Bolivia and the largest salt flat in the world!

Hello everyone!  I apologize that I neglected to follow up on the last part of my adventures in Bolivia to the point where many people have no idea if I am home yet or not (I am home!).  Traveling through Bolivia was absolutely beautiful so I wanted to share the pictures at least.  (So scroll to the bottom to see the pictures and skip the story if you are short on time.)

The last part of my traveling adventures occurred in Bolivia which is a stunning country in landscape and equally fascinating in culture.  My last couple of weeks I took in the town of Tupiza, the Salar de Uyuni, Potosí, La Paz and Copacabana. 

 The Salar de Uyuni is a high altitude salt flat located in Southwest Bolivia in the departments of Oruru and Potosí. It is the largest salt flat in the world and quite impressive to see, but I think many of the tourists who visit the salar are mainly there to take crazy perspective photos.  I had read that the scenery between Tupiza and the Salar de Uyuni was amazing so I decided to start my tour from Tupiza rather than Uyuni which is a lot closer (that and there are significantly less tours that start from Tupiza so you run into fewer tourists).  I chose the tour company that was run out of my hostel in Tupiza and I ended up in a jeep along with a really fun woman from England, Anna, and a couple from Montreal, Eman and Sara.  Our driver was David who was quiet and no nonsense, he had many years of experience driving through the mountains, high desert, and salt flats and he suffered no fools.  I liked David. Oscar was our cook and English speaking guide (the Canadians did not speak Spanish and they were working on their English during this trip since French is their first language, thus they paid extra for an English speaking guide).  Oscar was a people pleasing guide who wanted everyone to be happy and whatever he had to say to accomplish that he was willing to say, whether it was true or several degrees removed from the truth. 

We happily started our adventure on a Monday morning, getting up bright and early, and in true Bolivian fashion we meandered out of town at the ripe old hour of 10 a.m.  David tried to make up for our lost time by speeding us along the foothills into the altiplano, but much to his chagrin his passengers did their best to slow down his efforts at every stop with copious photos and frequent bathroom breaks. The scenery right outside of Tupiza was lovely and everyone enjoyed the first half of the day, but by mid afternoon we noticed other jeeps zipping by us and the scenery moving by  slower and slower.  I glanced up at the speedometer and found that we were traveling at a crisp 10 km/hr.  No one said anything, but we exchanged glances in the back.  Oscar brushed off Eman's concern about the car at the first stop of the afternoon, but 45 minutes later as we crawled along slower than the grazing llama alongside the car, we knew we had a problem.  Eventually David pulled the car over to have a look at it and Oscar jumped out as well (more to evade questions than anything else as he didn't seem to know anything about the jeep), not to be left behind, Eman also jumped out to inspect the engine, kick the tires, and to offer his suggestions.  The rest of us who knew we didn't know what was wrong and did not feel the need to pretend that we did, stayed in the jeep.

Anna

Eman and Sara

The speedy grazing llama

Once the men had finished disagreeing about what was wrong with the car, we started off again at a cool 15 km/hr and were told by Oscar that he had an announcement: we would not be going as far as we had planned that day.  Indeed.  The land in Southwest Bolivia between Tupiza and Uyuni is sparsely populated with a few tiny villages dotting the space between mountains, volcanoes, and lagoons, so we were lucky that there was room for us at one of the villages.  The accommodations in these villages  are basic with a generator that produced light for 3 hours at night, blankets on the beds (no heating so extra blankets were appreciated), and a clean toilet.  Oscar made us tea while we headed out to watch the sunset.  The sunset appeared to be visible just over the ridge above town, but after climbing over two crests at 13,000 feet and finding that the sun was still hidden by yet another ridge we settled for watching the changing light on the nearby mountains.  That night we were going to celebrate Anna's birthday, but Oscar and Eman got into a heated discussion about what the plans were for the last day of our tour (apparently what Oscar had promised he had to revise slightly).  It was painful to watch someone who is normally non confrontational like Oscar trying to work things out with someone who is confrontational by nature like Eman.  Anna, Sara and I watched this go on for 45 minutes until David strode in authoritatively from the freezing desert night where he had been working on the jeep.He looked at straight at me and said "I have a plan and you are going to translate for  me." I straightened up a bit in my chair.  David explained that his jeep could not be fixed on the road and another jeep was being sent through the night to pick us up in for the morning to continue on our way to Uyuni.  David then proceeded to outline what the plan for the last day was going to be.  No one argued. 

The stars were gorgeous in the altiplano and even after a freezing night at high altitude with little sleep it was a gift to just look up at them and enjoy the stark contrast of a dark and cold sky and fierce burning balls of gas light years away.  Our driver Marcelo, the owner of the new red jeep, had just a few hours of sleep under his belt as he drove us out of the village.  Marcelo was much younger than David at 28, but he had nearly as many years of experience driving in the solares; he also was a bit of an enigma as I never saw his face. Throughout the entire journey he wore a black hoodie with the hood up, dark black sunglasses, and a baseball cap.  To add to the aura of mystery he had a cold and talked in a raspy voice.  Intrigued by those who do not talk, I made it my mission to understand Marcelo better by the end of the week and my persistence paid off as Marcelo had a lot of valuable knowledge about the area and interesting stories about the perils of jeeps loaded down with tourists and tricky weather conditions.  We visited Incan ruins that day and saw blue, green and a red lagoon and many flamingos.  We had no trouble reaching our destination that night and the next day we were gifted another beautiful day of driving through the altiplano gazing at volcanoes, geysers, layers of ice that crunched under the jeep's tires as we woke up sleeping streams, and more lagoons.  We stopped for lunch at a hot spring and took a dip.  The scenery was gorgeous and it was really cold out so I stripped off my seven layers as quick as I could and entered into the warm waters.  There were no changing rooms and I wondered how I was going to exit the pool in the cold and towel off with my tiny shammy towel (thanks Beth for letting me borrow it!) and put on clothes while retaining an appropriate level of modesty.  Luckily the whipping desert winds and dry air proved to be more effective than a life sized blow dryer and I was completely dry within 90 seconds of exiting the hot springs.

Dali Desert

Incan Ruins

Hot Springs

One of my favorite parts of the third day was visiting the geysers. There was a sign in front of the geysers that said "Danger! Do not go close to the geysers." The sign was partially in English and in Spanish, but no one read it, or if they did read it, they paid no attention as they scooted in closer and closer to get the right angle for their photo.  On my last day of the tour I overheard one guide telling another that two tourists had died on the salt flats tour yesterday and the response from the second guide was, "did they fall into the geysers?"  I enjoy the less stringent safety considerations generally seen in Latin America that lead to such conversations.



Lagoon in front of hot springs

 Geyser

 

 Laguna Colorada

a

Our last night of the tour we stayed at the salt hotel outside of the solar and we had a shower for the first time (which called for both celebration and a long queue).  The salt flats were beautiful at sunrise and we enjoyed taking the cheesy tourist pictures and visiting the cactus island. 

 







Emmanuel Moments

It is incredible how the human mind finds patterns and determines a rhythm for each season of life no matter how things differ from day to day. Even as I have been traveling and visiting countries with distinct cultures and traveling with a different intention for each country, even though each day has been unique, eventually traveling also falls into a sort of rhythm and routine. One of my greatest delights in life is to be surprised by Jesus.  I just love how He slips into the routine of my day and shows me how great He is and how unordinary life is.  I love how it adds a fresh awe to my worship and a spring in my step; how it makes me want to bless everyone who I encounter along the way to share the joy I've received.  I had one of these Emmanuel (God is with us) realizations as I embarked on my solo traveling in Bolivia.  I was dropped off at the VVI Santa Cruz airport by Tayo and Tito who had graciously schlepped me around the city to find a Bolivian chip for my phone and who helped to finish my errands as well as endured my frazzled search for my camera that almost made me late for my flight (if not for Tayo's speedy maneuvers in midday traffic) and they even made sure I had lunch as Tito made me a sandwich to eat during the crazy car ride, plus they accompanied me all the way up until I passed through the security door-- ahhh it's encouraging to see teenage boys with such good hearts. My destination was Tarija, Bolivia's wine country.  My flight was late, but it was no big deal since I would still arrive in the mid afternoon and have hours before my night bus to Tupiza.   Upon stepping onto the tarmac of this beautiful country I was struck by how safe Tarija felt nestled in by the mountains.  I wasn't staying in Tarija however so I didn't have too long to dwell on this as I made a beeline for the bus station to buy my bus ticket to Tupiza; my intended destination.  Much to my dismay, after several fruitless conversations at ticket windows, I realized that although three companies offer the route from Tarija to Tupiza, they were all sold out.  Really?  There are 150 people in this smallish city who want to take the nightmare 8 hour bus ride around dangerous curves on all dirt roads in the middle of the night in a bus that shakes like Rachel Wilkerson's dryer and has no heat with temperatures below zero?  Apparently so.
One company had tickets available for the next night so I bought one in advance and proceeded to search for a place to stay for the night from my 7 year old Tarija information section that my dad had cut out of Beth's old Lonely Planet guide and had stapled together with the rest of the cities I may end up in a predicament in.  The adventure of traveling is moments like these where your plan doesn't work out and you are forced to improvise; I am always convinced that these moments bring some of the greatest surprises and pleasures of my traveling experience.  I found an overpriced alojamiento (as soon as I stepped into the office with my Scandinavian features the price went up) and then stepped out into the balmy night to see what the next 27 hours in Tarija would bring.  My first goal was to find an Internet connection to let someone know where I was.  Internet in Tarija is not as plentiful as in other towns, but I found wifi available in a little cafe off of a cute plaza near my alojamiento. The waiter who greeted me at the door suggested some coffee as I had walked in without an appetite and the sole desire to use the wifi, since I'm not a big fan of coffee, I took him up on his second suggestion of chocolate con leche (apparently he was kidding, but I thought it was a good idea!)  He laughed at me for my unrefined taste, but brought me my chocolate con leche.  My phone wasn't able to grab the connection right away and everyone in the restaurant was able to note this as I walked around trying to get a signal, perhaps to stop my uncouth behavior, the waiter stopped by and offered to let me use his cellphone to connect to the Internet. Because of my inability to correctly type the wifi password (this is why my phone could not connect : ) I go to know the waiter, Francisco, better and to hear a bit of his story; he is 19, new to Tarija, Argentinean, he arrived in Tarija with 200 bolivianos ($25) in his pocket and slept on a park bench in the plaza until he got his job and he plans to work and travel his way to Panama for flight school.  I had a feeling that night that I was supposed to have met Francisco and this was confirmed when we met up the next day for licuados (fruit shakes) and postres (desserts) and I got to hear more of his story and to understand where God has been showing up in Francisco's life.  It turns out that I am the third person who loves Jesus who Francisco has met recently and Francisco's heart is starting to soften when it comes to God.  One of the people who Francisco has befriended gave him a bible which he has been reading and he had a bunch of questions for me about what he had been reading in proverbs  (which I loved!).  There are few things I enjoy more than answering questions about Jesus and the bible, but what was even better was hearing Francisco's heart for his friend whose life is out of control.  Francisco said his friend has done things in his life that he regrets and now he finds himself on the run because of  his bad decisions, he is paranoid and despairing of life and Francisco is desperate to help him, but unsure of what to do.  I don't know Francisco's friend nor do I know the extent of his problems, but what I do know I was able to share with Francisco: there is always hope. God does not give up on people, no matter how messed up their lives are, for every life is valuable to God.  And because Jesus values each life and because there is nothing that is impossible for God with a life surrendered to Him, there is always hope.  It was God's message of hope that Francisco needed to hear; I could see this as his countenance became brighter and he told me he was going to let his friend know that there was hope for him. Just as Francisco was encouraged, so was I, and as I said goodbye and climbed on the bus, my heart was full of praise for the God who brings life from the dust and who loves fiercely. The moment reminded me of my encounters with Jake the tow truck driver and how God had powerfully spoken into his life in a personal way. How I delight in these interruptions that Christ brings into life, where a "chance" meeting with a stranger brings forth life from simple truths of God!  What an honor it is to be let into the interior of another person's fears and anxiety and to then be able to bring these burdens to the King of Kings who intercedes for His people in the throne room of God.

Fresh OJ in the mañana

The night bus to Tupiza was everything it was advertised to be: cold, bumpy, and I don't think we had all 4 wheels on the road at all times, but I arrived safely in frigid Tupiza at 4:45 a.m. and scrambled to my hostel for a few hours of sleep.  Upon waking I signed up for a horseback ride through the pretty canyon country of Tupiza (Rosalita and Ryan this is 40 km from where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were murdered and the same land where they roamed).  My guides ended up being 13 and 15 years old respectively and they were quite entertaining to observe as they chatted me up real good and then sold me on extending my 3 hour horse ride to a 5 hour horse ride -- that is a lot of horse riding for someone who hasn't ridden much in the past decade and whose horse, Talia, was pregnant, temperamental, and broke into a gallop whenever the trail turned west (in the direction of home).  But, the kids were cute and I knew they needed the money so I agreed to another two hours and saw a few more canyons, an indigenous shepherdess trying to protect her goats from a pack of wild dogs, and tourists trying to control their horses like me.

One of my fearless guides

The poor cabritos who lived through the wild dog attack

The hat was included in the price of the tour and at first it felt as ridiculous as it looks, but  by midday I was grateful for the shade it afforded.

Cañon del Duende

A shepherdess

Snapshots of Santa Cruz de la Cierra

Bolivia has always been a country I've wanted to visit and I can't say exactly why, but it caught my attention and so far it hasn't disappointed.  I arrived in Santa Cruz de la Cierra on 7/9 and I was graciously picked up at the airport at 2 a.m. by a smattering of the Brown family and a representation from the Zabala family. 
Mike and Ingrid Brown and their kids (Dominique, Cristina, Cecilia, and Nathaneal) are my friends from our hispanic group at church and they invited me to visit Santa Cruz de la Cierra with them this summer. The Browns are visiting their family and friends for six weeks this summer.  There was no room for me at the Lopez inn (Ingrid's parents) so good friends of the Browns, Deborah and Carlos Zabala, let me stay at their house. 

I had it very good during my time with the Zabalas and the Browns with curbside pickup (and plenty of company on each journey), treats provided by an enthusiastic chef-in- the-making (Karlita), and a daily itinerary of events provided by the organizing extraordinaire Ingrid.   Santa Cruz is a laid back city blessed with beautiful weather and few tourists.  The people of Santa Cruz are open and friendly and tend to be quick to offer assistance.  I was blessed to get to know many of Ingrid's friends and those of the Zabalas.  One delightful custom of Santa Cruz is afternoon tea and I was pleased to sample many delicious breads and sweets during the many visits Ingrid had planned with friends.  

Another plan of Ingrid's was to share discipleship materials with her friend's small group, therefore I was enlisted to help her present the materials at a small group meeting and there I met some phenomenal women (and have a delicious tea time). 

  The Zabala household is full of teenagers (3 of them were home while I was there: Tayo, Karlita, and Nacho) so there are constantly friends stopping over and late night snacks being made.  My time in Santa Cruz as a whole was nostalgic of my adolescence as I was constantly surrounded by adolescents and repeatedly mistaken for a 16-17 year old.  At first the dropped jaws and incredulous looks were amusing when people learned my true age, but the novelty quickly wore off and and the repeated refrain, "No! I thought you were __ (16, 17, 19)!" became fastidious.  (Although it continued to amuse the teenagers I was with).  I know in 10 years this will be flattering if people still think I look younger, but until then it makes church retreats with 16 year olds more difficult : ).  I did have a great time with the Brown girls and the Zabalas.  It was neat to go to the Zabalas' church's retreat with Dominique, Cristina, and Cecilia and to see their faith as they worshiped Christ.  I was particularly moved by eleven year old Cecilia's simple but powerful faith and through watching her God showed me how important it is to enter into His presence with expectation for God has a plan for each encounter/each day.

I love to dance, so a highlight of my time in Santa Cruz was teaching a few people the basics of swing and the twist (with a little salsa and charleston)!  Tayo and I tried a basic flip and the first night it didnt go so well, but my last night there we landed it.

One afternoon all of the females went to a beauty shop together to get manicures/pedicures since they are so economical in Bolivia. I don't normally like to paint the nails on my hands as the paint usually chips in two days and I have an inordinate fear of choosing the wrong color and ending up looking "pretty in pink", but I thought "when in Bolivia...".  I wanted clear nail polish or french tips, but the woman doing my hands had a grumpy demeanor and I wilted under it.  I found myself looking through the colors which consisted largely of pinks, reds, palid baby blues and shocking yellows -- a clear polish was not in sight.  The manicurest seemed annoyed by my hesitation as I looked over the colors with a sense of resignation, so I informed her that I didn't want a strong color; this led her to rapidly pick through a small sample of sickingly limpid pink hues.  I felt like the kid from the Christmas Story movie as in horror I heard myself agreeing to a particularly ugly shade of sixties prom pink and then I watched as she layered it on in three thick coats.  You can see the end result in the picture below.  Of course I have no one to blame but myself, but it was a bit depressing to have Cristina sit down in the chair next to me and walk away with lovely french tipped nails. It has become clear in my time in Bolivia that I don't know how to react to grumpy salespeople, I tend to try to appease them.  I was the recipient of a long rant in one artesian shop for looking through stacks of sweatshirts for the appropriate size (as the sizes were irregular). I meekly apologized at the end of one rant and was told an apology was not enough and if I was not going to buy anything I was just making a mess (I had planned on buying several things, but now I just felt shuffly-uncomfortable and unsure of what to do).  I am not sure why, maybe I am a glutton for punishment, but I proceeded to reach for a sweater on a different shelf that I had intended to buy.  The young woman looked at me with great annoyance and said, "Don't touch!  And quit making a mess!" Yikes! I couldn't win, so I slunk out, but I felt bad.  I really need to toughen up if I want to continue to shop in the mean streets of Bolivia.