The Altiplano of Bolivia

The border post at Bolivia, coming from Chile, is unprepossessing to say the least. This is Hito Cajón, high up in the Andes, at about 4,500 metres elevation and roughly 28 miles away from San Pedro de Atacama. It’s a small hut, with a long winding queue of increasingly disgruntled tourists, furiously arguing because they are being made to pay an unexpected exit fee. It's operated by a single man, who sits at one desk to count his takings and another, to stamp passports. I’ve also gone back an hour in time, which I don’t understand at all, when I’m travelling east. I’m sure there’s some logic to it somewhere.

Oswaldo's Introduction to Bolivia

It’s 400 kilometres to Uyuni. 'These are Bolivian kilometres, very different to European kilometres', explains Oswaldo, my new guide. The driver is called Wilson and he’s in charge of a Toyota Landcruiser. It’s the affordable car of choice here, where the roads are nearly all dirt, except in areas around mines, where corporate mining conglomerations have funded a surface of sorts to get their ore out. Bolivia is mineral rich, but hasn’t the resources and technology to extract the wealth it’s sitting on. It hasn’t helped that relationships with the USA have been frosty and the American companies have all pulled out, in case their assets were nationalized. Oswaldo says that President Morales has been in power too long and now he’s mad. He’s currently requesting a fourth term in office, when the law says only two are allowed. It’s an all too common story.

Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve and the Incredible Panoramas of Bolivia

The scenery however, is not at all common; it is increasingly incredible, as we climb away from Mount Licancabur, the stratovolcano on the border. We've almost immediately entered the Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve. The park was officially established in December 1973 and is named after Eduardo Avaroa, a national hero, recognized for his role in the War of the Pacific. It says fauna - but this is mainly about preserving birds. There are a lot of gorgeous flamingos.

The carved peaks, canyons, huge salt lakes, volcanic cones and flat, open valleys beyond are uniquely beautiful and genuinely rainbow coloured, with starkly contrasting blues, greens, purples, yellow, orange and reds. It’s vividly surreal. So surreal, that part of the route is known as the Salvador Dali Desert. There's some debate as to whether that's because the area features in his paintings or because the landscape is so bizarrely unusual, though Oswaldo says Dali never came here. Oswaldo also bemoans the fact that the beautiful lagoons are drying up, because of global warming.

First, the frosted white and green lagoons, a 4500 metre high spectacle, nestling just the other side of Licancabur. Then, beyond this, Dali’s Painted Ladies of the Desert, a fantasia of peaks daubed in pinky reds, yellow ochre and black. We're not actually driving on a road - this is a vast track running through a flat valley, lined with mountains. You pick your own route. Wilson is inclined to treat it like a racecourse.

Up to the another ice blue lake, but this time with geothermal pool attached, at Aguas Termales de Polques, on the Salar de Chalviri salt flat.

Climbing, gradually, the Sol Manyana (Morning Sun) geysers, at 4870 metres. These are the counterpart to the amazing columns of Tatio, and the actual geysers here are diminutive in comparison. But they are just the backdrop for a raft of bubbling spitting pools, hues ranging from grey, through dusky pink, to bright orange, surrounded by a whole, exquisite artists’ palette of salt encrusted rings. Forget the mud volcanoes in Azerbaijan. These are far more impressive. I stand for ages with my camera, taking hundreds of pictures, in an attempt to some of the geysers erupting. It's not easy as there's no forewarning and the bubble fountains are usually obscured by accompanying clouds of steam. I'm also trying to make sure I don't fall in.

Laguna Colorada

San Pedro had me enthralled, but Bolivia is surpassing the Chilean Atacama. This is a delightful day of continuing surprises, one of the most amazing journeys I have ever undertaken. The highlight is yet to come. The Laguna Colorada (Red Lagoon), despite, as Oswaldo keeps reminding me, its diminishing size, is almost beyond words, utterly extraordinary, with stripes and swirls of powder white, jade and coppery red, dotted with thousands of feathery flamingo balls. The technical explanation is that its striking scarlet and pink coloration is caused by red algae sediments and microorganisms, with white borax salt deposits providing the contrast.

The lagoon is a crucial breeding site for three flamingo species, including the rare James's Flamingo, which nests here in the world's largest concentration and features a bright yellow bill with red legs, the larger Andean Flamingo, distinguished by its light yellow legs; and the Chilean Flamingo, recognized by its greyish-blue legs with distinct pink joints. There are two species here. I will leave you to work out which is which.

Wildlife of the Altiplano

The route crosses the Siloli Desert and leaves the Eduardo Avaroa Reserve at a northern park checkpoint. We are still traversing the Altiplano - a massive, high-altitude Andean plateau, which looks like a hyper-arid wasteland of volcanic sand, but is pockmarked with mineral water sources and specialized wildlife ecosystems.

It’s so dry, there’s hardly any snow, despite the fact it’s cold, high country. Nothing will grow in this rocky terrain until we drop, from our 5000 metre highpoint, into a semi-arid basin where the desert sand changes to pockets of yellowish ichu grass and lush, green bofedales - high-altitude wetland oases where sponge-like moss pads trap mountain snowmelt to provide vital water. These vibrant marshes then give way to the crusty borax shores of five Altiplanic Lagoons (including Laguna Hedionda and Cañapa), where thousands more flamingos gather to feed on algae.

Wild vicuñas and llamas congregate to graze on the vegetation. Rabbit-like vizcachas sun themselves in crannies and Andean foxes roam. The Spanish word is Zorro, but less romantically they're usually seen around the rubbish bins.

There's also a rhea scuttling into the distance. Rheas are relatives of the African ostrich, Australian emu, and New Zealand kiwi, all large and flightless. There are two species: the greater rhea stands up to 1.5 metres tall and weighs around 23 kilograms, and Darwin’s rhea (or lesser rhea), a smaller alternative standing about 0.9 metres tall and weighing up to 25 kilograms. This is the one I've seen, uniquely adapted with white-flecked feathers for the harsh Patagonian steppe

Darwin’s rhea earned its name through a famously chaotic scientific discovery in January 1834 at Port Desire, Argentina. Charles Darwin had spent months searching for this elusive bird, only to realize mid-meal that he was actively eating a specimen the ship's crew had shot for dinner. Upon his sudden realization, Darwin scrambled to salvage the remaining scraps.

City of Stone

Next stop, The City of Stone is, of course, also magnificent. It looks like a ruined medieval town from a distance, but in fact, it’s the spectacular remains of eroded red volcanic flow. There are countless gigantic edifices that become mansions, puma’s heads, moas, howling wolves and bell towers, with a little imagination. I’m the only person visiting. We’ve hardly seen a car since we left the Laguna Colorada, where there were maybe a dozen vehicles parked up when we left. The population here is so sparse, it's almost beyond remote.

The 4WD is great fun, speeding across the wide valleys, choosing our own washboard route across the ruts. If rain wasn’t so scarce the road would be much more difficult. Wilson plays mountain music from Bolivia throughout the journey; El Paso Condor meets Swiss yodelling. He also stuffs his mouth with coca leaves the whole time we’re driving. I’ve tried one and it hasn’t had much effect. But he eats handfuls at a time. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. Whenever we’re parked, Wilson cleans the car, which is some challenge in this dust. He’s fanatical about the Toyota. Unfortunately, it doesn’t belong to him, though he wishes it did.

Finally, the route crosses the cracked, brownish-grey expanse of the Salar de Chiguana - passing the smoking Ollagüe Volcano and an old railway line. We roll into Uyuni at 7.30 pm and I head straight for bed. Travelling in such dry climates has its drawbacks. My hair is like straw, lips peeling, nose bunged up, hands sandpaper. My iPhone won’t even recognise my fingerprint.

Salar de Uyuni

Salar means salt flats and the salt flats of Bolivia are the biggest in the world. The Salar is actually a huge (80 miles across) prehistoric lake of brine (which is lithium rich), covered by ten metres of salt crust. We're still exceptionally high up, This is almost the crest of the Andes, at 3,656 metres above sea level. And it is extraordinarily flat - the elevation doesn't vary by more than a metre over the entire area. Apparently, the large area, clear skies, and exceptional flatness of the surface make the Salar ideal for calibrating the altimeters of Earth observation satellites.

Perhaps more excitingly, and unsurprisingly, Salar has been used as a filming location for several movies like Star Wars: The Last Jedi (it was planet Crait). And it's great for a spot of adventure. Today, we’re picking our own route again, straight across the glistening giant paving slabs that are the flats. The Salar serves as the major transport route across the Bolivian Altiplano. Once again, I’ve set my expectations too low; the salt stretches in all directions, a snowy ocean, curving on the horizon, the volcanoes forming a diorama at the rim, surmounted by a cerulean sky. It’s another wonderful journey, although sadly, with the exception of a few pools at the edges, the famous reflections are almost absent. There hasn’t been any rain. When it's wet, the flats become the world's largest mirror.

Exploring Salar de Uyuni

Incongruously, there’s a Dakar Rally monument en route, bearing an African turban. They ran the race here from 2014 to 2017, before deciding it was too destructive for the fragile environment.

Stretched across the centre of the Salar is a string of small islands. Isla Incahuasi is crammed with spiky columnar cacti, with huge bent fingers, impossibly picturesque against the blue and white background. Needless to say, it’s even better than the Cactus Valley of Chile.

Wilson has prepared a picnic lunch, which we eat at a cloth covered table, under an umbrella, out on the salt flat. Another surreal experience. The red stools against the tessellated salt trace patterns reminds me of last year’s picnic lunch, in the lagoon at Tuvalu. It was warmer there. The food is typically Bolivian - plenty of carbohydrate, potato, banana, and quinoa (a local crop) with some chicken and vegetables.

We spend the afternoon admiring the far fringes of the flats. Here is the most dramatic landscape of the flats, dominated by the imposing peak of the massive, multi-coloured Tunupa Volcano. Its mineral-rich slopes hold ancient cave shrines containing the Coquesa Mummies. These pre-Inca remains are technically skeletons classified as mummies; because they were naturally preserved by the hyper-arid Altiplano environment leaving intact hair, fingernails, and original woven clothing. There are wardens who have to be paid in order to obtain visiting rights.

The surrounding shoreline transitions into a rugged volcanic terrain dotted with tiny, traditional salt-harvesting villages. At Coquesa and Tahua, local farmers tend to fields of high-altitude quinoa and herd of llamas against a brilliant white horizon. On this remote side of the salt desert there are isolated, rocky outcrops like Pia Pia Island, a desolate mound of fossilised coral filled with hidden caves and more giant cacti that offers completely solitary panoramic views far away from the standard tourist tracks.

Here is The Cathedral (La Catedral), a spectacular natural structure of petrified coral and ancient volcanic rock. Over thousands of years, aggressive winds and water erosion have carved filigree tracery, soaring, vertical pillars and hollow arches into the dark stone. So, the entire cliff, inside and out, has the Gothic, towering appearance of a ruined medieval cathedral looming directly over the flat white salt crust.

This is another prime breeding ground for several species of flamingos - a few St James's still linger, obligingly in reach of my lens. And this is where they collect the salt for sale, heaped mounds are drying in the sun.

As daylight fades, these vast, empty northern flats become the ultimate arena for viewing surreal sunset reflections on the crust, a profound, silent wilderness experience.. We speed back across the salt - I keep wanting to say ice - to tonight’s lodging on the eastern edge of the plain. It’s called Luna Salada and it’s built entirely of salt.

Next stop, La Paz