:: Turning gold to chrome

Shades of sand (road up to the border)

Meeting the locals (llama and car)

Postcard-pretty at 5000 meters

Mountains, truck

The road goes on and on

How much you can transport in a mini van

A day later we continued on from the Salar to the Chilean border. No electricity in the entire area meant that the pumps of the one existing gas station on the way to the border (about half a day’s driving away) weren’t working.

(Point of interest: if you see a gas station in Bolivia that is not overrun by people, chances are they’re either out of gas or have no electricity.)

(Another point of interest: if gas stations aren’t working, chances are, people that still have gas aren’t selling you any as they need it all for themselves.)

As the hours on our bumpy little road passed by we were getting more and more desperate. In the end we finally found a business-minded woman who probably made the deal of a lifetime on us. I assume she started packing to leave for greener pastures as soon as our dust-cloud disappeared behind the next hill. But, we were able to fill up our tank which meant that we would actually (probably, most likely) make it to the Chilean border, tarmac and all the other civilization-y goodnesses, so we were quite happy with the affair and able to enjoy the surroundings again.

The border-crossing completed (3-4 hours of corrupt border policemen, forms in triplicates, luggage searches and a sandstorm later) we made our way down to the coast. In pitch black again, but hey, back on tarmac, we weren’t going to complain.

Sunrise in Iquique

We stayed in Iquique for a day before following the Panamericana up to Arica. Lovely road. Chileans know how to build roads and – equally important – have the money to do it.

Not far from Arica, the road ends. Well, not literally, but someone surely felt that way when putting up the sign.

Feeling brave enough to continue despite that, we were (eventually) rewarded with the city of Arica. Somewhat smaller and more idyllic than Iquique, it’s also a costal city, water meeting sand and all that.

We stayed for a day before once again hitting the road. Time enough for a trip to the harbour and its overpowering smell of fishy fish-ness. Colourful and loud, the harbour is a mess of small fishing boats, pelicans and sea lions. The Boyfriend had a run in with a grumpy sea lion who took offence at his presence on the pier and torpedoed over to express his displeasure from a closer range. Boyfriend decided that pictures were not worth tangling with some hundred kilos of potentially upset sea lion and backed away rather quickly.

(to be continued)

Last year the Boyfriend and I went to visit my parents in La Paz, Bolivia. We were there for about 10 days (too short), the main part of which was spent on the roads of Bolivia and Chile. Not because we covered all that much in way of mileage but because the quality of the roads is quite different from what your average tarmac-spoiled European is used to.

Four-wheel-drive is a must. Ground clearance is a must. An obscenely big engine – also a must.

(It’s important to note that none of the above rules apply to the locals, who drive things which by all rights should not be drivable at all at speeds which can only be described as enthusiastically suicidal.)

On the way from La Paz (3500 m) to El Alto and the Altiplano (4000 m) you’re greeted by the sight of stuffed dolls hanging from poles or bridges. People don’t have a lot in way of property and thieves are dealt with accordingly. Not that I condone vigilante justice as such, but it’s hard to not to see their point of view when driving through the streets of El Alto.

When I visited my parents last year they had just moved themselves a couple of months earlier and were still blissfully unaware of the dos and don’ts of Bolivia. They had purchased a smaller, wannabe jeep (SUV) with reasonable ground clearance and four-wheel-drive that could be turned on and off via a button. No extra tire. No shovel. No flashlights. No sleeping bags. The first night was spent in the car in pitch black jungle-like surroundings. I’m somewhat surprised we lived to tell the tale.

Rudely abused of all naivety, my parents upgraded to a real jeep with somewhat more ground clearance and, yes, an obscenely large engine. It didn’t stop us from acquiring a flat tire that very first day in the middle of dusty nowhere (possibly still on the Altiplano given how huge it is), but at least we were prepared and had a spare tire. Go us!

Several dusty, bumpy hours on the headache-inducing road later we finally made it to our first stop, a salt hotel sitting at the edge of the Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat. At 10,582 square kilometers (according to Wikipedia) it’s about half the size of Wales. Totally, mind-numbing flaty whiteness. Apart from a few islands, that is, which basically are volcano-top-leftovers. The biggest of those is the Incahuasi island.

Tunupa volcano

(to be continued)

-22 degrees. Not what the doctor ordered. Where’s the global warming induced heat when you need it? I’m officially considering hibernation.

On a different note: I’ve finally managed to make my way through the heap of vacation pictures from Bolivia and Chile. Go me. On the downside, I ended up with way too many pictures (not because I’m so great a photographer but because there is too much to show), so now I have to decide which ones I want to feature here.

If you just can’t wait a second longer or are bored out of your mind, the entire gallery can be found here.