About 25km outside the small Bolivian town of Uyuni lies a natural wonder that provides the region with its largest export and its largest import.
The export is salt and the import is tourists.
The salt flats at Salas are a vast expanse of dry lake bed covered in a 10m thick crust of blindingly white salt for as far as the eye can see.
Cameron was forbidden from the adventure, ostensibly because of her weight but probably because the corrosion would eventually break her back. Three elderly Toyota 4x4 Land Cruisers arrived at Hotel Tonito at 9am and seven of us clambered into each, Bert folding his long legs into the back seat while I luxuriated in the front.
After a further 25km we pulled into the small village of Salas on the shores of the once massive lake. Everyone made the statutory purchase of something made of al paca wool before we climbed back into the trucks for a mind-bending journey across the salt. We passed a series of hotels constructed entirely from salt and gangs of men slinging shovel after shovel, twelve feet above their heads into a waiting trailer.
We stopped at enormous piles of salt scraped from the surface and admired the perfect reflections of the surrounding mountains cast in the pools of aquamarine water which form in the trenches that dot the production areas.
We drove for an hour in convoy with the other 4x4’s as our driver Johnny held the needle at a steady 80kmph. Occasionally he pulled level so we could take pictures of the other vehicles, for no other reason than to give our pictures some perspective. Without this, any sense of scale is lost in the endless and featureless backdrop.
Eventually we reached Cactus Island, a strange eruption of life in the dead expanse. Perhaps an island in the old lake, the rock protrudes 25m above the surface of the flats and has become an oasis. Birds nest in the proliferating cactus. Dogs sleep away the day in the shade of the few buildings that have been built. A pair of llamas roam the island and venture a safe distance onto the salt, curious of the tourist intrusion but nervous at any approach
After lunch we did the thing which has made the salt flats famous.
Armed with two plastic dinosaurs, one Buzz Lightyear, a bottle of wine and a toy truck, we lay on our stomachs, setting about the business of composing our own personal masterpieces. The salt crystals dug into our knees and soaked into our clothes as we lay, craning our necks to achieve the perfect shot.
The flatness and lack of features lend themselves perfectly to photographs that play with the lack of perspective. With careful positioning of both the camera and the subject, giant dinosaurs appear to be chasing tiny humans, tourists sit happily atop coke bottles and friends stand crowded inside upturned hats.
These and countless other pictures, limited only by the imagination, festoon the walls of every hotel and restaurant in Uyuni and a quick search of the internet will reveal a million other variations on the theme.
A half day on the flats passed in a blink of an eye and before we knew it, Johnny was revving his engine and signalling us to return for the drive home. Frighteningly, one truck broke down. With two others to help there was no danger but the flats are as big as Switzerland.
We passed walkers and cyclists far from land. Lost on the salt flats, death is inevitable.
We arrived home safely, to more pizza and another night in the Extreme Fun Bar. A scruffy German and a hairy Ecuadorian tangoed expertly in the smoky bar before we had to leave. We were locked out at 1am and shame-facedly tiptoed in passed Chris’s sleepy-eyed wife who let us in.
Was it a good day?
It depends on your perspective.
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