There I found myself staying in a hostel, in hand-made (pieces of wood nailed together) bunk beds, three beds high and I was on the top. It was an acrobatic mission just to get into bed at night but more challenging to actually sleep. Forty degree heat, four sets of bunk beds, every bed full, an irrelevant ceiling fan, my nose about 1cm from touching the ceiling and the knowledge that too much movement could potentially lead the wobbly structure to completely collapse into itself.
Not the greatest but also not the worst hostel I have ever encountered.
But situations like that are a big part of what defines the travelling life and you have to remember that, at the end of the day, you have a bed beneath you and a roof over your head and the ability to change your perspective to find gratitude for that. You have the choice to focus on everything you have instead of everything you wish you had. When you are able to do that you realise nothing, besides you, has the power to make your experience negative.
During that week I managed to secure a spot for the great adventure across the desert and salt lake. Mini-vans did the rounds picking travellers up and taking them to the border. Once we were stamped out of Chile and into Bolivia everyone was split into groups of six. Each group was assigned a local driver and a Land Cruiser . . . and then the adventure began.
For three days we journeyed through some of the harshest, most hostile places on earth, at times reaching 4500m above sea level — the kind of altitude which does strange things to people. We chewed coca leaves which is a natural remedy for altitude sickness and also a little natural energy boost, drank herbal teas and lived off the quinoa which was grown right there in the desert.
I saw Mother Nature in all her glory, both flora and fauna surviving against the odds, proudly reminding the world that resilience in the face of adversity is not only possible but beautiful and inspiring.
There were moments of complete nothingness, where the only sight and sound was that of the wind dancing with the dust.
Those moments, powerful in themselves, were interspersed with the outstanding lagoons — vast bodies of water, bright blues and reds or crystal clear, thousands of pink flamingos, sharp green grass which felt like AstroTurf beneath your feet, and seas of furry llamas out to graze with their babies.
Occasionally we saw a lonely hut in the middle of nowhere where an indigenous family would be living and farming. We stopped in small villages along the way which were inhabited by Mayan people who survived only by accommodating the constant stream of travellers passing through. They made beer from cactus, honey, quinoa and coca, provided very basic meals, accommodation and fabulous company.
We timed it perfectly, reaching Salar de Uyuni — the world’s largest and highest salt lake — just in time for the sunrise . . . during the rainy season and just after intense rainfall. For only a small part of the year Salar de Uyuni sees the rain which leaves the immense salt flat a sea of reflective magic. It is only during that time you are able to get photos like those you see with this story. It was without a doubt the most powerful sunrise I have ever witnessed, despite the below zero temperature.
The trip ended in the small town of Uyuni, a strange yet colourful place where the people were almost entirely indigenous and no taller than my waist. So fair warning, if you are tall be prepared to be looked at like you have just climbed down a beanstalk!
The amount of rubbish in the streets was heart-breaking and it seemed the only food easily available was packaged chips, sweets and fizzy drinks. I, and everything I owned, was covered in salt. I was exhausted and in need of a break. I took a day to do my washing and rest up in Uyuni but one day is all you need. Don’t allocate too much time there. There’s not much to do . . . and the rest of brilliant Bolivia is still to be explored.
