Uyuni, Bolivia - Deserts

Cold and Dust
I am dressed in every layer I have but I've not felt this cold in decades.  It's the wind, forty and fifty miles an hour with no let up.  The cold gets me in the ankles, the weak point of my gear - I'm wearing sneakers and short athletic socks.  Everyone else has hiking boots and long wool socks.  When we pull over to take photos, I am slow to get out of the truck, sometimes opting to outsource the photo taking to the Dodo.

The desert changes colors by the hour - sometimes grey, sometimes brown.  Always dusty and windy.  By mid morning I am filthy.  I feel every wheel of the truck working independently.  My head, neck, body and limbs seem to be moving in different directions.

Our tour guide Eddie does this trip every week, nothing gets to him.  He draws a funny picture on the back of the truck and cracks everyone up.

Later in the morning, the wind lets up for ten minutes and the sun takes over.  I take off my hat for the one time all day, trying to get some color in my scalp.

We arrive at the "tree stone" in an area of strangely shaped rocks.  Eddie explains that it's the wind, it picks up the sand and etches the rock slowly, decade after decade,

I find the the one large rock that blocks the wind and stay there, I am back in hat, baklava and sunglasses, there is not a single inch of skin showing and still I shiver.

Dodo, at the beckoning of the Swiss, does a flamingo shot, standing on one leg.  I must say, our five person group is excellent, we all share snacks, chat and to a person do not overstay one place too long.  We're often back in the truck before Eddie or Roberto, our driver.

Further along we drive through a vast coral graveyard.  I try to imagine the lake that was once here but cannot. 

We cross a set of railroad tracks, still in use.  A small, single-car train flies by.

As we skirt the Chilean border, the volcanoes become more serious.  As we approached I'd assumed it was snow-capped but Eddie, reading my mind, points to the crown and says "Borax."

Karine has a great eye for catching wildlife.  She shouts at Roberto to slow down.  It takes me fifteen seconds to see what she spotted as we drove along - two Andean rabbits, which they call Viscacha.  They're funny looking creatures, pug-faced and squat.

Eddie calls out the names of every volcano we pass.  They are too numerous to remember.  Some are conical and proud, others are jagged, like this one, no doubt blown to pieces by a violent eruption.

We stop at one of the desert caves.  Eddie explains that Bolivians don't believe in death, only life after death.  In the past, the dead were mummified and put into holes in the ground, just below the living.

I whisper to Dodo "get a shot of the skulls" but she refuses.  I take the camera from her to get the shot.  The Bolivians have an all saints day, similar to Dia de Los Muertos in Mexico.  It's the day you celebrate the dead, offering the favorite food and drink of your dead relatives.

Then we are off, back into the desert.  It seems to never end, only the sun is changing, slowly dropping into the horizon.

By the time we arrive at our "hotel" we're exhausted and cold.  We drink down the hot tea and eat the crackers they offer us.  Erica from Norway, Karine from Switzerland, Dodo, Me and Matthias from Switzerland.  We will sleep in one big room together tonight in what Eddie describes as a "basic" hotel.