Greetings and blessings to everyone. Here begins a short chronicle of my travels through Uyuni in the department of Potosí in southern Bolivia toward the borders of Chile and Argentina, June 19-23.
Two short and easy flights brought me to Uyuni last Wednesday morning. During the taxi ride into town, I thought to myself that I had stepped into the Wild West at the turn of the 20th century. Dry, dusty streets; low-hanging sun, long shadows, and a wide horizon all around; and mostly two- or three-story buildings of the same color as the sun-baked earth. All we needed were some horses, some tumbleweeds, and some six-shooters!
Although it was morning, it was possible to check in at the Toñito Hotel. For me, the name of the hotel was a good omen: Toñito is the diminutive of Tonio, the nickname for Antonio, or Anthony. After settling in and resting a while, I ventured out to the town cathedral and spent some time there for adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. During this journey into the Bolivian wilderness I would be nowhere near a church for days, so this was my last opportunity until returning to Cochabamba to be in the presence of Christ in the sacraments. Thus I entered into a spiritual communion with Christ before the Blessed Sacrament before entering into the sacramental presence of Christ in creation. The earth would be an altar; to it I would bring a sacrifice of praise for the beauty of the earth and for the fruits of all creation.
During the afternoon and again the next morning I purchased a few liters of water and Gatorade to keep hydrated and packages of cookies and crackers for snacking between tour meals. In the town Wednesday, I was glad to lunch on a filet of trucha, being a happy pescatarian. After a lazy afternoon reading the World War II novel All the Light We Cannot See, I had an excellent eggplant-mushroom-onion pizza at the hotel restaurant. Then, an early retirement to bed.
The tour proper began the next morning, Thursday. Grace and I had arrived the day before; two Maryknoll volunteers, Lillian and Rachel, arrived in the middle of the night. To our quartet the travel agency added two English-speaking companions, Barbara and Michael, a couple from Slovakia. Our guide, Frankie, has led travelers through the Bolivian wilderness for over four years. He turned 26 on Saturday; he was given a proper serenade from his tour group.
Much of the next 55 hours would be spent in a Toyota Land Cruiser. Frankie is a master of four-wheel stick drive. Into the truck we went, the smaller folk among us riding in the rear and the larger folk toward the front, though we rotated seats every day.
The first destination that Thursday morning was the so-called “train cemetery,” where many locomotive boilers, tanker cars, and skeletons of boxcars lay sunken and rusted since the early 20th century. It has long been a challenge for Bolivia, a nation whose economy has depended on mining, to conduct international trade efficiently. Bolivia has existed without a coastline since Chile invaded 140 years ago and seized 250 miles fronting the Pacific Ocean. For us, the remains of the steam locomotives were a reminder of economic promise and challenge.
Next we drove into the salt flats, and it was like going from earth to the moon. We had to remind ourselves continually that it was not snow we were seeing on the ground from here to the horizon. Before going deep into the flats we arrived at Colchani, beside the Salar de Uyuni. Here were lanes of artisanal booths hawking all manner of goods, mainly textiles and, naturally, articles manufactured or crafted out of salt. We could also learn a little about the methods of salt extraction from the Salar de Uyuni. Ovens are used to dry the salt, which is then formed into cakes. From there we drove on in wonder at the sheer vastness of whitest rock under bluest sky. We reached a pavilion where the flags of many nations’ pilgrims were left like a reminder of pride and possession of this very Bolivian but very universal place. We ate lunch in the great hut that centered the pavilion. Frankie catered all our meals, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and at each meal we ate with grateful hearts. I could eat as a vegetarian every time; at this meal, I enjoyed a vegetable omelette, quinoa, cucumbers, and a banana.
After lunch we drove to a very empty expanse of the salt flats. Here we paused for a good hour. Frankie had the tour group pose for trick photos and videos, playing on perspective to make it seem like a toy dinosaur was a massive reptile ready to devour us, or a giant was lifting the lid off a pot of human stew. Amusing and ingenious, I know, but I was in more of a contemplative mood, so I peeled away from the photo session and lay flat on my back, face half-covered under sunglasses and hood, to commune with this quiet world of salt and light. It was good to feel the solidity of the salt under me and the truth of the light over me. Gradually, a contemplative mind overtook everyone, and we lingered in the minimalism until our hour was over. From the flats we drove a short distance to Isla Incahuasi, an oasis of cactus, coral, and mountain. Up and over the west face of the mountain from the north to the south we walked. As I sat near the Toyota waiting to depart, with the sun lowering in the sky behind me, it appeared to me as though the cactuses were raising their arms toward the bright burning heavens, bestowing a benediction to the maker of the fiery light they could convert into life. Another short-distance drive, and our septet was alone, far from other touring teams, watching the sun set. I prayed evening prayer and faced the setting sun, offering an oblation of praise as I saw, as if frame by frame, the orb sinking below the distant mountains.
A long drive followed, both on dark desert highways and off any beaten paths, until Frankie had brought us to our hostel, where we ate vegetable soup, eggs, and French fries, or papas fritas as it is called in Bolivia. After a hot shower, I lay down to sleep in a room built out of salt bricks with salt mortar. Indeed, save for the metal roof and wooden moulding around the windows, the entire hotel was constructed out of salt.
Here ends the first day of the tour, and here ends this post. Look for the next installment; it’s coming soon! Until then, I wish all my sisters and brothers in Christ a very happy solemnity of the birth of Saint John the Baptist. May this great prophet pray with us and for us; may John continue to prepare the way for Jesus, the Anointed of God.
