Salar de Uyuni Tour: Day 1, Sierra de Lipez

As our trusty four by four carried us out of Tupiza to the surrounding mountains we noticed very much the change in altitude. During a stop for bewildering vistas from roughly the four-thousand metres mark, we were left short of breath just by walking excitedly for just a few seconds to take some pictures. Initially it can be quite worrying when you think that overnight you have suddenly become so unfit, perhaps like a heavy smoker, but the fear dissipates once you realize just how thin the air is at higher altitudes. Besides the views of weathered rock formations and copious cacti in the valley beneath, a strong smell of petrol was also much noticed, probably due to the inordinate quantity of gasoline leaking out from the tank. Our guide, Hugo, thought it best to return to base in Tupiza and swap the jeep for another one, but he seemed to change his mind after a half-mile coast down the hill. We continued forwards; slightly nerve wracking for some! What would happen if we lost all our petrol to the stony track beneath in a remote location such as the central Andean path? Meanwhile, as the stench of petrol loomed both outside and inside the jeep, we prayed that nobody who may happen to smoke would light up.
After another hour had passed we experienced one more mishap, though I must add that this wasn’t Hugo’s fault as he always seemed to drive with caution. A speedy someone emerged from around a blind corner on his motorcycle and despite his great efforts to avoid contact he quickly found himself and his bike beneath our vehicle. Without thinking we jumped jeep to see if the poor guy was all right which luckily he was, and as for his moto, that got off lightly too with only a snapped fender and a broken right-hand mirror. No harm done as after taking such a knock he mounted his motorbike and set off as if nothing had happened.
The most amazing part of the day was our lunch stop in the centre of a huge piece of land hugged by multi-tonal mountains, where inquisitive llamas of all colours enjoy grazing on the luscious, green grass and wading through some of the large ponds.
When we arrived in San Pablo De Lipez for another short break from the painful undulations from the jeep’s rocky trail we were very impressed by the large, well-preserved matt black bell that shone with a dull lustre every so often inside the high, mud-coloured tower. We found ourselves highly amused as we approached the village football pitch that was dominated by the lonesome llama as opposed to a boisterous gang of football fanatics. The old streets were lined with mud brick walls, some of which showed signs of decreasing tolerance against the harsh, forever-changing climate of the Andes. We were informed that the village only had one phone box and a radio for communication but we shortly discovered that the wooden, half-booth had no telephone inside, only two lost looking cables dangling.
On we rode towards our altitudinous accommodation of 4,225 metres in the even quainter farming village of San Antonio de Lipez, which boasted a large snow-capped Andean peak in the near distance. Beneath this mountain, llamas, again, seemed happy to be roaming freely and the very few that weren’t shy even posed for our camera. The pink ribbons that hung from one particular llama’s woolly ears swayed in the calm breeze of the valley as she stood grinning humbly. This village was also built largely from mud bricks and turned into even more of a spectacular setting as the sun went down and the gibbous moon’s glimmering presence enhanced itself amidst uncountable stars. The snow on the white dusted peak in the background reflected the moonlight in an icy, cold blue tone whilst lightning struck repeatedly behind the nearby mountain range.

Tupiza: The Desert Life!

We explored on horse back, of course! Jon’s magnificent and head-strong beast was called Capriccio, Simon’s friendly mare was called Esmirelda, and we were shown around the area by a young lad called Jorge. We walked, we cantered, we trotted and we galloped around for five hours exploring the amazing landscapes and cacti around the town of Tupiza: the Canon del Inca, amongst other fantastic sights. Yes, we really bonded with these horses and felt like real gauchos! We even lopped the top off an imposing looking cactus and tasted the fruit within!

Bolivian Immersion

No sooner had we arrived in Tupiza we were hassled by two girls trying to sell us a tour, but we decided to put our heavy packs down in our night’s residence before making any decisions. And what decisions were they? You’ll just have to wait and see! After a bit of faffing with our bags in the hotel, we hurried out to check out the place! We were pretty hungry by this time, too, and we would be lying if we told you that we didn’t break every rule in the book!
Rule 1: If you haven’t peeled it yourself then don’t eat it!
Rule 2: Don’t eat salad, as the water that it’s washed in may not be trustworthy.
Rule 3: If you don’t know what it is, keep well away!
Rule 4: Make sure it’s cooked through and through.
Rule 5: Try and pick somewhere to eat with decent enough hygiene levels.
Well, we didn’t peel the onions that were garnishing the dish but they were delicious all the same! The tomatoes were very juicy and we can only hope that the water that it was washed in was bottled. The smiling young lady at the food stall in the main market offered us something to try with our meal but as our Spanish isn’t yet up to speed we failed in understanding, so we simply plumbed for it. These things had the appearance of cooked mushrooms sprinkled with cheese, but had the texture of conchiglie pasta that perhaps requires five minutes more in the boiling pot. We still don’t know what on earth we ate so that’s rule three out of the window! The chicken, beef, rice and potato were all just slightly more than lukewarm, but we think it had been cooked properly nevertheless. The location wasn’t the best either, but we so chose to eat in the upstairs of the grimy market in order to sample the real Bolivia. A sorry looking bulldog with bloodshot eyes made a pest of himself at our table but we were rescued by the sweet waitress who chased him off with a broom. All in all the food was pretty nice, but the best part was the fiery, ground up chilli sauce that we finished off without any problem. Hopefully all of these broken rules won’t have any consequences!!!

Sometimes (well, for us, always) it’s better not to book rooms in advance or make reservations: just show up in a town and take a look around. This method never fails. Here in Tupiza it seems to have worked a treat: the room we have at the Hostel Valle Hermosa is quite possibly one of the best rooms we’ve had anywhere. There’s a limit to the amount of dorm sleeping one can do, so here we went for the penthouse! We have great windows on three sides, all with views out over the rooftops of the town over to the surrounding hills. It’s a quiet hostel in a quiet location, well quiet until the twilight troop of young boys play games on the dark street corners and when savage looking dogs choose to howl. There was a drum beat coming from some mystery location last night and no matter how hard we peered out, the drummer remained invisible.
Our hunt for a filling Friday night supper went in vain; the best we could find which was gringo-free was a small fast food outlet where we enjoyed salchipapas, pique and chilli con carne. Breakfast, however, for BS15 (divide by 11...) was fantastic: a massive cup of fresh coffee or maté, two local bread rolls, a scoop of creamy butter which resembled a rich vanilla ice cream, tasty marmelade and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. For elevenses we enjoyed an empanada filled with chicken, potato, raisins and plenty of spice. Today there is not a cloud in the sky, and the surrounding mountains look very inviting. But how will we get there…?

From the Deep Soth to the Altiplano

We’ve decided on a detour from our original itinerary! The basic idea was to head back into Chile, to San Pedro de Atacama. But we’re writing this from 2,950m in the town of Tupiza in southern Bolivia, where Simon is a little breathless but Jon is taking it all in his stride! So what has happened?
We set off on a morning flight with LAN from El Calafate to the Aeroparque in Buenos Aires, where we found what must surely be the world’s best airport bookstore. One entire wall is devoted solely to Latin American novels, with other parts of the shop specialising in poetry, politics or sociology. They have a decent selection of Mario Vargas Llossa, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, together with the entire series of the complete works of Jorge Luis Borges. Quick! Our flight to Salta is boarding; put those books down and hurry along through security! So our second flight of the day catapulted us as far northwest as it is possible to fly in Argentina. The city of Salta didn’t try very hard in persuading us to tarry, however: we needed to obtain some bus tickets, and fast! We were expecting an arid landscape, with weather to match. But it was drizzling in Salta, and the large bus terminus began to offer some alluring alternatives.
There was a late-night departure available to La Quaica, a frontier town which sits in the far north of the country on the border with Bolivia. The price was a bargain, and the otherworldliness of Bolivia was calling loud and clear. A massive Hawaiian pizza and a bottle of local Chardonnay later and the deal was done: we would head for Tupiza. Where? Read on…
The night bus was semi-cama and we awoke around the 07.30 mark as we drove into La Quaica. The rain had been torrential during the night, causing the sand and dirt of the streets and surrounding countryside to turn into thick, coffee-coloured mud. Shopkeepers and stall-holders tried in vain to brush this mess away from their doorways. We found a café and constructed a fantastic breakfast of very strong coffee, media lunas (small croissants brushed with a sweet syrup) and peach milkshake. Then it was onwards on our march over the border into Bolivia. Land border crossings are always great fun, especially if we can get to walk over. This one was almost in the same league as entering into Bangladesh!
Over on the Bolivian side, the town is called Villazon. Here the main street is lined with craft shops and money changers. It seems that the Bolliviano-US Dollar rate is 6.9. Try as we might, it’s impossible to better this rate; the price of everything here is a revelation in comparison to Argentina! The women look stunning in their array of skirts, bowler hats and bright, multicoloured shoulder blankets. In fact, many of these ladies were wearing the shoulder blankets over one shoulder and under the opposite arm in order to carry their young children on their backs. We seem to have entered a truly magical world, and it feels very much like we are back in Asia.
At the bus station we think that we have missed the 08.30 departure for Tupiza…. But wait, there’s a time change we seem to have forgotten about: the clocks go back an hour; plus, the bus was over half an hour late leaving. There’s no semi-cama for us here, thank God! This is a REAL Bolivian bus, with ordinary people going about their daily business and an over-enthusiastic young laxative salesman giving an impassioned oration. Yes, it’s surreal. Yes, it’s wonderful!
The journey to Tupiza began quite steadily, but as the bus climbed to higher reaches the roads faded out into bumpy, muddy tracks. With this, the landscape also changed into what just about everyone would imagine a desert to be like, but with a twist! Sure there were rocks and stones in varying shades of beige as well as sandy patches, but the abundance of prickly cacti really made it. Canyons, gorges, thin and tall towers of rock all complemented the desert landscape, and their multi-coloured strata took us mentally to the Wild West! Perhaps they are trying to complete a new, paved road which winds its way northwards, intertwining with the railway from Villazon. But it looks like this project has ground to a halt, and in any case the most fascinating parts of the journey are when we make a detour down a dirt track into a tiny, mud-brick village. The adobe houses aren’t even finished off with whitewash in this part of the country: the village landscape resembles that of the places we encountered in Rajastan, or perhaps the settlements in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. After the glitz of Argentina, this jolt into the
Developing World becomes all the more sudden and shocking. But it puts us firmly back where we want to be!

Farewell to Patagonia!

Right, it's time to move on again! During the next few days it will be all go, with bus journeys, flights, a brief stop over in an interesting city of the Argentinian northwest, and then a fascinating bus trip right over the Paso de Jama in the Andes. At 4,400m, it's high! This thrill will end at the village of San Pedro de Atacama, from where we'll be communicating with you again. Wish us luck!

Chile with Chillies!

We've been cooking again, as you can see! Here in the deep south of Chile there is a feeling of being way out on the periphery with sceenery just like northern Norway and even Greenland: our side trip to Greenland in August 2010 was a great preparation for our glacier and mountain experiences. At Hostel Nataly there are 25 Chilean and Colombian guys staying here whilst working away from home in the petroleum construction industry. Talking to them is a great way to brush up on our Spanish, and a fantastic way to become closely aquainted with the finer points of Chileno pronunciation. And it's tricky, very tricky! Firstly, they talk really rapidly, and the big shocker is that the letter 's' is almost always omitted. Thus a former fisherman who regaled us with his fascinating life story on the seven seas talked to us of 'alakka'..."Aaaaah!" Jon suddenly exclaims, "Alaska!"
And just as Simon is typing this, a number of the guys have seized a guitar and a small penny whistle as a little jam session emerges.

But what about the chillies? We thought that you might like to follow us more closely by reproducing this recipe and thinking of us here in Puerto Natales as you eat it!
Well, think back to our big trip last year: Southeast Asia; and in homage to those happy days, we've created a sort of Asian crossover menu to enjoy in the cosy kitchen here. Jon made a Malaysian beef with pineapple curry, whilst Simon attempted chicken sticky-rice, Laos style! Here's what you should do:
Firstly, in a massive cooking pot, boil up some water, add some lemon slices, throw in plenty of dried chilie flakes, a knob of butter, plenty of rice and a packet of powdered chicken soup. Stir like crazy, don't let the rice stick to the bottom of the pan, and wait for the whole thing to thicken up and the rice to become fluffy.
Next for the main event: Fry off plenty of onion and garlic in butter, adding both jalapeno and yellow chilli peppers, making sure to sprinkle plenty of dried chilli flakes at the same time. We used Merkén de Mapuche, a special Chileno blend which is smooth and inoffensive. If you can't lay your hands on it back home: improvise! Throw in some good quality minced beef (not forgetting that the best in the world grazes in the Southern Cone), some chopped fresh tomatoes and some tinned tomato, making sure that all this comes up to a simmer. Now is the time to sweeten the mix with the juice from a tin of pineapples, and allow the whole sauce to reduce until thick enough to add the pineapple chunks, pour over the sticky rice and enjoy! Simon’s tip would be to wash all this down with some fruity Chilean white wine, say a Sauvignon Blanc. It’s really rather good here, and even cheaper than in the BWS aisles at Bodmin Asda…

Update: the following day, we also created Spaghetti Natalese! Yum!

Torres del Paine: Campamento Las Carretas

After such a difficult day yesterday that left us with aching feet and borderline blisters, we only needed to trek for six hours (as opposed to twelve!). We earned ourselves a lie in and eventually set out at about one in the afternoon, after saying our farewells to our American friend, Rob, who incidentally fed us with some pasta with tomato sauce the previous night. Thanks Rob (if you are reading this). It was great to have some hot food! After less than a hundred metres, we crossed the bridge out of the campsite and looked up at the Glacier des Frances, this time in the sunlight. It was spectacular and it’s sheer magnetism kept us there for about twenty minutes. Was this better than the Torres themselves?
We walked through forest before the trees gave way to small shrubs and heathers on the high ground that overlooked Lago Pehoé, where a catamaran sails to transport some of the trekkers who, quite understandably, need a break. The water was a deep blue and the moderate breeze was generating white horses on the lake’s surface and causing the bushes surrounding us to rustle. The became narrower and narrower until it pretty much disappeared, but luckily we saw two Argentinian trekkers ahead and followed their path. For some unknown reason, they stopped and headed back, but all was revealed as we arrived at a sudden, sharp dip in the valley with no paths. We weren’t backtracking! No way! We waded through the shrubbery being careful not to trip over the horizontal branches. We met up with the trail that we were meant to be on eventually and were on our way!
Narrow paths wound up around steep hillsides, and as the massif began to recede into the distance, we were able to apprehend the entire ensemble in one glance: surely there is no mightier, more splendid and impressive view on the planet? On our right lay the Monte Almirante Nieto, and moving to the left we could clearly make out the Valle Bader with its sheer sides and snow-covered floor, the thick Cuerno Este next to the barley-sugared twist of the Cuerno Principal with the shadow of a horseman on the orange-hued rock face beneath, with the entire Paine Grande collection of ice, snow and peaks to the right. As we progressed towards camp, we walked alongside the ice-cold Rio Grey, past burrows which might have been homes to foxes or pumas, and onto a flat grassland that could perhaps have been equally at home on the Serengeti. Suddenly we encountered eerie meadows of gnarled and grey dead tress, and as night began to draw in we were in the camp, clinging to the windswept riverbank with a few tents carefully anchored in the turf. Would we blow away or would we manage to get through the night peacefully? It hardly mattered as the fourth day in this amazing national park drew to a close: it had offered up its secrets, its delights, its mystique to us gradually, and suddenly with a torrent of magnificent vistas and unexpectedly heart-stopping moments.