{"id":1269,"date":"2011-04-18T16:35:55","date_gmt":"2011-04-18T19:35:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/?p=1269"},"modified":"2011-04-18T16:35:55","modified_gmt":"2011-04-18T19:35:55","slug":"cycling-southwest-bolivi","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/2011\/04\/cycling-southwest-bolivi\/","title":{"rendered":"Big Mountains, Colorful Lagunas and a Land Cruiser Invasion"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/span><\/div>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going out for a while.\u00a0 If any tourists show up, just tell them to wait.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Yeah, alright, sure\u2026we\u2019ll do that.\u00a0 You can count on us–two random cyclists\u2014to take charge of the Bolivia Immigration Post.<\/span><\/p>\n

From the Chilean desert town of San Pedro Atacama, where we\u2019d begun the day, it\u2019s a 2,300 meter climb up to the Bolivian border.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\"\"
A cold and lonely outpost on the top of a mountain.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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A storm was brewing when we finally lugged ourselves up the grueling ascent.\u00a0 Lightning bolts were illuminating the sky in the valley below.<\/span><\/p>\n

In Bolivia, cold rain was turning to sleet which would become snow by nightfall.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Bolivia Immigration Post stands alone on the mountaintop.\u00a0 A simple concrete block building devoid of any modern comforts such as running water, electricity or central heating. <\/span><\/p>\n

Still, four solid walls create a comparable oasis of warmth. Even without a storm to contend with, nights are frigid at over 4,000 meters.<\/span><\/p>\n

I guess that\u2019s why the immigration authorities took pity on us and agreed to let us in to spend the night at their humble outpost.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

While it was tempting to rummage around in the immigration post, perhaps find out what it feels like to wield the powerful Entry Stamp, we took our duties seriously.<\/span><\/p>\n

Soon the officers returned, accompanied by a couple of drivers from one of the ubiquitous travel agencies that run tours to this remote corner of Bolivia.<\/span><\/p>\n

We said our goodnights, Eric and I trotted off to the storeroom, laid out or sleeping bags on a dusty mattress and settled into a cold, fitful sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n

Judging from the appearance of the kitchen the following morning, the men had settled into a night of drinking.\u00a0 Next to a thawing whole chicken, stood a half-empty bottle of something labeled \u2018Potable Alcohol.\u2019\u00a0\u00a0 I guess a Bolivian civil servant\u2019s salary doesn\u2019t allow for a more sophisticated path to inebriation.<\/span><\/p>\n

Unusually for the altiplano, the day shone gray and dreary.\u00a0 Without the sun\u2019s warming rays, the air was bitterly cold.\u00a0 In spite of thick trousers, thermals, a fleece, a wind-breaking jacket, vest, two pairs of gloves, a knitted hat and a balaclava I couldn\u2019t shake the deep chill I felt. <\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

\"\"
A dreary morning to be setting off for an adventure.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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A light dusting of snow covered the bleak landscape.\u00a0 As we rode along I contemplated the tough ride to Uyuni that lay ahead.\u00a0 I knew there were several passes to cross, including Sol de Ma\u00f1ana at almost 5,000 meters.\u00a0 And the road was said to be rough: rocks, sand, washboarding\u2026the usual nightmarish conditions one grows to expect in developing countries.<\/span><\/p>\n

We\u2019d bought a GPS specifically for this ride, having heard we\u2019d be crossing vast expanses of empty land where getting lost was not only possible, but likely.\u00a0 There would be tracks veering off every which way and a GPS would be our only assurance of making it back to civilization.<\/span><\/p>\n

Humph.\u00a0 In fact, getting lost in southwestern Bolivia\u2019s Laguna district is about as likely as getting lost on your way to the supermarket.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Thanks to the invasion of the Land Cruisers.\u00a0 They\u2019re everywhere.\u00a0 Ferrying carloads of well-paying tourists from Laguna Verde to the thermal baths at Polques passing by the so-called Dali Desert, then on to the Geysers at Sol de Ma\u00f1ana Pass, and finally on to Laguana Colorada.<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

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Just follow the jeeps.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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Impossible for even the most directionally-challenged cyclist lose his way with hundreds of Land Cruisers speeding past on the well-worn tracks.<\/span><\/p>\n

After paying our 150 Bolivano ($22) park entrance fee, we pedal down a sandy track towards Laguna Blanca at the foot of Volc\u00e1n Licancabur.\u00a0 The mineral-rich lake is suitably beautiful and the pink flamingos are out in full force.<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

\"\"
Lovely Laguna Blanca<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

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Volcano in the distance.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Lingering long is out of the question.\u00a0 Firstly, it\u2019s too damn cold to stop moving, and secondly there\u2019s a high pass looming ahead:\u00a0 Paso del Condor at 4,735 meters.\u00a0 It\u2019s rush hour on the undulating track and the Land Cruisers zoom past one after another, tourists rubber necking to get a look at the two crazy cyclists.<\/span><\/p>\n

As we gain altitude I begin to feel a familiar thumping in my head, then I become weak, dizzy and unsteady on the bike.\u00a0 Finally I plunk down in the sand.<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

\"\"
Before the altitude sickness struck.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Eric takes one look at me and says we better turn back.\u00a0 I\u2019ve been struck with another bout of altitude sickness.<\/span><\/p>\n

Backtracking the 10 kilometers to the park entrance is a painstaking process.<\/span><\/p>\n

At one point, there\u2019s a gentle rise which I find impossible to tackle.\u00a0 I try walking the bike, but that too drains me of energy.\u00a0 Finally, I walk the tiny hill and Eric brings up the bikes.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

We\u2019re given a room at the refuge across from the park ranger\u2019s office and I promptly plop into bed, burying myself under a wall of thick woolen blankets.<\/span><\/p>\n

I feel dreadful but am thankful for a roof over my head.\u00a0 Another storm is brewing and soon I can hear the howling of the wind and the clatter of rain.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Late in the afternoon I\u2019m awoken by the sound of silverware and cheerful chatter.\u00a0\u00a0 A group of tourists stopping by for lunch.\u00a0 Quick Eric, I plead, go see if they\u2019ve got some leftovers.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want me to do, go begging like a dog?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He leaves the room grudgingly but is back in a flash.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGrab your plate,\u201d he instructs.<\/span><\/p>\n

I ease myself out of bed and stumble into the dining room to face the group of European tourists, just polishing off what looked to be a very tasty lunch.<\/span><\/p>\n

The guide is busy scraping potato salad and a huge grilled chicken breast on to Eric\u2019s plate.\u00a0 For me he produces a lovely fresh green salad with juicy tomatoes and a handful of chocolates.<\/span><\/p>\n

What ecstasy.\u00a0 Of course we\u2019ve stocked up on provisions: Maggi soups, quick-cooking oats, a hunk of salty cheese, several sachets of instant puree, biscuits, saltine crackers, a kilo of rice, 4 bags of pasta, several packets of tomato sauce, some impractical potatoes and three onions.<\/span><\/p>\n

But this is a real meal we\u2019re being offered.\u00a0 Our dignity may have taken a battering, but at least our stomachs are happily filled.<\/span><\/p>\n

A few tourists wander over to ask about our trip.\u00a0 Seeing the sorry shape I\u2019m in, a kind Frenchman offers me the last of his Diamox.\u00a0 I take it, gratefully.<\/span><\/p>\n

Quite stupidly I\u2019d not taken the altitude sickness medicine before the big climb from San Pedro.\u00a0 Somehow I believed I was acclimated after all the high passes we\u2019d crossed coming in from Argentina.<\/span><\/p>\n

The following morning, Diamox has got my body\u2019s rebellion against the altitude under control.<\/span><\/p>\n

We set off for a second time from the ranger station, headed again past Laguna Blanca and on to Paso del Condor.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cycling is far easier than the preceding day.\u00a0 Sure, cycling at an altitude of well over 4,000 meters means I\u2019m wheezing like some lifelong couch potato, but I\u2019m confident we\u2019ll make it.\u00a0 Slow and steady, we are up an over and flying down the other side with a friendly tailwind.<\/span><\/p>\n

By early afternoon we\u2019d passed the wacky rock formations of the Dali Desert and pulled into the aguas thermales<\/em> at Polques.\u00a0 Us and about 15 other carloads of yapping tourists.<\/span><\/p>\n

There were girls with bare-midriffs and super short shorts prancing around after a dip in the hot springs. 17 young English travelers off on a gap year adventure lounging around in the hot pools sipping champagne.\u00a0 And a few staid travelers like us who appeared to find the whole circus slightly distasteful.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\"\"
A brave bather poises for a sunrise dip into the thermal pools at Polques.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The Southwest Bolivia tourist circuit has become so popular that a restaurant has sprouted up way out there in the middle of nowhere.\u00a0 Which (and I know this is hypocritical) didn\u2019t really bother me since cyclists are kindly allowed to spend the night inside the restaurant. INSIDE in relative warmth and comfort. <\/span><\/p>\n

Once the last Land Cruiser had finally taken off, we were allowed to push back some tables and roll out the sleeping bags in a corner.\u00a0 Bliss.\u00a0 Pure bliss to escape the elements for another night.<\/span><\/p>\n

Our slumber was cut short.\u00a0 At 4:00 AM the restaurant staff began gearing up for the surge of tourists expected for sunrise at the thermal baths.<\/span><\/p>\n

Shortly after 6:00 we are on the road, ready to take on Sol de Ma\u00f1ana Pass.\u00a0 At just over 4,900 meters, we\u2019re expecting a challenge.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

While rough road conditions in this part of the world are a constant struggle, wind is the cyclist\u2019s real nemesis.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

As we ride past a group of grazing llamas, I feel a light rustling, then a gentle whistling and soon enough we\u2019re battling icy gusts.<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019ll be no peeling off layers of clothing today.<\/span><\/p>\n

After 15 kilometers I spot what looks to be the top off the pass.\u00a0 After flapping my arms wildly one of the crazed jeep drivers pulls over.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs that it? Sol de Ma\u00f1ana Pass?\u201d I ask breathlessly.<\/span><\/p>\n

The tourists lodged in the back seat are all craning their necks to get in on the conversation.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes, just over there, you\u2019ve almost made it,\u201d the guide assures me.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m elated.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Well, I\u2019m elated till I get to the point that is supposedly the top of the pass.\u00a0 Naturally it\u2019s not and we climb another 10 kilometers till we get to the real<\/em> top of Sol de Ma\u00f1ana pass at 4,918 meters.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Sole de Ma\u00f1ana Pass...our highest point!<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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False hopes.\u00a0 Big letdowns.\u00a0 Nasty headwinds.\u00a0 And nothing to do but keep on pedaling.<\/span><\/p>\n

Finally there\u2019s a descent and soon the flaming-red waters of Laguna Colorada and its flocks of flamingos comes into view.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

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Laguna Colorada in the distance.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

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Pretty in Pink.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

We set up camp for the night across from the park ranger\u2019s station just past the lake.\u00a0 The unrelenting winds turn the simple tasks of pitching the tent and cooking dinner into major undertakings.<\/span><\/p>\n

I gather discarded bricks to erect a barrier around the stove and the tent pegs are carefully covered with rocks.<\/span><\/p>\n

We chose our trusty Big Agnes tent not for high-altitude camping, but for the heat of the tropics.\u00a0 We regret now the super ventilation system that allowed in a cooling breeze as we cycled through the sweltering South American lowlands.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Our Big Agnes Tent didn't let us down in the gale-force winds.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

We, and the tent, somehow survive the bitterly cold and windy night.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the morning we make good time, passing the friendly mining camp before mid-day.\u00a0 Asking about the road ahead, we\u2019re told there\u2019s just one little \u2018cerrito\u2019 and then a long descent onto the flat puna. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust one tiny hill!\u201d I exclaim.\u00a0 The hard part\u2019s behind us.<\/span><\/p>\n

Looking back, I\u2019m not sure if the cerrito<\/em> reference was a cruel joke or just uninformed advice.<\/span><\/p>\n

There were some very big hills ahead.\u00a0 Steep ones.\u00a0 With sandy surfaces which were impossible to cycle.<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

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Skirting around the Salar de Capina is a whole lot of work.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

\"\"
Just one tiny little hill to content with. Hah, Ha, Ha.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We skirted around the blindingly-white Salar Capina just as the afternoon Land Cruiser rush got into full swing.\u00a0 Naturally, most of the brutes behind the wheel couldn\u2019t be bothered to slow down for two down-trodden cyclists.\u00a0 \u00a0Hearing the horn blaring in the distance, we\u2019d jump out of the way like peasants allowing the king to pass.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was late in the day before our suffering finally came to an end with our arrival at Villamar.<\/span><\/p>\n

A ting adobe village surrounded by llamas.\u00a0 There were shops.\u00a0 And lodging.\u00a0 What more could we want?<\/span><\/p>\n

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<\/p>\n

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Llamas are everywhere in this part of the world.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Although I\u2019d not had a shower since we left San Pedro, I didn\u2019t even complain when there was no hot water available for bathing.\u00a0 One more day wouldn\u2019t matter.<\/span><\/p>\n

We had a comfy bed and blankets.\u00a0 And I was content.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe road ahead is in good condition.\u00a0 Nothing like where you\u2019ve come from.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

That\u2019s what the earnest-looking shopkeeper in Villamar had promised.<\/span><\/p>\n

Was this some kind of conspiracy I wondered?\u00a0 The road turned out to be impossible, alternating between sand, washboarding and big rocks.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d expected an easy 50 kilometers of gently descending flat puna.<\/span><\/p>\n

Instead, it took us nearly six hours of concentrated cycling to make it to the next town, Villa Alota.<\/span><\/p>\n

By then, we were absolutely starving, having consumed the last of our cheese and bread.\u00a0 In Villamar, there\u2019d not been much to choose from in the way of provisions.\u00a0 The usual supply of biscuits and sweets, some tinned food, but nothing fresh, not even bread let alone cheese or vegetables.<\/span><\/p>\n

Foolishly, we\u2019d counted on finding a nice hot lunch in Villa Alota.\u00a0 At one of the promised comedores<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

The village was like a ghost town when we arrived.\u00a0 The dusty streets completely empty and all shops shut up tight.\u00a0 Even the usual stray dogs that wander through all South American towns had taken leave.<\/span><\/p>\n

I pounded on one of the shop doors and finally a small child cracked open the door and peered out.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHave you got food?\u00a0 Can you open up?\u201d I demanded in Spanish.<\/span><\/p>\n

The child just stared back in wonder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is everybody? I enquired.<\/span><\/p>\n

Still no response or inkling of understanding.<\/span><\/p>\n

Finally, just down the road, one of those ubiquitous Land Cruisers came screaming to a halt and a group of tourists piled out.\u00a0 The guide thumped on an imposing metal gate, and like magic it was opened up and the tourists filed inside.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was Alojamiento Cema.\u00a0 We raced down the road and wandered inside.\u00a0 The tourists were being served a delicious looking meal.<\/span><\/p>\n

We found the young girl in charge of the hotel\/restaurant.\u00a0 \u201cWe\u2019d like lunch, too, please.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She too seemed unable to comprehend our Spanish and just stared at us like we were two aliens asking for her firstborn child.\u00a0 Finally, the tourist guide intervened and explained the situation.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was time to bring in the quinoa, and all the able-bodied villagers had gone out to the fields for the harvest.<\/span><\/p>\n

It appeared they\u2019d left the mentally challenged in charge of the village.<\/span><\/p>\n

No, the girls could not prepare a meal for us.\u00a0 No, the shops would not be opened until the other villagers returned.\u00a0 And no, you cannot have a room.<\/span><\/p>\n

Wait, wait, wait.\u00a0 A room.\u00a0 We\u2019ve got<\/em> to have a room.<\/span><\/p>\n

With a fair amount of persuasion, we were finally \u2018allowed\u2019 to rent a room for the night.\u00a0 Food was not forthcoming, so we attempted to fire up the stove for a tasty instant Maggi soup we\u2019d uncovered at the bottom of the food sack.<\/span><\/p>\n

Primus, why fail us now?\u00a0 The stubborn stove refused to light up, so we resorted to munching on saltines to quell our growing hunger.<\/span><\/p>\n

Finally, Eric commandeered the kitchen and we were able to prepare our humble meal.<\/span><\/p>\n

Later, after a thorough cleaning, the stove would begin working again.\u00a0 The villagers would return and the shops would open.\u00a0 The hotel would fill up with several carloads of tourists and there would even be hot showers for all who were willing to pay the extra 10 bolivianos (about $1.50).<\/span><\/p>\n

We would fill our stomachs with oreo cookies and the Bolivian version of an industrial cupcake.\u00a0 There was still no bread or cheese to buy, but a sugar high has a way of masking one\u2019s suffering.<\/span><\/p>\n

In two uneventful days we would roll into Uyuni.\u00a0 The promised land.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\"\"
Suddenly the world gets greener and the cycling gets easier.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\"\"
Check out the bowler hat...this is definitely Bolivia.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Over a gourmet aubergine-three cheese combo pizza at the American-owned Minuteman Pizzeria, we would laugh about our trials and tribulations on the road from San Pedro.<\/span><\/p>\n

We would sort through the pictures and be struck by the beauty and desolation of the landscapes.\u00a0 We\u2019d hack and sniffle and sneeze and recall the dreaded cold of the high passes.<\/span><\/p>\n

We\u2019d think back on all the suffering not with regret, rather with a certain pride that we\u2019d stuck it out.<\/span><\/p>\n

After a few more days of recovery I think we\u2019ll be ready for the next challenge.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cWe\u2019re going out for a while.\u00a0 If any tourists show up, just tell them to wait.\u201d Yeah, alright, sure\u2026we\u2019ll do that.\u00a0 You can count on us–two random cyclists\u2014to take charge of the Bolivia Immigration Post. From the Chilean desert town<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1288,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[10,12,49],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\nBig Mountains, Colorful Lagunas and a Land Cruiser Invasion - Worldbiking.info<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/2011\/04\/cycling-southwest-bolivi\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Big Mountains, Colorful Lagunas and a Land Cruiser Invasion - Worldbiking.info\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u201cWe\u2019re going out for a while.\u00a0 If any tourists show up, just tell them to wait.\u201d Yeah, alright, sure\u2026we\u2019ll do that.\u00a0 You can count on us–two random cyclists\u2014to take charge of the Bolivia Immigration Post. 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