Time to leaveChile…

Our tent and gear pack up was unusually slow and even the well rehersed tent roll seemed hard work and laborious. Neither Lisa or I were saying much. Funny the things you remember; it felt very much like the time we left Norway to go into Northern Russia for the first itme, sure we’re excited but at the same time that small knot of nerves in the pit of our stomachs was growing steadily. We’d read as much as we could, we were carrying as much water as possible, we’d filled up the bikes with gas to the brim and had new provisions of food and other essentials, we’d even located the thin silver emergency blankets and packed it somewhere more accessible just in case. It was time to make a move.

Border formalities went easily enough and by mid-morning we were slowly climbing the tarred road that would lead us to the left hand loose dirt track into Bloiva, country 44.

Volcano Licancabur at 5868m on our left was keeping us company as we climbed, an easy marker. We knew from the GPS that our track lay just behind it. Fingers and feet were already freezing even with the bright Sunshine. Here we go!

The dirt track was a little firmer than we’d expected; great as yet we’d still not reuduced the air from our tyres. A large familiar sign we’d seen so often in the BMW promotional literature read “Welcome to Bolivia”, we had to get a photo.

San Pedro and Chile already seemed a million miles away. Off the bikes we entered two small stone out buildings, we needed to have our passports stamped and pay the small entrance fee before the old iron barrier was lifted and we could enter the ‘Reserva de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa’. The guide books describe this area as ‘a landscape of unremitting bleakness….difficult to support any life at all….’ It easy to feel the incredible sense of remoteness and isolation but bleak it certainly isn’t. Already in the distance we can see the shimmering emerald green freezing waters of Lago Verde. We felt a bit like Dorothy setting out to find the wizard in Oz.

We were already in awe of our surroundins, simply amazing… deserts, volanci peaks, huge lakes….and bitterly cold!! Riding here is an unrepeatable experience.

With a little air out of the tyres we’d managed to get some traction on the now soft powdery surface. We’d left the small stone stamping offices only some 30 minutes ago, strange it already seemed so much longer ago. Lago Verde was away off to our left, a shimmering picture of freezing green. The small estuary feeding the lake and that we’d have to cross confirmed the ‘freezing’ part of the descriptive narrative. With the shallowest part found I’d stood on the pegs and ridden through as the the bike wobbled uneasily on the large but smooth rock bed underneath. Within seconds my already cold feet were swimming in icy water that had poured into my boots…god I hate that feeling. There’s no chance they’re going dry! Lisa had heard my girly squeal as the icy waters hit my feet, she knew what she was in for. Deciding that the least time spent in the water the better she opened up the throttle and hit the water at speed, bounced over a few big rocks and rode up the bank the other side. “Shit, you made that look easy”, I yelled over the noise of the wind. “Are your feet wet”? “No nothing, cold but dry” Lisa answered with a smug grin. “I hate her”, I muttered under my breath! ?

With a few photos taken we were soon off. With a little light left we’d try to get as far as we could before stopping. I was hoping that the riding would take my mind off the lumps of ice that had now taken the space that my feet used to occupy. The setting sun was casting long shadows and the already impressive skyline of ancient volcanoes simply became all that more magnificent. We were heading towards the hot springs North towards Laguna Polques.

Our route was amazing! We were now rinding at speed through soft, brown vocanic dust, carefully picking our way around the boulders which littered our way. We were deep into a glacier track and surrounded by rocks and boulders that had been carried and dumped here a millennia ago. Never thought we’d travel though this type of area. It the kind of thing that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

We eventually arrived at the thermals springs….quite late and found the ‘community hall’…….strange ‘cause there’s no community…!? Following a bit of polite begging and grovelling we were allowed to sleep inside on the floor……quite comfy as we put up our mattresses and sleeping bags…..glad we were’nt outside as what we thought was bitterly cold earlier on…wasn’t..!

The Sun streaming through the windows woke us at around 5:40am followed shortly after by the grumbling noise from the ‘Toyota Charge’. Dozens of eager tourists being ferried around the Altiplano on 3-4 day excursion were unfolding stiff legs from the back of over-filled battered Land Crusiers.

As we stuffed our sleeping kit away we watched mildly amused as in minus temperatures they quickly stripped, threw their clothes to the floor and danced and skipped rather awkwardly across the sharp rocky ground and dunked themselves in the hot waters of the thermal spring. “Do you fancy it” I asked Lisa jokingly? “No sodding way” came the reply. We’d settle for the stunning images created by the rising steam in the freezing morming air.

We carefully turned the keys in the bikes ignitions, both had spluttered. We estimated that it had hit around -20c last night, with those kind of temps not even the 5w-40 oil was going to help that much….we turned the bikes into the sun so they could sunbathe….and waited.

With the bikes loaded we nervously turned the bikes ignitions. Both bikes grumbled uneasily and barked to life. We both breathed a sigh of relief. Neither of us had been keen to unpack the bikes and spend the next 2 hours with our cooking stoves stuck under our respective engines warming them up.

Lisa’s hands were already playing up due to the cold. Swollen, stiff and painfull hands don’t make for easy riding, so before we finally pulled away she’d soaked them for a few minutes in the wonderfully warm water of the spring. At last we were ready to make a move.

Truly amazing doesn’t even come close to trying to describe either the scenery or colours of our surroundings, the photos will give you a better idea. We were making our way up to the immigration offices. These have to be some of the highest immigration offices in the world. If you’re heading out here you can find them at GPS: S22 26.450 W67 48.352

We’ll sleep somewhere tonight near Lago Colorado but the priority right now was the passport stuff. We were freezing and even with all our electric kit kicking out all the heat it could we were battling with numb hands and limbs. “Where the hells this office”, Lisa yelled. The altitude was taking it’s toll, we were both struggling a little for breath and were uneasily aware that our concentration was being affected. We’d reached as high as 15,000 feet plus riding the Passe de Jama. Right now we were at 16,000 feet and were still climbing. The bikes were feeling laboured in the thinner air and all the time I was worring about Lisa. How was she doing? There was little point asking every five minutes. She’d only play down any problems she was having.

The track was still rising sharply. We rounded the last tight curve as the small compound came into view. A ramshackle collection of old stone buildings painted with now peeling military green. We were at ‘16,534.8 feet’. I was keen to get the paperwork completed as fast as possible and get Lisa down from this height.

With our paperwork finally stamped and checked we headed back down…well back down to 15,500feet anyway and took the long soft track West which would lead us towards Lago Colorado, the largest lake in the reserve. Huge expanses of nothingness filtered into the high sky horizon. Rounded hillsides of dulled ochres, pastel browns and dusty oranges lay off to our left and right and in the far, far distance snow capped mountains seemed to touch the sky.

By late afternoon we were riding down along the edge of Lago Colorado and just like before in Senegal when we’d first seen Lac Rose, we’d been wonderfully surprised at how red/pink the waters actually were.

The pink waters were turning an eery blood red as the Sun sank lower. Hundreds of fluffy pink flamingos were tip-toeing there way through the acidic waters looking for evening tip bits.

We’d pulled up in front of the tumble down stone and mud building and bartered a price for two of the dirty mattresses in one of the long stone freezing cold and damp rooms. Our problems were about to begin. To make a long story short here’s the jist…we’d agreed a price and the availability of two mattresses in a room that had 8, we’d even unloaded the bikes, brought in our dusty and dirty kit and unpacked our sleeping bags, hoping to give them an airing. The unhelpfull lady and her son we’d dealt with earlier had pulled at my jacket and in rapid fire Spanish had told us that we’d have to leave and move to the room on the other side of the collection of buildings we looked at earlier and rejected. The rats in the corner of the room and the wet mattresses had put us off. “Por que”, we’d asked? Basically 10 others in 4X4’s had just pitched up and she was giving them the beds. “Sod that”, I thought. I thought about accommodating her request for about 3 seconds and then thought; no…that’s just bollocks. “No, disculpe, ese es no possiblemente” came my answer politely but firmly. She and her son weren’t best pleased. The stroppier and blunter she and her son became, the more I dug my heels in. We were cold, tired and needed to stop. We agreed the availbility of this little shit hole, unpacked our gear and even paid. There was no way we were moving to something even shittier just because a better offer had come along. The mixed group of French, Dutch and Germans tourists that had now pitched up had also asked us the same question…they got the same reply!!! There were beds available in the other room, I didn’t see why two of their group shouldn’t simply sleep there, Christ, they’re not joined at the hip. 40 minutes later and the same argument was still going around and I was close to loosing my rag and just telling the next idiot to ask to ‘please aquire as quickly as possible a masters degree in human engineering and genetics…then you can produce a clone and go Fuck yourself”. Eventually someone worked out I wasn’t kidding and certainly wasn’t moving.

With the Sun sinking fast we left the group to sulk and enjoyed a quiet walk along the salt encrusted shores of this incredible red lake. Lisa was in her element, tuffs of long blonde grass were covering the hillsides and Lisa had got it into her head they were all ‘punk tribbles’ from the Star Trek series, here to invade earth…Yeah, I’m concerned…I must get her down from this altitude! ?

We’d been going for an hour and yet we’d only made 20 or so Km’s, we could still see Lago Colorado in the distance. We were heading out to the Arbol de Piedra, an incredible rock formation carved by the wind and used as a location in the BMW R1150GS Adventure campaign. Right now we were battling with a track that had become softer and softer before turning to deep sand. Had we gone the wrong way? Yep! Zooming in on the GPS we were were about 500 metres to the left of the track we should have been on. Lisa’s bike had gone over and I’d only been saved a few times by long legs. This was getting silly. With full throttle we were only digging in deeper. It was time to ‘bite the bullet’. We were going to have unload the bikes completey, drag and carry the bags to the track through the sand and then ride the bikes over. Not normally a huge mission but after struggling with the bikes in the thin air we were now really gasping for breath. Just walking around was taking it’s toll. Some 40 minutes and countless treks later and we’d finally hauled the bags, ridden the bikes over and managed to re-load them. After another 20 minutes of lying down to recover we were again on our way.

The day was spent stood up for additional control whilst now glancing rather more regualry at the GPS. There was no way we’d want a repeat of this mornings palaver. Soft sections came and went, horizons changed and all the time the incredible clarity and colours of our surroundings called our attention. By mid-afternoon we’d reached the Arbol de Piedra. After seeing so many photos and dreaming for so many years of actually getting here it felt wonderfully surreal. Strange? We felt more of a sense of accomplishment and thrill reaching this lone rock than we had reaching Ushuaia! OK, the lack of snow was a big benefit.

With the mandatory photos taken, hunger pangs were kicking in. Lisa had cooked last night and saved some for lunch, we now only had one problem!!! Unpacking it from the water bags on the back of the bikes it had completely frozen. The tasty pack of spaghetti Bolognese was now a hard lump of icy red stuff. All we could do was laugh about it; we were still on a high from reaching this place. We did end up eating it, deciding it was only Bolognese ice-cream. Don’t think it will catch on though.

We’d spent too much time with the rocks patting ourselves on the back; we were going to have to get a move on if we were going to reach the small Pueblo of Alota.

With the right track found we’d swapped really soft vocanic dust for rocks and our old favourites…corrugations. We were passing snow capped Volcanoes and herds of grazing Vicunas; How am I going to describes these little guys? They’re a mix of guanaco (Argentina) and springbok (Africa). They stand poised and stare intentally at us and the bikes before taking off like Linford Christie on speed…obviously with drastically smaller man tackle.

It was becoming apparent we weren’t going to reach Alota. Our faces and kit were an ashen grey and fine vocanic dust we’d been riding in all day was now in our eyes and up our noses. We were getting tired. Our new track hadn’t been difficult but had taken concentration. We passed numerous small gulleys and ridden through more than our fare share of small water crossings. Right now we were riding North through an unmarked area either on Lisa’s maps or my GPS called the ‘Pampa Siloli’. The first of four large lakes finally confirmed our postion. We’d never been so happy to see a few lakes. Crossing the salt pans and earth to get to reach the right shore we’d reached Lago Canapa, Ramditas and Chiar Khota, with the last light of the day petering out we’d flicked off our lights and turned off the bikes at the stunning Lago Hedionda, complete with thousands of local flamingos and an awesome snow capped mountain as it’s backdrop, just check out the photos, sorry I’m tired…neeeeeeeeed sleeeeeeeeeep!!! By the way Lago Hedionda translates as ‘stinking’ lake!

Right now we’ve ‘lucked-out’. We met a small family who are literally building a number of rooms for the increasing number of tourists passing in this direction. In exchange for a ride on the R1100GS they’ve given us accommodation and food for the night. I’ve said it before you meet the most amazing people when you need them the most.

Here’s there details: Name – Hotel Los Flamencos (hotel in the lightest of terms). Place – Lago Hedionda. E-mail – diamantetours1@hotmail.com , contacto@diamantetours.com.bo web: www.diamantetours.com.bo GPS: S21 34.546 W68 02.455

Night, night!!!

With our thanks paid to our host we’d packed the bikes and ridden about 500 metres. The flamingos were flying in by the hundreds to catch their morning breakfast in Lago Hedionda. The dark ominous clouds that were rolling in threatening rain just added to the already impressive spectacle. The whole arena of pink flamingoes, snow capped mountains and forboding clouds all painted such an incredible image of contrast, hopefully the photos will go some way to doing it justice.

With photos taken it was time to head North. We aimed to sleep in the small Pueblo of San Juan a short 40 mile ride away accoding to the GPS as the crow flies. Unfortunately we aren’t crows and we sure as hell aren’t flying. GPS’s are great but they often don’t allow for small obstacles like…Volcanoes.

By mid morning we’d already hit rough tracks, a testing mixture of rock and strewn boulders and soft churned ashen goo. It was going to be a long day. The thin air and the need for 100% concentration was taking its toll. Calve muscles were aching from the constant standing. Tough sections saw the bikes bouncing eractically as we slid from one side of the sketchy track to the other. Passing Toyotas beeped their horns and flashed enthusiastically.

By mid afternoon the going had become tougher. Tracks had narrowed and the soft sections from earlier had disappeared. We were now picking our way through rock strewn paths. Even the 4X4’s were finding it tough. Style, finess and bike skill all meant nothing. Getting through this stuff with our heavy laiden bikes was all about ‘ballsing it out’ and best guessed routes. Legs stabbed at the ground in panicked moments as the bikes lurched or grounded out on the larger stonier drops. We were getting tired and still gasping for breath. Lisa’s bike had gone over a few times and as much as she hated it, we both knew that at certain sections it was better if I rode through, parked up and then rode Lisa bike through. Exhuasting yes, but still better that having to try to pick up her heavy machine or perhaps worst, try to patch up damage…..she was also getting exhausted.

At the top of one tough section we’d stopped, our path impeded. Across the track a red Land Cruiser had been jacked up. The two drivers desperately trying to bolster the torn suspension unit with dead wood and inner tube rubber. We not seen this kind of ‘bush mechanics’ since Africa. The entire rear suspension and rear axle had simply given up. Some 20 minutes later we’d managed to clear some scrub and give ourselves a line through and past.

In the distance we could see good track…well better at least. A few testing sections later and we were excelerating up through soft sand onto the firm track. The GPS put San Juan 15 miles to our right, we only had two problems…1. a large volcanoe in our way. 2. there was no track in that direction.

The track had firm up and at last we were making some progress, worryingly we’d been going for two hours in the wrong direction, we had little choice there was no where else to go. The GPS confirmed we were heading away from San Juan by the minute and we were now heading out towards the Chillian border.

The active volcano Ollague was belching plumes of fine ash into the air on our left, had we the time we’d have stopped for photos, but right now we were both getting concerned. We’d guessed we had an hour and a half of light left. There was no way we wanted to be stuck out here overnight, even camping would have been an issue with nothing but rock fields to our left and right. At the Chillian border we got our bearings. The train track was shown on Lisa’s map and headed towards San Juan through the soft Salt Pan of Chiguana. Border guards eagerly confirmed the direction and then worryingly warned us of the perils of our route. We’d checked our small Spanish dictionary twice, had we heard correctly? The older of the two guards was warning us of old land mines in the area…”shit, you’ve got to be kidding”, I thought. Lisa and I formulated a plan, we’d try to ride the pan and stay as close to the rail way line as possible. We were off.

The guard had insited we stay at the border as the crossing would take us 2 ½ hours; we had to get across in an hour 15, shit this is going to be cutting it fine. Up on the pegs the bikes squirmed beneath us in protest. Soft water laiden track pulled the tyres in unnatural directions. The Sun was sinking alarmingly quickly. Out here at night in the pitch black we’ll be screwed. There was no track to follow and no land marks to identify our way. The railway line was leading us in a long arc around to San Juan. If we follwed it there was noway we were going to make it. With the guards warning of mines ringing in our ears we took the gamble and turned left in the pan central and away from the line, now all we had was a bearing given to us by the GPS. Tired eyes, heavy limbs and some soft water sections gave us a few scarey moments. At last in the distance a few sparkling lights confirmed San Juan was now only a few minutes away. We’d made the last run in an hour and 3 minutes and still had a few more minutes before night truly fell. Talked about relieved.

We arrived in San Juan..a typical small village in the middle of nowhere. But that was a good stop over place before heading into the salar de Uyuni.
With a few hostels here we ended up staying at ‘Alojamiento Lipeña’, which ended up being the best bet…very good and hot showers.

Contact details for ‘Alojamiento Lipeña’: tel -0261 37232. Cell – 72431289. GPS - S20 54.048 W67 45.990. They offer single, double and group rooms and have space for 30 people.