Four Wheel Driving With Jesus

Having left sunny Santiago behind, I strangely enough relished the idea of being on a bus for 24 hours, travelling the San Pedro de Atacama. Located in the northern-eastern part of Chile, it is the gateway town into Bolivia’s natural wonders. That is, a tiny (less than 5000 people) adobe town full of tour companies and souvenir shops. I did of course partake in both, and booked myself on a three-day 4WD trip to Uyuni.

It is the first of many early starts when I arrive at the office the next morning at 7am. Our group, consisting of two Spanish girls Mar and Kristina, and English boy Alistair, and an Irish man Sean, haul our bags on top of the van and pile inside to gather heat. But it is a bit of a false start when we are made to wait outside the chilly border crossing office for over half an hour. Sean is quick to point out that this is nothing compared to his last two and a half hour wait, and the five hours he spent the time before, but I still think it should have been on the itinerary.

Quintin, our first driver, then continues down the road on a silent climb to a 4300m height. The drone from the engine is so loud that even my iPod can’t out blast it. I watch as tufts of grasses stick up like tee-pees from the red brown dirt, and touches of snow cover the tops of the two mountains beside us, daring the blue sky to melt it. We then stop at the Bolivian side of the border, strangely quite a distance into their country, to get our stamps. Their puny flag flies above the office, barely holding its own against the fierce wind.

But luckily for us, tea, coffee and breakfast is served straight away, warming us up from the bastardly breeze cutting through us. It is here that we also say goodbye to our spacious van, and cram ourselves into a rather aging Land Cruiser to head towards the entrance of the national park. We make a pit-stop here for the toilet and to get our carbon-copy entry papers, which despite your passport stamps and various logbook entries, you still have to keep with you as proof of a legal visit.

It is not too long before our first stop - Laguna Blanca – arrives. Mostly covered over in ice, which beams the sun back into our eyes, it is a pretty impressive sight in the middle of nowhere. It seems Nature never gets it wrong with her colours, mixing white with blue, brown and green in perfect harmony. Laguna Verde follows, but is not as green as its name might suggest because there is no wind. Apparently, so Jesus (pronunced “He-sus”) our second driver tells us, its presence brings up the colour - although I am yet to confirm that scientifically.

It is here, at just over 4000m, I start feeling a little dizzy, and so ask to have some of the coca leaves that are being smooshed into Jesus’ cheeks. Tasting a little like bitter green tea, they are meant to help with the effects of altitude sickness, which, for a person like me who is allergic to the medicinal drugs, is the only way around my drowsiness. But another relief comes soon, in the form of hot springs, which are so sweet compared to the bitter cold.

Next up are the stinky geysers, spewing out their steam from grey and orange pools that happen to match my jumper. Lying along a nearby fault line, they are formed when water contained in underground reservoirs is heated up by volcanic activity – in this case, from the Volcano Ollague – causing it to boil and steam out of the earth. Our final stop for the day is at the Laguna Colorado – a ‘red’ lagoon that is coloured by the algae it contains, which the many flamingos feed on. It is here that we also get up close to the llama-like animals “vicuñas” that are protected in the park due to their scarcity.

We then make our way to our homestay/hostel, which is located a few hundred metres from the waters eddge and I try to go to the toilet. But it seems there are some renovations are going on – that is, lots of cement and dirt on the floor, but from what I can see, there is nothing new happening. Still fighting the intolerable cold, we sit down to eat our lunch of boiled vegetables, tomato, cucumber and eggs. I really have no idea where this combination comes from, but it quickly disappeared into our cold stomachs, lining them for our afternoon nap.

But what we don’t realise, until we take our stuff to our room, is that the only heat our bedroom has ever seen, is perhaps a few drops of sweat when it was first haphazardly built. I scratch at the plaster, knowing for sure that it is still wet. After a few sighs, we all end up snoozing off minor headaches. After all, there’s nothing left today but dinner.