I can’t believe it’s only been 3 weeks since we crossed into this gorgeous country, but here we are in La Paz! The kind-of capital of Bolivia (if you ignore the actual capital being Sucre), we’re in no rush to leave and plan on spending some time off the bikes recovering (eating), resting (eating more) and exploring the city (trying all the street food) before heading off into the hills for some hiking and then getting back on the bikes to Peru. We’ve been above 3500 metres the whole way, riding through deserts, lagunas, across the worlds largest salt flat, through massive stretches of nothing but and yet still managed to somehow avoid camping the whole way. It’s been really tough in places but incredibly rewarding and I think easily the highlight of the trip so far for me. Insane scenery, tiny sleepy villages, warm and friendly people, and at times complete isolation. It’s so tempting to take a right out of La Paz and head down to the lowlands to explore this country more but alas, the rainy season is looming and we want to get to Peru before it beats us to it. Next time….
First up was the Lagunas route, in the south west corner of the country., a popular backpacker tour that I’d done in a jeep a few years ago, it was something we’d been looking forward to for ages. However, we started with some trepidation as we’d bumped into a cyclist and (unbelievably!) a couple who had just WALKED across Bolivia who had some horror stories about the route and the conditions. Nevertheless, we stocked up on supplies in San Pedro de Atacama, nabbed a lift up the massive hill we’d zoomed down a few days earlier and crossed into Bolivia.
Country number 4!
From there, we spent 6 days doing the toughest but most beautiful and isolated riding I’ve ever done, through the classic lagunas route, then cutting of at Villa Alota and onto Uyuni. We bumped along stoney tracks, juddered along miles and miles of washboard, and slogged and eventually dragged our bikes through deep sand and over unrideable passes before joining up the deliciously smooth but deserted highway to Alota. Horror stories of the surface were justified to an extent, but we managed to ride (slowly, and haltingly in places!) 99% of the way.
Heading towards the volcanoes of the Lagunas route
Sand + Washboard = sore bums, falling off and lots of swearing
We hopped between lagunas, hot springs, deserts and volcanoes, the scenery constantly changing but always feeling like we were on another planet. Jeeps would arrive in convoys, their passengers spilling out to take a few snaps before zooming off together leaving us all alone with these incredible spots all to ourselves.
The amazing hot springs at Polquez all to ourselves. We watched the sun set with an Inca Beer…
….and even got up at 6am to get back in for sunrise. The tourist jeeps arrived at 7, but we shared it only with the lady from the refugio who joined us for her morning bath (fully clothed) The 200m dash in minus 10 degrees in to the 30 degree hot springs was a good wake up!
Flamingo spotting/David Attenborough impersonating
Laguna Colarado all to ourselves. Watching the lake turn red as the sun rose
Heading towards some mean looking clouds, the first in ages. Getting stuck in a snowstorm up here would not be fun. Thankfully we had a few drops of ice but later looked back to see where we had been covered in clouds
Volcanic sand and alien plants
Volcanos and flamingos on Lago Heleonda
Toms best one legged flamingo impression
Navigation was interesting….in places hundreds of different tracks spun off in different directions, but usually meeting back in the same place. Constantly trying to guess which one would be the least terrible, and Google Earth came to our rescue again letting us look at the different tracks on our phones and where they went.
Pick a track, any track. No more road after a few days, just a series of jeep tracks in all directions where the Jeeps have worn out one, they carve out another.
If you can’t figure out which track to take just sit in the middle of one and wait for a jeep to appear. Stuff face whilst waiting. Not shown in picture, the horrendous blowing in our direction!
My old enemy The Wind was back with a vengeance, and by late morning it usually started to blast us back in the direction we’d come. I slowly made the realization that there is a reason most people cycle South America from North to South!
The moment it dawns on me that we will probably have a headwind for the rest of our trip! Prevailing winds from North to South etc etc
I fell off, a lot. And there may have been a few tears….
Me on floor after getting stuck in the sand, and taking the opportunity for a little rest!
On one particularly nasty stretch on a climb up to almost 5000m, I had one such falling/blubbering episode and was gifted a big bag of cocoa leaves to chew on by a jeep driver. And a lollipop, which was much tastier.
Bikes delicately shoved into the back of a van for a lift back up to where we had turned off from Argentina
Donations of food were always well received! Our arrival at Los Flamencos refugio coincided with a mass of jeeps stopping for lunch. We salivated as their guides unpacked hot bowls of chicken and vegetables as we settled down to eat our 6 day old bread. But the guides came to our rescue, delivering us hot leftovers which may have been a low point for us in food standards but tasted absolutely delicious!
This wonderfully toothless lady ran from a jeep to give us a bag of warm pancakes!
Dotted along the way are a few basic refugios, built for the tour groups, though with the long distances between them we were prepared to camp. Not something I was particularly looking forward to with nights times dropping below minus 10 and galeforce winds and sandstorms all commonplace! Thankfully we unexpectedly ended up spending every night in a (very basic) bed for a few quid each using this route. We felt like we were in a parallel world to the backpackers staying there too as they were tended to by their guides whilst we huddled over a stove in our room and struggled to hold a conversation in our exhausted states!
One night we agreed to help the refugio mistress in Polques to clean up after dinner in exchange for dinner. Expecting it to be for the 10 or so French in our place, we were a little surprised to be directed up a hill to a larger refugio with a group of 30 sitting down for dinner! The next 2 hours were spent in the kitchen with the guides, eating with them, talking about Bolivian hip hop, and washing up almost 200 plates, bowls and cups that the groups managed to get through. Brilliant. As the group all went to bed, our task master took pity on us and gave us arm-fulls of packets of cookies left over to take back with us.
One exception to the “a few quid a night” rule: Don’t turn up to a 5 star hotel in the middle of a desert and expect to be able to sleep on their floor! We’d read about the Hotel Desierto, the only building in a 100km stretch being friendly to cyclists and finding them a place to sleep. Friendly they were, but despite asking the question in every way we could think of, the best we could get was a room in the drivers quarters for $50 USD. The wind howling outside, the absence of any shelter, and the temptation of our first shower in 5 days swung it. And we ate our moneys worth at the buffet breakfast!
Five star luxury in the middle of the desert – we were greeted by a round of appluase by the French tourists who had been watching us (me) inch slowly up the sandy hill towards the hotel. We slept in the guides rooms, which still cost more than all of our nights put together
6 days and one final slog up a mountain pass later, we joined up with the international road and rolled down a beautiful smooth road for 40km to Alota. Tiny though it was, to us it felt like a metropolis, and when we turned up to the small plaza a fiesta was in full swing – brass bands alternately playing on the square, and a man with some dubious and intensely alcoholic liquid in a barrel swiftly dished out a glass. Next came the beer, dished out from wheel barrows and donated to Tom by one of the most drunk men we have ever seen. We were invited to come and “dance all night” in the village hall, but as the sun dipped behind the hills and the temperature began to swiftly drop, we retired to bed to celebrate conquering the lagunas.
If Alota felt like a metropolis, Uyuni felt like a paradise. Almost a thousand meters lower than we’d been all week (though still over 3500m!), the sun was shining, life was buzzing all around and there were backpacker bars ready to serve us cold beer, milkshakes, pizza, FRUIT! Guide books slate this place but to us it was heavenly, and our first taste of a real Bolivian city. We made a beeline for the market and spent two days sampling any and all local foods on offer, repairing our bikes, larking around the amazing train cemetery, and, in Tom’s case, removing 3 months of facial hair growth.
Tom’s before and after….
Then it was back in to the wilds (via a not-too-shabby night for Tom’s birthday in a gorgeous Salt Hotel), for another week of isolation, tiny villages and most importantly SALT FLATS! We stocked up on food again for a week, and played “spot the vitamin” as we filled our bags with bread, biscuits, tuna, and an incredible meat based product that appears not to need refrigerating and comes in a tube. I’ve decided not to read the label too closely…
We crossed 180km wide Salar de Uyuni, and then the Salar de Coipasa, 3 days of magical riding.
We slept on the floor of a hut on cactus covered Isla Incahuasi, in the middle of the Salar de Uyuni, watching the sunset over the salar as the last tourist jeeps drove off to leave us with the island all to ourselves (and a few island residents who had a side racket of using the hut for their poker games!).
Sunset (plus wine) over the Salar de Uyuni
The next two days we saw no-one else on the salar, just miles and miles of glittering salt that melted in to the sky and played brilliant tricks on our vision. Mountains on the horizon appeared to be floating in the sky, and the distant salt looked like a lake in the sunshine, almost tricking us into thinking there might be water ahead.
The speedy surface of the compact salt gave us plenty of time for silly photos…
Off the salar, the villages got smaller and smaller, staying in Lilca, Villa Coipasa, Sabaya then Copacabanita. Finding a home for the night became a matter of asking enough people in the village until someone cheerfully found a room for us for a few pounds each. Floors quickly swept and blankets laid, we’d often share the room with the debris from the last town fiesta – once hundreds of plastic cups, another an array of party harts and calendars. In Copacabanita, we were directed to the floor of the village school , where we happily rolled in our bikes and started to set up camp. An awkward situation developed when the school subsequently got locked up, bikes inside, and Tom climbed over to let us in. A severe reprimand followed by the school headmistress and her jobsworthy assistant, and though we couldn’t follow exactly what was being said, the words “policia” were definitely mentioned! Thankfully, we convinced them to let us stay and things got a lot friendlier once we persuaded them that we were not trying to rob the school nor claim squaters rights. The “small donation” we made to the school seemed to help as well!
But generally, everyone has been extremely friendly and warm to us, asking questions about our journey, lots of smiles and waves as we pass people, and lots of “good lucks” and “safe journeys”. We’d rarely see more than a handful of vehicles all day between these villages, and their isolation probably helps to keep the odd passing cyclist enough of a novelty to keep people intrigued. Even the local baby lama’s came running out to say hello…
Baby lamas chasing after us on the way to Sabaya
From Sabaya we decided to give our creaking bikes and bodies a break from the washboard and joined a more main road to the city of Oruro and then the bright lights of La Paz. We loved our afternoon in Oruro, suddenly full of life and after weeks of tiny shops stocked only with tuna, crackers and other canned goods no one actually eats, the food cooking everywhere and food markets spilling on to the street were a joy for our senses.
We even managed to give ourselves our first hangovers in a while, drinking pitchers of florid orange booze in a candlelit student karaoke bar. The Bolivians take their karaoke surprisingly seriously! Tom may have gotten up to sing Last Christmas by Wham, and I may have video evidence. Open to offers…. “Merry Christmas Oruro”.
Two days of dull and dusty highway riding, 3 punctures and a spot of illness later we somehow made it to La Paz! Battling the collectivos and taxis through El Alto, the poorer sister city that sits on the rim of the bowl that La Paz sits in, before an incredible descent down into the city itself. We’ve already fallen in love with this place and it’s going to be tough to drag ourselves away!
La Paz!
Grrrls On Tour 