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Rodrigo meets me off my flight from Uyuni to La Paz. He is dapper, with a straw trilby and speaks English, French, German and Spanish fluently. I’m expecting to have a quiet day, with a chance to catch up and rest. However, Rodrigo informs me that I’m touring the city today, as there’s a national protest against President Evo Morales’ proposed fourth term called for tomorrow and all the main roads will be blocked. Rodrigo is more philosophical about Morales than Oswaldo. Yes, he’s gone a little crazy, but he’s done so many good things. The country is much more prosperous and homogenous. And Morales doesn’t mind if people criticise him. Rodrigo says that Bolivia has the world record for presidential coups, 120 of them. There were three presidents in one day in the early twentieth century.
La Paz is hardly recognizable from the city I visited 18 years ago. The City in the Sky is still a jumble of buildings sprawling scenically across a great canyon, ringed by the snow-capped Andes, and the traffic is still awful. But it’s clean and organised and there are modern buildings spinning up everywhere. Nothing like the dirty ramshackle streets I remember. And some genius has solved the pedestrian transport problem by building a colour coded metro system of cable cars, interlinking and whizzing up and down the valleys. The skyline is dominated by Mount Illimani, a massive, snow-capped three-peaked volcano which towers over the city at 6,438 metres.
The historic centre is focused around Plaza Murillo and Calle Jaén, a preserved eighteenth-century cobblestone street lined with pastel coloured, restored colonial buildings and local museums, most notably the Ethnography Museum.
Then, the Plaza Murillo, the historic, political, and cultural heart of La Paz. Named in honour of independence hero Pedro Domingo Murillo, this bustling public space is defined by towering bronze monuments, manicured trees, and thousands of resident pigeons. The square is flanked by the country’s most important institutional buildings, including the neoclassical Government Palace (historically known as the Palacio Quemado), the modern concrete tower of the Bolivian Parliament (the Plurinational Legislative Assembly) and the towering Metropolitan Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace - a structure built ingeniously into a steep hillside, so its front entrance sits a full 12 metres higher than its back base. The government buildings are guarded by grave soldiers in scarlet uniforms.
Just off the corner of the plaza stands the Casa Grande del Pueblo, a controversial 29-story modern skyscraper infused with indigenous Aymara and Quechua motifs, which opened in 2018, to replace the historic Palacio Quemado as the official presidential palace and seat of executive power.
The Plaza is really lively, a cross-section of Bolivian life sitting on the steps chatting, or in the case of the younger generation, chasing the pigeons. It is also, I have read, a frequent focal point for national political demonstrations, military parades, and civic gatherings. It’s fascinating to see how European dress has become the norm here. Many of the city ladies don skirts with layered petticoats, topped with blouses and woolly cardigans. Atop are bowler hats worn jauntily askew. They adopted the hat wearing habit from the railway workers of the 1930s. Oswaldo takes me into a shop to explain and compels me to try the look. It's not my finest hour.
The famous Witches' Market is a fascinating (and creepy) hotch-potch of weird items: spell boxes, amulets, lotions and potions, aphrodisiacs, snakes, dried frogs, turtles, feathers, dried llama foetuses and armadillos. Presiding over this hocus pocus are the indigenous Aymara .ladies of La Paz in their scarves and bowler hats. Also wandering the labyrinth of stalls are the distinctively woolly capped Yatiri or witch doctors, who can solve your health problems and tell your fortune.
This area is unrecognisable since my last visit, having been substantially upgraded from the chaotically basic. There are now lines of neat booths, packed with jars, teas, coca leaves, idols of varying sizes, and heaps of lurid coloured rocks. These face (incongruously) a row of football gear shops. In many cases medicament stock has expanded to include souvenirs, as well as items from all continents, such as joss sticks and Chinese lucky cats, to cover all bets. There’s even a brand-new gallery. Not everything has changed though. You can still have a consultation with a shaman or witch or choose from a pungent smelling assortment of herbs and powders and most of the shops still have llama foetuses dangling from the ceiling (essential for the foundations of new buildings) .
My hotel is, conveniently, just around the corner. Llama steak for supper.
Last time I was here, with Elaine, (coming from Peru) we decided to opt out of the cycle ride down the deadliest road in the world, but other excursions were on offer. I met an archaeologist, in a bar, so on his recommendation, we embarked on a half-day tour to the Tiwanaku Archaeological Site, where he was excavating.
The Tiwanaku civilization was a powerful pre-Inca empire flourishing from roughly 200 CE to 1000 CE. At its peak it supported up to 40,000 people. Sophisticated high-altitude farming techniques involving irrigation, extended its cultural and religious influence across parts of modern-day Bolivia, Peru, and Chile, leading to domination of the southern Andes. Ironically, severe drought led to its collapse. They vanished, centuries before the arrival of the Incas.
The architectural remains showcase an extraordinary mastery of engineering, where multi-ton blocks of sandstone and volcanic rock were fitted together with interlocking joints and copper staples. In the central ceremonial zone, the vast Kalasasaya courtyard houses the centrepiece Gate of the Sun, a monolithic stone archway covered in intricate cosmological carvings and the Semi-Subterranean Temple where dozens of unique stone heads protrude from the sunken walls.
The site also includes the Akapana pyramid, a massive seven-tiered stepped structure which served as the city's religious core, and the nearby Puma Punku complex, that contains shattered, interlocking H-shaped blocks. This is some of the most sophisticated stone-cutting precision in the pre-Columbian Americas. Much of the work is still underway and we have to peer at these wonders through barbed wire.
And a return visit, this time with Rodrigo, to Moon Valley. Valle de la Luna is about 10 kilometres south of downtown La Paz. Here, erosion has worn away the mountainous clay to leave as series of tall pinnacles. There are two walks through the park, with a small amount of scrambling over bridges and boardwalks. The spires are close knit and tower overhead. It's a little reminiscent of Bryce Canyon in the USA , but it's an inferior and smaller version. The mineral content is said to create a variety of hues, but today most of them are literally, plain beige. And sadly, it doesn't compare well with the Chilean version, I've just seen either. But I don't feel too bad writing this - as I've raved about so much of this Bolivian journey.
We then zip back across town on the green and yellow cable car lines. Here there’s a great view of the new and old, teetering on the cliff tops.
My ‘boutique’ hotel is in a traditional converted house, with brick walls and gabled ceilings. I’m in Room 101, which is living up to its name. It faces out onto a central corridor, as does its only window. This is cloth covered and too dark during the day and too bright at night, especially as the passage light comes on every time someone walks past.
I’m not sure that my disturbed night entirely accounts for the racing heart, shivering and dizziness when I finally get up. I peek outside, at the riot police, grouped by the plaza, plastic shields raised. They were absolutely correct about the plaza being the place for demonstrations. But I have to go back to bed. Altitude sickness seems to have set in. The hotel, not missing a trick (well it is next to the witches’ market), has provided Diamox in the room, at two US dollars a pop. The chemist next door sells eight for 45 Boliviano (about £5). And I’m also throwing caution to the winds and adopting driver Wilson’s approach to coca leaves (handfuls at a time).
I can hear chanting and a few firecrackers outside, but nothing that suggests a revolution is taking place.
I’ve had an unwelcome message from Rodrigo. We have to leave earlier than planned, at 5 a.m., in case the roads are still difficult. In the event, we have a very smooth passage and I’m at the airport with plenty of time to sit in the café. I’m still not feeling great. And the plane doesn’t take off until three passengers have volunteered (suitably bribed) to disembark and fly tomorrow. Otherwise, we’re overweight and the plane won’t be able to get over the mountains. I’m carefully not making eye contact with the airline officials. Back to Santiago.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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
A tourist bus picks Elaine and I up early from Puno, in Peru and drives to the Kasani Peru-Bolivia border crossing. The road hugs the shoreline of deep blue Lake Titicaca for a large portion of the way. Trout farms, and traditional agricultural terraces roll down to the water’s edge. The border post is surprisingly relaxed, though the actual border is marked by a brick triumphal archway. which we must walk through, on foot.
Nestled along the shores of Lake Titicaca Copacabana is a historically significant cultural hub and the primary gateway for water transit to the sacred islands of the Sun and the Moon. Long before the arrival of European explorers, the site was a prominent pre-Columbian ceremonial centre. It then evolved into a major Catholic pilgrimage destination, following the construction of the Basilica of Our Lady of Copacabana in the sixteenth century.
This expansive, white-washed Moorish-style sanctuary houses the Dark Virgin, a carved, four foot, wooden statue created by indigenous artist Francisco Tito Yupanqui, in 1580. Over time, The Virgin of Our Lady of Copacabana became associated with travellers due to the church's physical location on a vital, but bottle necked peninsula, on a trans-Andean trade route. It could be treacherous, leading voyagers to stop at her sanctuary to pray for safety before embarking on the long journey. The association solidified, in 1589, when a group of Spanish navigators caught in a violent storm off the coast of Peru prayed to the Virgin of Copacabana for their lives. Their miraculous survival spread her reputation as a powerful protector against the perils of travel and rough waters.
The name Copacabana is thought to originate from the indigenous Aymara language native to the Lake Titicaca region. The most widely accepted etymology is that it evolves from the phrase kota kahuana, where kota means 'lake' and kahuana means 'view'. It's very different from the much more famous beach, in Rio de Janeiro. There is a direct historical link, but the Brazilian beach is actually named after this town, not the other way around.
In the eighteenth century, a group of Peruvian and Bolivian merchants were travelling by ship along the coast of Rio de Janeiro. A violent Atlantic storm hit their vessel, threatening to sink it. The sailors prayed intensely to the Virgin of Copacabana for their survival, promising to build a shrine in her honour if they made it to land. They survived and built a small chapel on a rocky headland near the shore, placing a replica of the Bolivian statue inside. Over time, locals began calling the entire surrounding area and its crescent-shaped beach Copacabana.
Today, the town fans out from the central plaza toward a scenic crescent-shaped bay, while the prominent hill of Cerro Calvario rises steeply above the northern edge of the settlement, to mark an ancient trail which mirrors the stations of the cross. And the rituals associated with travel and the Virgin are still maintained, incorporating the Ch'alla, an ancient Andean ritual of reciprocity, gratitude, and blessing directed toward Pachamama, or Mother Earth.
Everyday, in Copacabana, there is ritual centred heavily around motor vehicles. Motorists, truck drivers, and taxi fleets actually drive across Bolivia and Peru, to have their vehicles blessed for safety. The ceremony takes place right outside the church walls, in the main plaza. Drivers decorate their cars in elaborate finery, including floral garlands, paper streamers, car-sized rosaries, and small hats. A Franciscan priest or monk moves down the line to say a prayer and sprinkle holy water over the open engine bay, the exterior, and the passengers.
Immediately following the Christian prayer, the traditional Andean Ch'alla component begins. The vehicle owners pop bottles of champagne, beer, or local alcohol to vigorously spray down the tires, hood, and roof as a libation to Pachamama. The ritual concludes with the lighting of firecrackers around the car, to ward off evil spirits, before the vehicle is safely driven away.
Then, a boat trip boat, posh dining facilities, to the Isla del Sol, a rugged place, steeped in central Andean cosmology and history. According to Inca mythology, this rocky landscape was the sacred birthplace of the sun god Inti and the first Inca ancestors, Manco Cápac and Mama Ocllo, who rose from the lake to establish their empire.
The boat lands at Yumani, a village in the south. The stone Inca steps carry us upwards. The island is a series of steep hillsides shaped by ancient, agricultural stone terraces, still farmed today by indigenous Aymara communities using traditional crops like quinoa and potatoes. Dotted across the landscape are dozens of significant archaeological ruins, including the multi-roomed Pilkokaina Inca Palace and the intricate Chincana labyrinthine complex.
No motor vehicles are allowed on the island, so transport relies entirely on footpaths and pack animals. It's more obviously touristy than the Peruvian Uros islands, with a display museum/complex.
The journey from Copacabana to La Paz covers roughly 150 kilometres across the Altiplano and requires all vehicles to cross the narrow Strait of Tiquina on motorized wooden barges. We have to disembark from our car cars and take small passenger ferries across the 800-metre water gap while the vehicle is balanced precariously on the flatbed barges.
Once across, the highway climbs sharply into the high plains of the Andes, offering sweeping panoramic views of the snow-capped Cordillera Real mountain range before descending directly into the sprawling urban basin of La Paz.
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