Evo Morales, president of Bolivia, is a populist, a man of the people. He has huge support from the bulk of the population - the indigenous people of the Andean highlands, Quechua or Aymara-speaking; from which group Morales himself is drawn. But in August 2008 he had set himself on a collision course with the governors of the eastern/lowland states. The issue was mainly(and still is) the huge tax burden imposed by the government on the oil-producing areas, particularly the wealthy city of Santa Cruz.
The implications of this for us were that, although Rodrigo was confident that we could get through to Potosi, he was very pessimistic about the onward leg to Sucre. Several anti-Morales roadblocks were in place, and there was no getting past them. It was conceivable/possible/likely that we'd have to retrace our route from Potosi back overland to La Paz, instead of making a connection with our booked flight from Sucre.
We opted to risk it. There's a new road (mostly the old one being greatly improved) being built from Uyuni to Potosi, and several of our staff had said that it's not just a road journey, it's a tourist attraction in its own right.
The road out of Uyuni climbs straight into the hills, following, crossing and recrossing the track-bed of the old railway to the silver and tin mine at Pulacayo. Behind us there's a panoramic view of the salar, in a landscape made even flatter by the cloudless sky and noon-day sun.
http://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/1814/
Pulacayo is a revelation, a time-warp from a century ago, with the rails, rolling stock, turntable, engines and locosheds sharing the only road into town. A battered sign proclaims that this is the very railway which Butch and Sundance held up and robbed in 1908.
Versions of the story abound: Pulacayo's is that the mine owners themselves hijacked the payroll and miners' (pittance of) wages, and laid the blame on the two Yanqui bandits who were conveniently in the area. Sadly for modern-day Pulacayo, the most widely held view today is that it was not a railway, but a mule-train that was robbed, and that it was closer to Tupiza, to the south, and the bandidos ended up in the cemetery in the tiny mining town of San Vicente.
The old/new road onwards is proceeding apace. There are regular encampments of bulldozers and graders, and tiny communities which were once on the route are now bypassed (albeit an all-weather bypass), unless there's a bridge or a gorge which dictates the route. There are cuttings which slice though several million years of pristine sedimentary rock.
The only roadblocks are official traffic-control ones - yellow dungareed and hardhatted road workers (both men and women) with lollipops slow us when there is heavy plant crossing. There's almost never anything coming in the opposite direction.
Showing posts with label Uyuni. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Uyuni. Show all posts
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Monday, 7 September 2009
Bolivia (Uyuni-Laguna Verde continued) Aug08
Two hours' drive southwest of Uyuni en route to Laguna Verde, you leave the main road. From now on we're in low range four-wheel drive. Frozen streams, rock formations that look like ruined red sandstone castles or abandoned medieval Tuscan villages along a distant escarpment; sulphurous mud-pools bubbling - activity influenced by the morning sun, claims Rodrigo.
We stop for breakfast at Mallku, at a small hotel, with stoves fashioned from oil-drums burning gnarled roots - from where? We haven't seen a tree for three hours.
Hotel is rather a grand word for it. It's a cave with a shack built at the entrance, a few rooms with foot-thick duvets, and an empty sun-lounge. Both sun and lounge are not the right words, since by empty I don't mean of people (although they're absent too); there's nothing at all in this part of the hotel, just windows.
The only guests, Swiss I think, but speaking good Spanish, are enjoying their rolls (toasted on the oil drum) and hot Milo (powdered chocolate substitute). They're wearing thick sweaters, overcoats, woollen hats, scarves and gloves. Eating breakfast.
At well over 4000m above sea level, we pass a lake whose name I have noted down as Laguna ...? (you try making intelligible notes at 20mph on a road that seems to be a mixture of sand and talcum powder). The shores are piled high with heaps of snow, or salt. It turns out to be borax. I also make a note to look up borax - what is it used for?
http://www.ballymoney.gov.uk/Household_cleaning_factsheet.pdf
Beyond is Laguna Colorada - colorado/colorada means red in Spanish. Rodrigo tells me there are pink algae in the lake (which the flamingoes feed on, and this makes them pink too...but I'm not convinced). Certainly the lake looks pinkish, but it's greatly accentuated by the reflection from colour of the hills behind. It seems more likely that wind erosion is the culprit. The lake's very shallow, judging by the flocks of flamingoes hundred of metres from the shore. They may be standing in pink sediments.
The point where we turn around (although the track carries on into Chile) is Laguna Verde and the volcanoes of Licáncabur and Juriques. It's just after lunchtime; by the time we've had our packed lunch most of the lake has changed from a dull jade green to brilliant turquoise; you can watch it happening, spreading west across the surface like ice melting. Rodrigo says it's to do with the wind, and it usually happens earlier in the day.
We're the only ones here, but an hour later on the return leg, it's evident that there are a dozen or so other 4WD groups - mostly backpackers having fun in hot springs. I guess they'd preferred this to waiting for the lake to do its party piece.
Rodrigo's very sniffy about these other Uyuni-based tour operators. They're cheap, since most of the visitors are young backpackers; they don't maintain their vehicles properly, they cut corners, they're cowboys.
We pass several, one crawling along belching black exhaust fumes. You can imagine the expression on Rodrigo's face. Two hours' further on, we have no choice but to stop. Rodrigo reluctantly lends one of his two spare wheels to a 4WD full of Australian, Canadian and French. One of them pleads with us for a lift, since we're likely to arrive in Uyuni two hours ahead of them, and he's got a bus to catch. We agree, but then he starts arguing with his Bolivian driver. Even though he's now getting a free lift in a reliable car, he wants his money back.
After about 5 minutes of wrangling, and no agreement, we leave him with his group. Was I that unreasonable when I was 25?
We stop for breakfast at Mallku, at a small hotel, with stoves fashioned from oil-drums burning gnarled roots - from where? We haven't seen a tree for three hours.
Hotel is rather a grand word for it. It's a cave with a shack built at the entrance, a few rooms with foot-thick duvets, and an empty sun-lounge. Both sun and lounge are not the right words, since by empty I don't mean of people (although they're absent too); there's nothing at all in this part of the hotel, just windows.
The only guests, Swiss I think, but speaking good Spanish, are enjoying their rolls (toasted on the oil drum) and hot Milo (powdered chocolate substitute). They're wearing thick sweaters, overcoats, woollen hats, scarves and gloves. Eating breakfast.
At well over 4000m above sea level, we pass a lake whose name I have noted down as Laguna ...? (you try making intelligible notes at 20mph on a road that seems to be a mixture of sand and talcum powder). The shores are piled high with heaps of snow, or salt. It turns out to be borax. I also make a note to look up borax - what is it used for?
http://www.ballymoney.gov.uk/Household_cleaning_factsheet.pdf
Beyond is Laguna Colorada - colorado/colorada means red in Spanish. Rodrigo tells me there are pink algae in the lake (which the flamingoes feed on, and this makes them pink too...but I'm not convinced). Certainly the lake looks pinkish, but it's greatly accentuated by the reflection from colour of the hills behind. It seems more likely that wind erosion is the culprit. The lake's very shallow, judging by the flocks of flamingoes hundred of metres from the shore. They may be standing in pink sediments.
The point where we turn around (although the track carries on into Chile) is Laguna Verde and the volcanoes of Licáncabur and Juriques. It's just after lunchtime; by the time we've had our packed lunch most of the lake has changed from a dull jade green to brilliant turquoise; you can watch it happening, spreading west across the surface like ice melting. Rodrigo says it's to do with the wind, and it usually happens earlier in the day.
We're the only ones here, but an hour later on the return leg, it's evident that there are a dozen or so other 4WD groups - mostly backpackers having fun in hot springs. I guess they'd preferred this to waiting for the lake to do its party piece.
Rodrigo's very sniffy about these other Uyuni-based tour operators. They're cheap, since most of the visitors are young backpackers; they don't maintain their vehicles properly, they cut corners, they're cowboys.
We pass several, one crawling along belching black exhaust fumes. You can imagine the expression on Rodrigo's face. Two hours' further on, we have no choice but to stop. Rodrigo reluctantly lends one of his two spare wheels to a 4WD full of Australian, Canadian and French. One of them pleads with us for a lift, since we're likely to arrive in Uyuni two hours ahead of them, and he's got a bus to catch. We agree, but then he starts arguing with his Bolivian driver. Even though he's now getting a free lift in a reliable car, he wants his money back.
After about 5 minutes of wrangling, and no agreement, we leave him with his group. Was I that unreasonable when I was 25?
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