Backpacking In Bolivia

On the Way to the Salt Flats

Our first excursion out of La Paz was to the Tihuanacu Archaeological Park, which I described in the previous two chapters. The second one was to the Salar de Uyuni, which I describe in this and two subsequent chapters.

Everyone we had met told us we had to see the Uyuni Salt Flats, and told us to take the three-day tour, which includes one day on the salt lake, one day visiting the colourful lagoons, in the southern highlands, and one day for returning to Uyuni, with the occasional sightseeing stop. People showed us their pictures and they convinced us to go.

The only easy way to get to Uyuni, from La Paz, was to fly, but a return flight would have cost us about $400 per person. The alternatives were much cheaper, but they involved a lot of time. By bus it would have taken about twelve hours and by bus and train more or less the same. The train offered the possibility of getting up and walking around, so, we opted for the bus/train combination, which involved a four-hour bus ride from La Paz to Oruro and a seven-hour train ride from Oruro to Uyuni. Once the highway to Oruro is completed, the travel time should be closer to the three hours that we had been told.

Bus travel in South America is always interesting, and this trip was no exception. At the hotel they had told us that the bus ride from La Paz to Oruro would only be three hours long. As we had a train to catch at 3:30 pm in Oruro, we thought we would leave at 11:00, giving ourselves plenty of time for the connection. We left the hotel at ten and got to the bus terminal fifteen minutes later. When we bought the tickets I asked what time the bus would arrive in Oruro and was told three o’clock. “I was told that it was a three-hour ride,” I protested.

“Yes, but with highway construction it now takes four,” he replied.

I asked if we would be able to make our train connection and he simply stated that the bus would take four hours to get there. I thought, “It’s not a big town, so, if all goes well, we should be okay.” We boarded the bus at 10:45 am for an 11:00 departure, and at 11:10 we were still there. It left the gate shortly after, but then stopped again to pick up another passenger and her luggage. Then we waited in line to exit the terminal. Having arrived early, I had the choice of selecting the front seats. That was a mistake because now I could see everything that was happening, and with the concern of losing precious time for our connection in Oruro, every small delay tied my stomach in knots even more. We finally made it out of the terminal and started to relax, maybe we’ll make up those lost minutes on the way. That was wishful thinking.

We made our way out of La Paz to El Alto, the city above it, at about 4,000 m of altitude, and rather than continuing along the highway, the bus entered the city. Traffic there was horrible. Unknown to us, the bus had to pick up passengers in El Alto, a scheduled stop; but when I had asked at the ticket counter if it was a direct bus to Oruro, the agent had said yes. Generally, South Americans in the tourist business will always tell you want you want to hear, even when it’s not true. We have encountered this from small bus operators before, but this was supposed to be the best bus line in Bolivia. Several locals had recommended it to us. So we were not as sceptical as we might have been. The revelation just heightened our tension. Now my wife started worrying that we would not make our train connection. To ease her worries, I kept repeating what the ticket agent had said, “The bus takes four hours to get there.” It was 11:45 and we were still in the centre of El Alto, and people behind us started complaining in loud voices to someone we couldn’t see. My wife said, “If the locals are concerned about missing connections, how can you tell me that we will be okay?” I just repeated the mantra: the bus takes four hours to get there.

During the unexpected long stop in El Alto, a salesman had come on board, and as soon as the bus started moving, he began his sales pitch. As much as I hated listening to it, it turned out to be a welcome distraction. He talked about the merits of certain foods and the health-hazards of others. He was telling people about the health benefits of drinking lots of water. We couldn’t figure out what he was selling; then, after a while, it became clear. He was selling a small booklet on the benefits of healthy living. It had information on natural cures for insomnia, mangoes being on of them, and other chronic illnesses. We learned that papaya relieves stomach pains and indigestion. Chirimoya (custard apple) and avocado are supposed to be wonder fruits: good for overall health. The next one was very interesting. Tomatoes have to be eaten without the skin. He didn’t say why. I suppose the reason was given in the book that he was selling for 5 Bolivianos, or about fifty cents, entitled Jugos Curativos (Curing Juices). The comment about pealing tomatoes was interesting because we have seen it in restaurants throughout South America. I had always thought that it was due to the fact that the tap water used to wash them is not always drinkable, but his statement caused me to rethink that assumption. The increasing use of pesticides may be making tomato skin, an otherwise good source of nutrients, unhealthy to eat.

After he left with a few sales, calm returned to the bus and I continued writing my journal. Interestingly, he was not Bolivian: he said he was from Buenos Ayres, Argentina. Merely a century ago, Argentina was the cultural and economic star of South America; now, one of its citizens made a living selling small booklets on Bolivian buses. At first I looked at him as an unwanted nuisance. “Why is he there disturbing the peace?” I thought. But, I was judging the situation from my North American perspective. For the others, he was probably a welcome distraction, and by the end of it, I saw it the same way.

Once we left El Alto, we traveled through the vast highlands south of La Paz. The mountains were our constant companions. Occasionally we passed some small towns, but for the most part it was farm and grazing land, most of which was coloured in shades of yellow, red, and green. The yellow predominated. It was still early spring, and in a month or so the rainy season would start converting everything to lush green colours.

Eventually, we arrived in Oruro at 3:15, and as the bus station was crowded, they asked us to get off on the side of the road. I still had to get my backpack out of the bus storage compartment, when I saw a taxi, so I asked my wife to get the backpack while I got the taxi. Unfortunately, someone faster then me got there first. By good luck, another one was coming and I hailed it. I told him I had a train to catch and he told me not to worry. He wanted the equivalent of two dollars, but when he saw my wife coming with the backpack, the fare doubled. It wasn’t a problem, but that’s how it works for tourists. I knew that the normal fare would probably have been no more than 50 cents. The important thing was that we got there with five minutes to spare. Whew! We could finally relax! 

While the bus ride had been stressful, the train ride was relaxing and fascinating because it was more comfortable, and we went through much more interesting scenery.

When the train left the station, we hadn’t expected to be riding through the middle of a lagoon. But here we were, only minutes after leaving Oruro we found ourselves surrounded by water on both sides. it was a sudden and dramatic change. The views were magnificent. We were in shallow water with reeds growing almost within touching distance of the train. Countless birds were in the air and many others on the water. The conductor told us that it’s a bird sanctuary and thousands of birds nest there every year. Then, in the distance, we saw hundreds of flamingos. "Aren't they supposed to be a tropical bird?" I asked my wife. It was so exciting to see them all at such a high altitude. “What a treat!” I thought. “If we had taken the bus, we would have missed it.” It was a fascinating experience.

We werepassing through Lago Uru Uru, fed by the Desaguadero River, which is normally dry, and brings water to it only during the rainy season, when Lake Titicaca overflows. When I heard that, I thought, “During a particularly rainy year, the train tracks could be flooded.” However, the conductor assured us that it’s never happened.

When I returned home, I searched the history of Lake Uru Uru and discovered that it was part of a much larger lake that dried up a little over ten thousand years ago. Lake Uru Uru, Lake Poopó, Salar the Coipasa, and the much bigger Salar de Uyuni are the remains of the former lake. The latter was our destination and what attracts tourists to Uyuni.

The two salt flats are actually salt-water lakes. Only the top of the lake has dried into a thick crust of salt, about ten metres deep, which the locals collect and refine for domestic consumption. Some is also exported. Although the salt deposits are valuable in themselves, the most precious resource is the lithium chloride that sits below the crust. Over half of the world’s known lithium deposits are right there in the Uyuni Salt Lake. Because of the technological revolution of the past few decades, lithium has become a very valuable metal. Its demand is stoked by the need for rechargeable batteries used in computers, cell phones and other portable electronic devices. International interest into this large resource has peaked, but is meeting with resistance from the locals. During the next two days, as we criss-crossed the salt flats several times, I understood why the locals would be alarmed about large-scale mining there. To them, the salt flats are more valuable than the lithium. It’s been their way of life for millennia!