Atacama Desert

Ever since Masato and I attempted to camp out in the desert, only to find South Dakota covered in plains, my desires to spend a few nights laying on my back under the stars in the middle of sandy emptiness grew.

Last week, a group from my hostel (Andreas my New Zealand friend, two French college graduates, a Swiss banker and I) hired a driver with a jeep to bring us deep into the Atacama desert. In our four wheeler, we explored some laguna oases with picture perfect still water that reflected the volcanoes that outlined the backdrop behind endless miles of sand. Of all places to run into flamencos, apparently the desert is the spot as the geysers in the lagunas attract these florescent pink birds. We dipped in some hot springs and trucked up to the heart of the Bolivian desert.

By day two, the reflective lake oases´ frequency diminished and our jeep climbed to the highest altitude I´ve ever experienced. This portion deep in the Altiplano desert sits at 5000 meters above sea level. At this altitude, fatigue and headaches plagued out entire carload of travelers. Walking a single lap around the car, I would already be out of breath. A constant pulsing headache followed me around for the next two days until we descended to 3500 meters (where I could run around freely and play soccer in a small Andean village). Even the constant chewing of coca leaves, which employs the same gum stuffing rituals as tobacco, couldn´t quell the fatigue or pressure in my head at 5000 meters.

This was my first exposure to Bolivia. Bolivia is headed by indigenous president Evo Morales, who the more I learn about, the more I love. Bolivia has a history of finding natural resources (nitrates, rubber and oil), only to have the land with these resources annexed by its neighboring countries (Chile, Brazil, and Paraguay). Right now, Morales started re-nationalizing industries and engaged negotiations with Chile to repossess the Chilean section of the Atacama. By re-acquiring Northern Chile, Bolivia will no longer be land locked and will once again have access to the ocean and sea ports. Our car found Lonely Plant´s description of Bolivia as having an "impotent economy" a perfect choice of words; no matter what they try, they just can´t get it up. In tune with Bolivia´s history losing every resource it finds, and with the altitude and the desert heat moving water quickly through my system, as only I could do with a car pack with six guys, I marked my territory and declared the desert part of the USA.

In this deepest part of the Atacama, dusty rocks and sand spread in all directions as civilization became a distant memory. After driving for some hours, we stopped at some large rocks rising out of the ground, which supposedly resemble Salvador Dalí paintings. Of course we stopped for a quick photo shoot. But as we started to drive off, a rock on our jeep´s path punctured the tire. We heard a pop, the flapping of the airless rubber slapping against the rocky road, and we felt the four wheeler dip down, as if sinking into a splotch of quick sand.

Stranded in the middle of the desert at first seemed extremely comical to our pack of adventure seeking gringos. Of course we got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, well out of reach of cell phone reception (as we soon realized). Merri, our French comrade, tried throwing up his thumb to the lifeless "road" as the rest of us jumped to action with the excitement of showing off our tire changing abilities. With a group effort, we began to unscrew the wheel´s bolts, to remove the spare from the underbelly of the jeep, and to lift the car with the jack. But this excitement went from a joyous mishap to actually concern when the jack kept sinking into the sand, instead of raising the car off the ground...This was when we found out that cell phones don´t work out in the middle of the desert.

A short burst of panic fell upon the silent group, when Agapito, our driver, finally solved the problem. He directed us to find some larger, flat rocks to place under the jack to create a solid surface for the jack to push against. Thankfully, with about five or six old chunks that long ago broke off the sides of the surrounding mountains, our car levitated off the ground with enough space to edge in a spare tire.

When the flat tire debacle eventual became a scare from the past, we loaded into the jeep, and drove further into the desert under the blisteringly hot sun, until we reach a small town at the edge of the Bolivian salt flats (los Solares de Uyuni). We spent the night at a hostel built out of blocks of salt.

The next morning we awoke in time to watch the sun rise over the sea of white salt flats. We sat alone as the only humans for miles, atop a cactus filled island. As the sun slowly rose over the snow-like dry lands, the enormity of the salt flats came to view. On Halloween morning, this easily was the most eerie, trippy place in the entire world to possibly be. With the hot desert sun pounding on our backs, it looked like we were on a frozen lake. The ground covered the white, salt floors with foot-wide scales created by water forcing its way to the surface. Imagine seeing "snowy ice" and a dry cactus filled island in the same view. The only thoughts I could utter were, "Where are we? What is this place?" I´ve truly never even in National Geographic seen anything like it.

We ended our journey in the Atacama desert that night. We arrived in truck-stop, industrial desert town, Uyuni, Bolivia after leaving touristy, adobe housed, San Pedro, Chile earlier in the week. Escaping dirty, dusty Uyuni and booking it to Argentina, proved overly difficult, and officially took three full days of trying to leave Uyuni to actually reach the border. For the next few days I´ll be setting up shop in Northern Argentina, in a small pueblo called Tilcara (near Salta) and then in Córdoba, while I rest, regroup, shower and preparing myself for my return to Buenos Aires next week.

Atacama Desert