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The Salt of the Earth

UYUNI — Bright fuchsia, yellow, or green, they formed cheery patches that dotted the arid landscape of rocky red eroded cliffs and valleys.

UYUNI — Bright fuchsia, yellow, or green, they formed cheery patches that dotted the arid landscape of rocky red eroded cliffs and valleys.

“That’s quinoa,” said the guide of our four-day trip to Bolivia’s south altiplano region, home to one of its most famous attractions — the Salar de Uyuni, or the Uyuni salt flat.

Quinoa? In what I assumed was an inhospitable area where little thrives, it turns out that quinoa is the perfect staple for the area. It is a nutritious food source that thrives on saline water — and needs very little of it to grow, anyway.

In fact, everything we saw in those four days revealed an ecosystem that has helped, and is still helping, people live in a plateau formed millions of years ago between two arms of the Andes — at a lung-squeezing 4,000 to 5,000m above sea level, no less.

The llamas that roam the land provide meat, and are perfectly adapted to live in the cold and unforgiving climate. The endangered vicunas, prized for their fine wool, are now part of a catch-and-release programme. This allows local communities to catch the vicunas, and shear part of their coats for wool. Each vicuna is tagged — so that others know not to catch the same animal — before it is released.

The lakes — stained in unreal hues of red, green, white and black — contain minerals that are extracted by the local communities and sold. The same goes for the red- and green-hued rocky terrain, which contains minerals such as tin, providing another source of income.

And the vast, gleaming white salar — the largest salt flat in the world — provides, well, salt, which families collect and process in their homes to sell.

With an eye on our wired world’s needs, the Bolivian government has been exploring how to exploit the vast lithium reserve sitting beneath the salar, recently opening an experimental mine — and sparking concerns of damage to the site’s beauty and ecosystem.

As our guide put it, “Thank the Pachamama.” (Pachamama refers to the World Mother goddess worshipped by the indigenous Aymara and Quechua people.)

THE SALT SEA

None of this richness was apparent when I first saw photos of the salar, which captivated my attention and planted Bolivia firmly on my list of must-visit countries.

Spanning nearly 11,000 sq km, it resembles a snowy white sea with no end in sight. It is utterly flat, with only snow-capped volcanoes breaking the horizon.

A highlight is to visit during the rainy season, where the water collected transforms the land into a vast mirror, turning sky and land into one — not a sight I was able to enjoy, as I visited in April, when the rainy season had ended.

Although the salar itself can be visited as a day trip from the nearest town of Uyuni, doing a multi-day tour via a 4WD — essentially a tour of the southwestern altiplano rather than just the salar — makes for a far more satisfying experience.

Visitors sleep in basic lodges built by local communities (no heating, no hot water), although one can spring for far pricier (but apparently more comfortable) accommodations.

Aside from the salar, tours usually cover the spectacular Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve — home to colourful lakes, geysers, stunning volcanoes, and wildlife. These include flamingoes, vicunas, ostriches, the Andean goose and the vizcacha, an adorable rabbit-like creature that is actually a type of chinchilla, with a long tail.

Starting from the town of Tupiza, home to several agencies (some reputable) running these tours, the first day is spent exploring the jaggedly beautiful red and ochre mountain landscape around the town, which has a Wild West feel, and is particularly stunning at sunset, when the skies turn a rich purple that fades into a deep pink.

We also stopped to see the ruins of an old colonial mining town (now simply called Pueblo Fantasmo, or Ghost Town) where the Spanish conquistadors ruthlessly exploited the land and the people — over 1,000 lived here in colonial times, at 4,690m above sea level where temperatures fall below 20 degrees Celsius in winter.

As if to drive home the harshness of the conditions, we ran into a spectacular change in weather on our second day, in the national park.

Snow fell, gently at first and then in dense flurries and the wind howled — unusual for April, as winter does not usually set in until June. Outside the windshield was a fog of white.

When I got out of the car, our guide reminded us to hold onto the door, as the wind could rip the doors off. We scrapped the plan to see the geysers after other cars trying to get there reported near-misses on the road.

Driving to the green lagoon (Laguna Verde), one of the park’s iconic sights, the fog and snow were dense and had a greenish cast, due to the light reflecting off the lake’s surface.

One minute, I could see the shores of the lake; the next, when I got out of the car, the lake had vanished — snow pelted me in the face horizontally, and the wind almost knocked me over.

“Guys, let’s go,” our unflappable guide called in an exquisite understatement as we gasped our way back to the car.

DALI-esque DESERTS, SURREAL SUNRISES

Despite the extreme weather, which kept us from enjoying the sights at leisure, the beauty of the landscape is undeniable.

The Laguna Colorada was a vivid clay red, thanks to the algae in the water reacting to the sun, clashing prettily with the bright pink of the flamingos that live there — three species of flamingo reside in the altiplano; they are obviously much tougher birds than I gave them credit for.

In the background, blue-grey mountains rose imposingly, capped in snow. The so-called Dali desert (real name Pampajara), named for its resemblance to a painting by the artist, Salvador Dali, lived up to its surrealist reference — the sky was a deep blue, slashed with gusty clouds that swirled in the wind; the mountains a steel grey, the earth bright red, dusted in snow. Wind-lashed rocks stood like sculptures.

The next day, it was like the snow never happened. Nary a cloud in the sky, we sat peacefully by Laguna Negra, west of the reserve, watching Andean geese tend to their goslings, while llamas grazed in the distance, and vizcachas played catch on the cliffside.

The day culminated in a stay at a salt hotel at the edges of the salar, which was made of — you guessed it — salt. It was the most comfortable of our lodgings, and boasted one star feature — hot showers, for which you pay extra. For most of us, this was the first time we showered in three days.

We rose before dawn the next morning for the finale moment of our trip — visiting the Salar de Uyuni.

The idea is to catch the sunrise on Isla Incahuasi, which rises like an island above the dazzlingly white plain, left behind when Lake Minchin dried up some 45,000 years ago.

Driving home the point that the ancient landscape was once underwater is the ground beneath our feet on Incahuasi — the island partly comprises fossilised coral, on which now large cacti grow and humans perch upon to catch the sunrise.

We spend a merry morning feeling tiny on the salt flat, which, love it or hate it, is a chance to play with perspective and scale to take some hilarious photos. So we can appear to all fit into a hiking boot, or our tour cook can pretend to fry us in her saucepan — I hope that was not a summary of her feelings about us.

In four days, we saw plenty, but the region is ripe for even more exploration. Agencies can organise star-gazing tours, while bird lovers can easily spend days photographing the unique fauna — including the elusive Andean flamingo.

SIDEBAR — IF YOU GO

If you don’t speak Spanish, paying a premium for a knowledgeable English-speaking guide is essential (the cost is usually split among those in a group who want the service).

Tours from Tupiza appear to have a better reputation than those that start from the town of Uyuni, which has countless agencies selling packages they might not operate themselves, and accidents have been reported.

We paid US$210 for a 4D3N tour from an agency called La Torre (for a group of four), excluding the cost of national park and other miscellaneous fees and the cost of hiring an English-speaking guide. Those who want hot showers, private rooms and heating may shell out well over a thousand for the same itinerary.

Many reach Uyuni and begin their tours there because they enter Bolivia from Chile. Tupiza is nearer for those entering from Argentina. Those who land in La Paz, the capital, can opt to fly, although buses are (about eight hours) the more affordable option.

Be sure to spend a couple of days acclimatising at height. The tours bring visitors close to 5,000m above sea level, while Uyuni itself is at about 3,700m. Ideally, plan your itinerary such that you ascend gradually with each town/city you stop at. Medication such as Diamox taken in advance can also help ward off the worst symptoms of altitude sickness.

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