Day 203
- Sucre, two days to Uyuni
Last
night Frank and Roxana took us to a fine restaurant. The filet mignon was
superb. It has been a real pleasure getting to know them and sharing the road
with Frank. Mika invited us to speak at the next HUBB meeting in Bolivia. The
timing of it works rather well so it might be possible. I’m sure we will
reconnect with Frank there. We said goodbye to Bertha and Pepe this morning. They are such warm people, perhaps we can stay there again if we pass by
on our way back north.
Monument in Sucre
Government building in Sucre
Church in Sucre
On the Road to Potosi:
A Medieval bridge in the middle of nowhere
Interesting rock formations
Getting
out of Sucre was easy and so was the ride to Potosi. We arrived at noon and
were impressed with all the colonial buildings. Potosi is a silver mining town
that was a major source of income for the Spanish. The silver is gone and many
of the old buildings are in need of repair but there is still a vibrant,
youthful feel to the place. The downtown area was flooded with school children
when we arrived and again after 6 pm.
Arriving in Potosi:
Overlook of the mining city
Like most cities in Latino America rents in Potosi increase toward the centre, where the colonial buildings can be found.
Potosi Colonial buildings
Main Plaza, Potosi
Wooden stock press
Mule power for the stock press above
Belt driven newer machines sharing power from a 20 h.p. steam then, electric motor
Stamping out blanks
We
visited the decommissioned mint and it was fascinating to see all the big old
machines that were used to make coins. Potosi was the major producer of coins
in the world for a long time. The first coins were cut and stamped by hand.
About 100 years later Spain sent three huge wooden machines to press the ingots
to the correct thickness. They were made of wood and not steel to ease their
transportation, which took months and much ingenuity. They used mule power to
turn the huge machines. Horses couldn’t perform at Potosi’s altitude (4,060m).
The mules got two days of rest per week but the other five days meant being
whipped for 12 hours walking in circles. A mule typically lasted a couple of
months before it died.
Rural scene outside Potosi
Distant giants
Our guide
also told us about the first human workers in the mint and in the mines.
Transporting slaves from Africa seemed a natural way to get the huge amount of
human labor needed in Potosi. Dangerous and unhealthy conditions cut the lives
of many workers short. Workers in the smelting room at the mint, for instance,
were exposed to mercury vapors. They only lived a few months before succumbing.
African slaves, because of the cost of transportation and a silver worker’s
short life expectancy proved to be impractical for the owners of the silver
industry in Potosi. The Spanish turned to pressing local indigenous people to
work. It is estimated that over time, more than 8 million indigenous workers
died in the mines or doing silver related work in Potosi.
Vertical forces often evident
Vertical form framing peaceful grazing llamas
We also
visited the Santa Teresa convent. Our private guide took us from room to room,
using a huge set of keys to unlock and re-lock each door we passed through.
Everywhere within the convent that is now a museum was immaculately clean. Rich Potosi
families were honoured by being allowed to send their second daughters,
accompanied by a large dowry, to the convent at age 15. The girls were
inculcated from birth to expect and to look forward to this life of service.
Canyon overlook
No, she didn't jump across.
Canyon scene
Once a
girl entered the convent in downtown Potosi she never left. Alabaster exterior windows
let in light but not form. The nuns could see the sky when in one of two
cloisters but the lines of sight prevented them from seeing anything else,
including the mountains in which they had grown up. Surrounded in the convent by
Andean stylized likenesses of the Virgin Mary, always triangular to reflect the
ever-present mountain peaks, the nuns would never again set eyes on the reality
that inspired the image.
Alpaca grazing in a fertile valley on the Bolivian altiplano
Occasionally we meet other moto overlanders like these two from Brazil.
They
remained silent for 22 hours per day and prayed seven times each day. They were
allowed a one-hour visit by their parents, once each month. The interviews were
conducted behind bars and a screen. Small gifts from parents were allowed, they
were always shared with the 20 other nuns but there was no seeing or touching of
loved ones allowed. When they died the nuns were buried under the floor and their bodies treated with lime. Three years later their bones were moved to the neighboring
common grave and the floorboards replaced.
Highway across the altiplano
Multicoloured hills at high altitude
A river on the altiplano and the valley it created
I had
read that Potosi is in decline and might be dangerous. Some people’s blogs
recommended skipping it. Everyone we spoke with in Sucre enthusiastically
recommended that we visit here. The brightly lit downtown pedestrian area was
packed with people this evening. We went out in search of coffee and a treat.
There were cheery cafes and restaurants everywhere. We did not feel unsafe.
Dinosaur?
What?
Both the
GPS and Google Maps were confused by one-way streets so getting out of Potosi
was tedious. The drive after that was the exact opposite, scenery that kept
changing. There were mountains, altiplano and dramatic canyons. Rounded
valleys, both dry and green, eventually led to our first glimpse of the salar.
Uyuni looks like an outpost on the moon from the hills above. It appears small.
It is surrounded on three sides by openness and by the stark white of the salar
behind.
Desert scene on the Bolivian altiplano
Remote desert highway
We
planned to meet our friend, Glenn West at the Hotel Avenida. We checked in and
were delighted to find the place clean and comfortable with a spacious courtyard
for moto parking. The hotel was popular with push bike overlanders too. Glenn’s
DR was parked inside, we knew he couldn’t be far. Later that evening he knocked
on our door. It was great to catch up with him. We had met Glenn on the
Stahlratte, while crossing the Darien Gap. Later, from Colombia, he had flown
back to the US for several months and had returned to the road sporting all
kinds of new gear.
First view of the salar
Outside the Avenida in Uyuni
Day 204
Uyuni
All three
of us had a nice breakfast together then went in search of empty jerry cans. We
needed to carry extra fuel to extend our range through the Eduardo Avaroa
National Park and into Chile, in a few days time. Today we were excited to see
the “Salar de Uyuni”.
At The Uyuni Train Cemetery:
The Uyuni
Salt Flats are the largest salt flats in the world, sitting at about 3600m
above sea level and covering over 10,000 square kilometers. The thickness of
the salt crust varies between a few centimeters and ten meters. The crust
covers a salt lake that varies in depth between two and twenty meters. 50 to
70% of the world’s lithium lies in the lake. Extraction of the lithium for
batteries and other uses is predicted to be the engine of the next economic
boom for Bolivia.
Sunset on the salar
We rode
to the rough little town of Colchani to gain access to the huge whiteness of
the salt lake. We bought street food from some Aymara speaking people near the
artisan vendors’ stalls before beginning the afternoon’s ride across the salar.
Tourists, who had been temporarily released from their land cruiser tours to
buy souvenirs, stared openly. It was the first time we had experienced this.
They seemed a little intimidated by the sight of us. Maybe it was our huge,
heavily loaded motorcycles, our soiled riding suits or our sunburned faces. Who
knows? Thankfully a couple of young men approached and struck up a
conversation.
Salt museum in Colchani
Bolivians are crazy for the "Dakar"
The
approach road to the salar was rough and sometimes wet and slushy. The few
puddles we couldn’t go around we crossed extremely slowly to avoid splashing
any of the highly corrosive brine onto our expensive machines. I had heard
horror stories about disabled electrical systems and rusted wheels that would
no longer hold air after visits to the salar. We managed to keep contact with
the slush and brine to the rubber of the tires.
Isla Incahuasi
Then it
was all around us, the mostly pentagonal textured, blinding white expanse of
dried salt. Your sense of perspective is skewed when on the salar, more than
when boating on liquid water. Distances seem small. Riding at 70 kph with white
horizons in each direction feels motionless. You can hear the engine humming,
the crunch of the tires. You can feel the wind and tiny, regular vibrations
caused by crossing the geometric shapes at speed but the eyes are fooled. It
feels like you are getting nowhere.
Glenn and Isa at Incahuasi, you can just see Isla Del Pescado on the right, about 30K away
Glenn's set-up for the night
Up close on the salar
Then a
low shape appears on the horizon. If the object is small, like the famous DAKAR
BOLIVIA monument (built from salt, naturally), then it takes minutes to reach
it. If the object is high, like Isla Incahuasi it may take half an hour or more
to reach it, even though it seems like it is, “right there!”.
Evening on the Salar:
Joshua, Terry, Joana, Isabelle, Glenn
Longer legs
Google
maps and the GPS became almost useless because of the tiny screens and absence of
detail when zoomed out. Tracks made by all the Land Cruisers diverged and
converged confusingly. Having no visual points of reference with which to navigate,
it is easy to understand how people get lost on the salar. Prior map research
told me that an “old school” compass bearing heading due west from the entrance
road would point us toward Isla Incahuasi, 95 kilometers away. Our destination,
Isla Del Pescado (Island of the Fish), lay a further 30 kilometers west,
north-west of that.
Good Morning!
We
stopped first at Isla Incahuasi, on the eastern shore where we chatted with
some moto campers. The next stop was in the parking lot on the far side of the
island. This is where all the tours stop and you have to pay a fee to walk the
trails amongst the huge cacti that grow there. We had mentioned to the campers
that our destination for the night was the much more secluded, Isla Del
Pescado.
Poster girl
We rode
around the huge “Island of the Fish” to find a camp-site. A flat 100m beach was
chosen and we started to make camp. It wasn’t long before we heard two loaded
motos roar past us on the salar and around the corner, out of sight. A few
moments later they returned and pulled onto our little beach. It wasn’t until
they removed their helmets that we recognized Joshua and Joana, the German
couple we had chatted with back at the campsite on Isla Incahuasi. They said
that Incahuasi had filled up quickly. We offered to share our beautiful site
with them. Close to sundown we invited a passing push-biker named Leandro, from
Brazil, to join us and now we were six.
Inviting Leandro to share our campsite
The
instant the sun went behind the island the wind picked up. We all went onto the
salar to watch the sunset. During the sunset the wind increased in power, it
became steady and strong. I moved the motos to set a wind break for the tent. A
campfire was out of the question, so was just sitting and talking. We each
retired to our tents. Our little MEC tent made some noise but it barely moved
in the blast of air that lasted until about 2 or 3 am. It had no problem with the wind and that bodes well for things to come in Patagonia. We bought it because of its strong 4-pole
design and its 20 stake-down points. A beautiful, calm sunrise greeted us on
the salar.
Riding away from Isla Del Pescado
The camp
stove worked well, even at high altitude and the morning coffee tasted great.
We had a nice chat with our camp-site mates about their adventures. We quickly
realized that Joana and Joshua were headed south, through the park, too. After
numerous photographic experiments with perspective on the salar, we packed
things away. Joshua and Joana planned to
stay another night on the salar so they left their tent standing. Leandro
jumped on the back of Joshua’s bike and we all raced across the salar,
northward toward a volcano named Cerro Tunupa. It was about 40 kilometers away
and was easily visible from our island.
Rolling across the salar
We
visited the canton called Tahua, at the foot of the volcano. We enjoyed cold
drinks, street meat, boiled maize and interaction with the Aymara vendors on the
tiny plaza. During that time, we settled that Glenn, Isa and I would meet
Joshua and Joana in two days in the town of San Cristobal. We planned to ride
through the Eduardo Avaroa park together and into Chile. There would be the
five of us on the remote, high mileage, rough roads through the park, for
safety.
Cerro Tunupa
We said
goodbye to Leandro, Joshua and Joana when Isla Del Pescado came into view. The
ride back to Colchani was fun now that we no longer feared falling through the
“ice”. We found a high-pressure
car/truck wash on the edge of Uyuni and for $2 each we blasted away at the salt
dust until none remained. “You can use as much water as you like”, said the
owner.
In Tahua - Isa, Aymara man, Joana, Joshua, Leandro
Two days
later we set off from the Avenida for Parque Nacional Eduardo Avaroa, also
known as the “Lagunas Route”. This route is a multi-day excursion known for its
remoteness, rugged beauty and its startling, multi-coloured lakes, not to
mention the geysers and rare flamingos. San Cristbal was about 80k down a
semi-paved road from Uyuni and was our group’s meeting point. We never made it
to San Cristobal.
Saddles on the salar
I was
leading, Isa was next followed by Glenn. There was a construction detour 60k
out of Uyuni that quickly became sandy in places. The patches of sand deepened
and lengthened. The super-dry sand offered almost no traction. I came over a
rocky mound and descended into a small sand-filled depression. My front wheel
dug into the deep sand and stopped moving but the back end of the moto still
had momentum.
Isa said
that she saw the motorcycle tumble end over end for a full revolution, passing
over me and stopping beyond. Meanwhile, I felt something powerful hit my back,
knocking the wind out of me. I don’t know if it was the rocky ground on the
other side of the depression or the bike. I became aware of the loud, drawn out
gasping sounds I was sending through the intercom to Isa as my body tried to breathe.
I worried what those sounds would do to Isa’s emotional state. Breath returned
and an adrenalin filled calmness took over. I became aware of Isa and Glenn’s
presence as I got up and switched off my moto’s key and auxiliary lights, to
save the battery. The grinding feeling in my collar bone was painless for now
but told a story.
Both
Glenn and Isa were stellar first-aiders. They remained calm and managed the
scene well. Almost immediately an empty Land Cruiser came along and the driver offered
to take me to the public hospital back in Uyuni. The hospital gave me an injection
that reduced the discomfort while I waited for the others to arrive. It took
about three hours.
During
that time Isabelle stayed with the bikes and Glenn rode his bike back to the
Police station in Uyuni. He left his bike there and piled into the police
pick-up truck with three officers. He rode my moto and one of the officers rode
Isabelle’s back to the Avenida. Glenn and Isa then took a cab to the Uyuni
public hospital.
My collar
bone was badly fragmented and some ribs were damaged too. We didn’t know any of
the details at this point. The hospital was primitive by any standard and did
not even possess an x-ray machine. The real adventure was about to begin.
A long
story made short goes something like this:
- a primitive
public hospital in Uyuni
- a private
hospital in Uyuni that had an x-ray machine but no trauma doctor
- a doctor who
didn’t materialize
- a flight
to Sucre arranged by Roxana
- a helping
hand from a German friend (Frank Lindert flew to Uyuni and rode my bike, escorting Isa
on hers, back to Sucre)
- a helping
hand from a Boliviana friend (Roxana got us to see a great Orthopedic Surgeon,
Dr. Torres. She also stayed with us throughout the day of surgery, helping our
understanding of technical Spanish.)
- a week-long
wait while Dr. Torres was on a surgical tour in La Paz and Tarija
- a surgery
within 5 hours of seeing the specialist
- a Swiss
bone joining gizmo
- a brand
new, modern clinic
- a really
helpful and cooperative CAA Insurance representative, Dayna Laird
- a wife/riding/life
partner with a head on her shoulders
New and modern clinic
OK, let's get on with it
Isabelle
took care of everything, all I had to do was lie back and moan. She handled
appointments, taxis, insurance company communications and buying hospital medications and supplies.
She paid each doctor (at their offices), the clinic and the importer of the
Swiss gizmo, all in cash because that’s how things work here. She was
incredible throughout.
Swiss bone joining gizmo (in black and white to avoid being too gruesome)
We get to
spend a few more weeks here in beautiful Sucre. We are in a wonderful homestay
that gives us good privacy, a kitchen and secure parking for the bikes. Bertha
Ramos Gonzales is a loving mother as well as a gracious, uncomplicated host. We
plan to fill the time with Spanish lessons and local sightseeing.
Things
could be a lot worse.
