We breakfasted at our hotel, the house built of salt. A simple meal of bread, scrambled eggs, and tea. Our first destination was in the desert flats along a railroad line, where Frankie the guide noted that the railroad connected Salar de Uyuni with Salar de Coipasa to the north. We were also informed of the rich mineral deposits below the flats. There is much more than table salt out here: these grounds are valued for their large reserves of magnesium, sodium, boron, and above all, lithium, the element integral to batteries and all manner of consumer electronics. I read an article in National Geographic in January about the Bolivian government’s desperation to upscale lithium extraction from its salt flats in the hope of powering up the economy. I could not help but wonder, as we left the flats, whether future generations would be able to enjoy the untrammelled landscapes we saw, and what effect lithium mining would have on the environment.
If Thursday was the day of the salt flats, Friday was the day of the lagoons. We trekked all day in pursuit of the Red Lagoon (Laguna Colorada) while stopping at other lagoons on the way. First was Laguna Cañapa, followed by Laguna Hedionda before lunchtime. At both wetlands we met flocks of flamingos. In the words of our travel agency: “To see these pink posers strutting through icy mineral lagoons at 5,000 meters will make you abandon timeworn associations between flamingos, coconut palms and hot steamy tropics.” Indeed. After lunch we encountered a heart-shaped lagoon, Laguna Hona. During the afternoon we passed through the Siloli Desert. On this route we beheld dreamlike landscapes, seeing multi-colored mountains of volcanic rock. Here in the Altiplano we ascended to a height of nearly 5,000 meters. We paused along the mountain road to gawk at rabbit-like critters crawling in and out of cracks in the rocky walls. We also made a pilgrimage to Piedra de Arbol, a treelike outcrop standing among much taller nondescript outcroppings that were begging to be climbed (and which Frankie begged us to be careful around).
We were now entering Reserva Nacional de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa, a massive wildlife reserve you could drive through for hours. True to Frankie’s word, we reached Laguna Colorada in the mid-afternoon. At every stop Frankie gave us an update of our altitude and other parameters. For example, Laguna Colorada rests at an altitude of 4,278 meters and covers an area of 60 square kilometers. He told us that the rich red hue of the lagoon comes from algae and plankton, which thrive in its minerals. Its shoreline, like the other lagoons, is fringed with brilliant white deposits of sodium, magnesium, borax, and gypsum. Once again, seeing was deceiving: was it ice, was it snow, was it salt? You never could tell. Bird lovers rejoiced at finding not one but three species of flamingo that breed at Laguna Colorada. We could not see them distinctly without binoculars, but the three species were there. According to our guide, the Chilean flamingo reaches a height of three feet and has a black-tipped white bill, dirty blue legs, red knees, and salmon-colored plumage. The Andean flamingo is the largest of the species and has pink plumage, yellow legs, and a yellow-and-black bill. The James flamingo is the smallest of the three species. Here we lingered longer than at previous stops.
A little further, and by early evening, just before sunset, we found geysers! They were in a volcanic zone called Sol de Mañana (Morning Sun), at an altitude of 4,850 meters. The mud pots were bubbling; the fumaroles were steaming; everything reeked of sulfur. Frankie advised us to tread very carefully, as tourists have perished there when their feet slipped and they fell into the boiling mud. I made a circuit around the perimeter of the putrid pools and lived to tell: you be the judge as to whether I threw away caution and common sense!
Darkness fell as we arrived at a row of cinder-block cabins, one of which was our hotel for the night. We enjoyed tea and cookies before a simple spaghetti dinner with two bottles of Tarija wine. Then, to cap off the night, many of the tourists stripped down to their bathing suits and sank into a hot-spring pool downslope from the cabins. I took the opportunity to sneak off into the darkness and pray compline under a sparkling starry sky. If only I knew the constellations as seen from the Southern Hemisphere! I could think of God’s challenge to Abraham to count all the stars of the sky or the grains of sand below his feet. With my nearsightedness, I know I could not do it. I could only marvel. Most wonderful of all was the moonrise. I saw a lemon-yellow globe, nearly full, float imperceptibly upward from the horizon, casting a viscous streak on the surface of a pond. While my tour partners steeped in 90-degree water, then found rest under heavy blankets, I stayed out in the subfreezing air until 11 that night. I was enchanted by the stars and especially the moon, the smiling eye of a long-lost friend. It took a while to come down and let sleep take over. My clothes were dusty and dirty; my mind was running, running; my soul was full of prayer.
Eleven hours on the road through the desert, from flats to hot springs past lagoons and geysers. A full day, for sure. Impossible to imagine, impossible to forget. Here ends the second day and the second part of my travelogue. Stay tuned for the third and final part.
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