The over-photographed, freakishly cold, largest salt flat in the world sits as a massive blanket in the high plains of Bolivia. During wet season, parts of the flat are submerged in a layer of mineral water which creates a stunning display of the skies. It doesn’t get more classic than this.

 

 

Getting There and Away

Marcela and I took a bus from Potosí to Uyuni, 3 hours, $4.40. We left the following day by overnight bus to La Paz, departing 8:30pm, $7.25, 8 hours.

Accommodation

There wasn’t much for backpackers since Uyuni itself was yet another one of those peaceful villages that happened to be the closest flavor of civilization to some beautiful, remote piece of nature before getting slammed with tourism.

Piedra Blanca Hostel had to be booked in advance so we were taken in by Hostal 6 de Febrero, comfy dorm bed, fleeting hot water, no wifi, $5.88. House mom will boil water for you if you show up with Cup Noodle. Nonconventional roommates may be included, more on this later.

 

 

Booking A Tour

Although most visitors book the three-day package, Marcela and I decided we wouldn’t mind missing the Red and Green Lagoons, Stone Tree of the Siloli Desert, or hot springs and geysers. I guess we’ve just seen a lot at this point. Instead, we chose the one-day tour and avoided the lowest temperatures, while still getting to see the cacti of Incahuasi Island.

All the tours could be booked day of in Uyuni, and visited the same points of interest. Every morning in Uyuni, the scene was essentially 50 vans, six passengers per, squadding out of town.

We signed with the first agent who approached us as we stepped out of the hostel. We negotiated the one day tour with Expediciones Lipez to $18.40, or 125B each. Three day tours, around $100, are a popular method for connecting to Chile via the striking San Pedro de Atacama desert.

 

 

Salar de Uyuni

 

Day 79 (pm)

Arriving in the cold and dark as we tend to do, M and I tried several hostals before we found something affordable along the main tourist drag, by the big clock.

Espin was quite nice and seemed harmless overall. He really liked The Avocado Project, an idea brewing in Marcela’s mind focused on human connections. He let me browse through his guide book and use his shampoo and TP, and read us a page of The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe before we fell asleep.

 

Day 80

It wasn’t until the following morning that I realized I would never reach out to Espin on Whatsapp. Marcela woke in the middle of the night to him crouched by her bed, asking if she wanted to spoon. Right there, right now. The three of us had discussed spooning as an activity to integrate into The Free Avo Project and apparently that was enough to excite a 21-year-old Danish boy on his gap years. She wasn’t conscious enough to know how exactly she turned down his offer. By the time she was fully awake, he was already back in his bed on the other side of the room, whispering “sorry” into the night.

We booked a tour with the first agent who approached us as we stepped out of our hostel.

Breakfast hunting. All the locals seemed to be having hot purple corn drinks and fried dough, $.72. We put the cinnamon I always keep in my bag all over our dough, and had the nice lady cut our giant papaya so we could spoon (our food, not our bodies, in the daylight). Then we shared another salteña.

We were grouped with five fun-loving Spaniards. Juan was our favorite for his great stories, creativity, and talked about his love for brownies.

Just outside of town all the vans stop for photos at the abandoned, rotting Train Cemetery. The mining industry collapsed and the remains were now a jungle gym for tourists.

The only purpose of stopping at the Artisan Market  was to encourage us to further consume the same products sold everywhere. Once fretting which alpaca sweaters and socks I had to leave behind because I couldn’t buy all of them, now the thought of them makes me sick. We only have eyes for food. This time, choclo corn and fried llama, $1.45.

Salt mounds was next. Perhaps they used to be natural formations. Perhaps there was a time where people didn’t stomp all over them. Marcela interpreted them as turds.

Arriving at the Dakar sign meant lunch. Marcela and I went for a casual stroll the free our spirits and ended up running around like we’d lost our mind.

 

 

Comida was inhaled. Milanesa is a thin filet of meat breaded and drenched in tons of egg before being deep-fried. It was a Bolivian staple, sold pre-made yet lacking any packaging or sanitation in markets. The tour company’s cook made it tasty. Thank you Juanpe for chocolate Toddy cookies(:

Just outside the dining building were the poles of flags from around the world. And Espin. Before he had the chance to approach us, our driver Ronaldo swooped in for the rescue.

Bathroom rates were five times the standard, at an atrocious 72 cents. I hate spending money. Don’t lick the yellow salt.

At a 10-minute stop at perfect hexagonal formations, we realized all our photography dreams. Juanpe was a full on movie director for us dancing out of the Pringles can. We got back in the car two hours later.

 

 
So we didn’t have time to go see the volcano. Smack in the middle of Uyuni was this random rock island smothered in giant cacti. Hiking it was an added cost we passed on.

This time Espin managed to actually exchange some awkward small talk with us before Ronaldo once again saved the day.

As the tour came to a close, one of the most beautiful sunsets I’d seen awaited. The cold had me hyper. I placed on the roof of the van the last of my TJ Belgian dark that had faithfully traveled with me across the continent and shared itself with people from around the world so it would get extra crunchy, and we passed it around.