshackle buildings in the middle of nothing but a volcanic desert. We wandered off the train and ambled past some soldiers that looked as confused as we did, and then through a barrier, where a man told us the border was 10km away and that he thought all the buses had departed and we would be stuck here. Heralding the good news, we started walking in the direction he pointed. At which point, the Indian produces a bottle of red wine and we gratefully accept a few slugs each. Bear Grylls probably would not endorse this action, being as we were in a desert, with not a huge amount of water, no food, and 10km to walk with luggage…

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Trains, Buses, Deserts and an Indian: Part One

It is normal for the traveller types to forgo the return trip to Uyuni and instead continue on from the southern most point to the Atacama Desert, and San Pedro de Atacama. However, I had another idea... I still wanted to experience train travel in Bolivia, and there was one option left... There exists a train route from Uyuni to the border with Chile near enough to Calama to call it 'convenient'. However, this route is primarily for Bolivians travelling to the few communities on the salt flats themselves, and it became quickly apparent that no one, at all, travels to the border in this fashion. So, as we wait patiently on the platform at 3:00am we notice that everyone waiting for this train appears to be a poor looking Bolivian, bowing under the weight of the customary tablecloth rucksack (like an oversized Dick Whittington handkerchief; you might need to google that reference). We also noted that there was no train, at least we thought it wasn't there yet... What it turned out we were waiting an hour for was another, luxury, tourist train to pass on it's way south, that gave us some hope. Then a big yellow diesel engine started putting together cargo carriages, you know, like the ones in American movies. We were still waiting for the luxury train to turn up when, suddenly, everyone gets up and starts crossing the tracks towards a solitary carriage hidden away in the darkness. [I should point out that there were approximately 150-180 people heading for this carriage.] Stirred from slumber, we moved with the herd towards the cattle class carriage that I think Ryanair will soon implement on their 737's. Once we had climbed up into the car, we realised there were 180 other people, with tablecloths, cats, chickens and dogs, all looking for their seat numbers, in the dark. And those seats were something akin to sitting in a small Harlow bus stop three abreast with the most delightful fellows that just hadn't showered in a while, in the rain. As you might imagine, Susana wasn't smiling, thankfully I couldn't see her. This was to be the first of many calamities over the next 24 hours.

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None of these are edited. The purple one is a picture through my sunglasses, they make this landscape even more incredible!

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Customary depth perception trickery utilising the incredible flatness of the salt flats. Bad Santa!

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Starting at the train graveyard, then on to two islands formed thousands of years ago UNDER the sea! They are islands of coral skeletons inhabited only by cacti and the occasional sinister looking flower...

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Other worldly, Uyuni Salt Flats

The most fantastic, otherworldly, indescribable scenery I have ever experienced is in Bolivia. It is so unbelievably varied across the whole country, but some of the best is accessible in the relatively small area south of Uyuni. There is no real way to demonstrate exactly how amazing it is without sending you there, but the photos should speak for themselves. Bear in mind, these were all taken over the course of a 3 day tour in a Toyota Landcruiser driving entirely off road for 825 km total round trip from Uyuni. The same journey will be taken by the competitors of the Dakar Rally racing through Chile, Bolivia and Argentina in January. I could fill pages with testimony on how beautiful these places are, but I wouldn't have the vocabulary to keep you interested. Just trust me, if you enjoy admiring landscapes, feeling like you are on different planets, finding yourself in paradise untouched, marvelling at how nature makes this earth, then make the journey to this land before time. Think of it as a geographical Mecca, take a pilgrimage.

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Although these photos try, they do not succeed entirely in effectively demonstrating how incredibly beautiful Bolivia's landscape is

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Chasing Trains

The man who makes false teeth didn’t really care too much for our predicament with the train, and he finally arrived at 10:15am. Once it was strapped in, we were on our way to the station for the 11am bus to Oruro. Now we were really counting on the national trend of being late for everything.

The bus winds excruciatingly slowly up and out of La Paz, fighting through the traffic, dusty roads and kamikaze pedestrians. Finally we leave the city, and tumble towards Oruro.

Roadworks and tolls for unfinished and bumpy highways slow us down further. Hopes start to dash, but then Oruro appears on the horizon, and it is only 3:20pm. Maybe we can make this. Out of the bus and into a taxi. Unfortunately, the moment you want the raster from crazy taxi, or Jason Strathom to be behind the wheel, you know you have the kid that was bullied at school, and still has a nervous complex. So, instead we arrive at 3:50pm, ten minutes after the train has departed (late!).

The station attendant then tells us that the train makes one stop, 120 km south, and if we take a collectivo, we should be able to catch it just in time. My friends would know that this kind of high octane opportunity is too hard for me to walk away from. So 10mins later, we are all stuffed into the back of a Toyota heading due south through fantastic scenery, chasing a train, again.

After an arduous journey, craning our necks to the horizon, looking desperately for our train, we arrive in Challapata. It is a ramshackle town, and the train station is nothing but a group of abandoned, dilapidated buildings, and some goal posts.

But no trains.

Usually, these mad dashes work out fairly well, but on this occasion we failed rather spectacularly and had to go back the way we came and spend the night in a less than desirable hotel under three wool blankets…

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Ok, so we took two. If anyone is of a BBC inclination, please look away n....too late

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La Paz - got teeth?

Not the capital of Bolivia, therefore not the highest capital city, but it is the highest governmental city in the world instead. It is certainly a tricky business breathing in this city. Not least because there is less oxygen (3640m), but because of the horrific pollution. Not a single car, bus, truck or bicycle seems to cough out anything other than black smokey oil. And there are so many vehicles that there really is no avoiding it. Not that the Bolivians notice, not one was wearing a filter, or even covering their mouths in vain, like me with my scarf. Despite this, central La Paz seemed friendly, we got a good shower and an interesting night out from Lokie Hostal, then I lost my phone. Smartphones certainly prove themselves useful when traveling, but you are always bound to lose things on journeys like these. Actually we've lost quite a few objects... Having had one night, and enough, of amicable drunk Australians, loud obnoxious men from Watford, and snoring girls, we hopped out of Lokie Hostal and opted for a quiet, cheap hotel decorated with European suits of armour, antique telephones and a beautiful courtyard atrium. Really, it is just nice to be in the same place for a while. We did a little bit of exploring: we saw the central market; the witches market; the immense clothes market; and the various Christmas trees, including one made from chopped up sprite bottles. But we didn't take any pictures, except one of two llamas kissing... Susi's mother came to join us at the end of the weekend, and we are to spend ten days together in Bolivia touring the salt flats of Uyuni. Roxana is as sweet and lovely as step mothers come. She is kind, patient and relaxes you with an easy smile, which is hugely comforting considering the language barrier! We got to know each other over coffee and lunch, before the unexpected happened... Roxana broke her palate of false teeth whilst grappling with an olive. Not to be embarrassed by this, she smoothly puts it away and carries on with lunch, I didn't notice a thing. Casually, Roxana asks if we have any super glue to fix her shoes, which look fairly new to me. "Of course I do, I'll fix them for you later". Turns out two part glue doesn't take to false teeth, so a trip to the dentist is in order the next day. On arrival at the dentist, Roxana realises she has forgotten the palate, so we go back to the hotel. We can't find it. So, retracing steps, we walk to the dentist, only to find the besieged palate on the street in more broken pieces than before, after a busy Bolivian had crushed them under what must have been very study boots. Consulting with the dentist, the palate is to be remade with the original teeth for 10am the next day, just enough time to catch a train at 3:30pm from a town 4.5 hours away by bus, right.....?

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Isla Del Sol

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Isla Del Sol

When you take these long distance trips around continents, you undoubtably find the good, bad and ugly everywhere. Isla del Sol is one of the goods. Set on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca, this chunk of rock is a beautiful place to relax with the sunsets, sunrises, tranquil walks and distant snow peaked mountains. We took everything at our own pace, skipped paying a guide and found a basic double room for a cheap price. Beware the first places you arrive at, they know you are tired, carrying a big backpack and are not used to climbing slopes at an altitude of 3600 m.a.s.l, so they charge you double for the same thing. Once you are set, take a hike. The island is full of colourful rock formations, traditional buildings, gorgeous vistas and subsistence farming of quinoa and various vegetables I had never heard or seen of. Remember to take your island admission ticket, else you will pay many times over at the checkpoints on the route. We didn't stay long enough.

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Copacabana

Almost everyone's first port of call in Bolivia, this little town is just for us tourists. There are many options for accommodation when you arrive, very few advertise online, just wander around. The market has a 'locals' dining hall with unbelievably cheap and good meals if you feel like an egg sandwich shouldn't cost the same as a McDonald's in the tourist restaurants. Once you have done all that, really the only thing to do is wait for the boat to leave to Isla Del Sol...

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The Road to Copacabana

On leaving Puno, we had decided to brave the protest that was in force through a town on the edge of Lake Titicaca, more importantly, on the only road to Bolivia. The locals are protesting because they are short on water, fair enough I'd say. They had completely blockaded the road each end of their town with broken glass, boulders, fires and iron girders. Pretty good job too, no one was getting through that lot in a car, bus, truck or donkey. However, they had then thought it was a good idea to put more blockades up throughout their town, every 10 or so metres, for a good 5km! Quite something really, making transport within the town impossible too, and clean up will be ridiculous. We had to disembark the bus at one end, then walk the barricaded 5km on foot in the rain, with 20kg of baggage. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, people do crazier things for Children In Need, and these guys have no water. Small price to pay to make a point I think.

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Puno

Torrential rain stopped play in the town famous for their floating communities on Lake Titicaca. They build everything from the reeds that grow there, and have their own weaving technique. Sadly the rain prevented us getting out on the Lake, and Puno is absolutely no consolation prize. We made haste and got the hell out of Compton, only to face an altogether different problem...