Bolivia: 23rd April - 5th May

By now I had little over two weeks left before my flight home from Buenos Aires, and so much to fit it in. Not only did I want to do a tour of the Salar De Uyuni, climb Huayna Potosí and squeeze in a trip up to Iguazu Falls, I also had to fit all this around the small matter of Liverpool's two Champions League semi-final games against Chelsea. So I worked out a plan whereby I would watch the first leg in Tupiza (first town after the border) before the Salar de Uyuni trip, and the second leg in La Paz before my mountain climbing, and then take a flight from La Paz to Iguazu afterwards. It seemed like a great plan, except that it meant hanging around in Tupiza for two days waiting for the game. It did seem a little crazy to be scheduling my movements around something as seemingly trivial as a football game, when I'd travelled all the way to South America and had so little time left. When would I be in South America again? But then I decided that I could, in theory, come back to South America any time I chose, it was totally up to me, whereas Liverpool's participation in a Champions League semi-final was completely out of my control and might not happen again as long as I live. Anyway, Liverpool didn't play along with this cunning plan, by losing that first game 1-0 to Chelsea. Anyway, the morning after the game I started a four day jeep tour of south-western Bolivia and the Salar De Uyuni. I was in a group of four other English people (three girls and a bloke called Mike), and a Bolivian driver/guide, José, plus a cook, Corinna. We set off somewhat later than planned and hadn't even made it out of Tupiza before running into trouble with the local traffice police who seemed somewhat upset with the state of our jeep's first aid kit. So back we went to the office to pick up some paperwork or just as likely a bit of extra money for a nice bribe. Anyway, eventually we were on our way, climbing up dusty roads into the hills surrounding Tupiza.

Soon we were up onto the Altiplano, the high altitude plateau that runs down through southern Peru and all of western Bolivia. Mountains and volcanoes rose around us to well over 5000m as our road wound through the semi-desert landscape. This is Volcan Uturuncu, 6020m.

A few hours in on the first day we got a puncture. José and Corinna were on the case though and changed the wheel with all the slickness of a Formula One team but none of the speed. However that was our only spare tyre and it seemed to me like we would be lucky to make it to our night's stop without some drama.

There were no further problems that day though and when we got to our hotel that night, José repaired the tyre so we were good to go. It was a cold night and even colder morning up on the Altiplano, and getting out of the Landcruiser to visit the various lakes and villages we passed was a test of courage, at least until the sun had come up and warmed the air somewhat. The first day's drive had been somewhat disappointing; there hadn't been that much to see, but day two was better. Impressive volcanoes and some stunning lakes, such as this one: Laguna Verde (Green Lake), lifeless due to its high arsenic content, sitting at the foot of Volcan Licancabúr.

Later on we spent some time at some hot springs although I didn't get in because the air was just too cold and the springs just too crowded. Late in the afternoon we reached Laguna Colorado (Red Lake), whose colour comes from the algae that live in the water. The algae attracts huge flocks of flamingoes, like the ones you can see to the right of the photo.

For some reason this baby flamingo was completely fearless, whereas all the other flamingoes flew away as soon as you approached them, as you would expect.

That night was even colder than the one before. Again we were up before dawn for a breakfast of coca tea & buns; an early start was needed because we had a long way to drive to get to the Salar de Uyuni that day. This friendly llama was hanging around outside the village store waiting for a few tasty nibbles from the customers.

On the way to the Salar we passed through some incredible landscapes. This is the Arbol de Piedra, or Tree of Rock, formed from a wind-eroded chunk of volcanic rock which landed here on this sandy plain after being ejected from a nearby volcano hundreds of thousands of years ago.

There were also plenty more lakes and plenty more flamingoes...

...and lots and lots of volcanoes. This one, Volcan Ollagüe, is active: you can see a cloud of ash rising from its left flank.

That evening we reached a village on the edge of the Salar where we were to spend the night. The plan was to get up early next morning to experience the sunrise from the middle of the plains. Mike and I climbed a nearby hill to get our first real glimpse of the Salar de Uyuni.

Next morning we were up again before dawn to drive out to the middle of the Salar. It's hard to give an impression of the size of this salt flat from a few photographs alone, so I'll try some numbers. Not only is the Salar de Uyuni the highest salt flat in the world (at 3650m above sea level), it is also the largest. It's surface area is 10582km˛, or 4085 square miles. That's only a little bit smaller than the area of Devon and Cornwall combined. Or 25 times the size of the Bonneville salt flats in the USA. There is estimated to be ten billion tons of salt in the Salar. Impressed? I was...

My tour group: me, Mike, Corinna, the English girls and José.

Out in the middle of the salar, we visited Isla de Pescado, a cactus covered lump of rock rising 80m or so up out of the white expanses of the salar. Great views across the salar to the volcanoes that surround it.

Penultimate stop on the tour was this salt hotel. Everything that possibly could be is made of salt. The walls...

...chairs, tables & beds. After a fleeting visit here we carried on to our final stop, for lunch, in a little mining village on the edge of the salar. Then it was just a ten minute drive to Uyuni and the end of the tour. We said goodbye to José & Corinna, the girls checked into a hostel and Mike and I went off to book tickets for the night bus to La Paz.

After several hours in the slowest internet cafe in all of South America, and a somewhat rushed dinner (cos we'd spent too long in that internet cafe!), Mike and I boarded our night bus bound for La Paz. The last bus trip I was to make on this journey. At about twelve hours it wasn't exactly a marathon, but this being Bolivia it was a suitably grueling Last Bus Trip. At least the campesinos weren't up to their old tricks. We arrived in La Paz a couple of hours after sunrise, and once again I could enjoy this magnificent view down onto the highest capital city in the world. That day Mike and I spent in a little bit of exploring, a fair bit of interneting, and lots of eating. Mike arranged himself a trip to Rurrenabaque and the Bolivian jungle, whilst I signed up for my long-awaited climb of Huayna Potosí. The following day was a Very Important Day of course, being the Champions League semi-final second leg between Liverpool and Chelsea (the Reds trailing 1-0 from the first leg, remember). I don't need to tell you of course that Daniel Agger's superb side-footed goal from a Steven Gerrard free-kick saw the game finish 1-0, aggregate score 1-1, and that the Scousers beat the Chavs on penalties. I should tell you that the atmosphere in Oliver's Travels (English pub) was superb, especially as at least 90% of those present were cheering for Liverpool.

So next morning I reported to 0800 hours at Servimaster Tours near the bottom of Calle Sagárnaga, where I was fitted out with some beautifully lairy climbing equipment before being driven out to the foot of the mountain, where my guide Theo and I set up our camp for that night. We'd be sleeping at 4700m, on a small patch of grass behind one of the buildings belonging to the hydroelectric plant located there, in order to get a first night's acclimitization. Across the lake, rising 6088m into a clear sky, was Huayna Potosí. It didn't look that long of a way up...

That day we hiked up to one of the mountain's lower glaciers, to practice some ice climbing with crampons and ice-axe, and also to get some acclimitization. Ice climbing was something I'd never done before but there wasn't much to it... dig the front points (of your crampons) in, reach up with the axe, dig it into the ice, give it a tug to check it's firm, then take a step up with the left foot, dig those front points in, do the same with the right foot, swing a bit higher with the axe, check it's firm, and so on and so forth. Before you know it you're at the top. Not even the 5000m altitude seemed to be causing me any problems.

That night I went to bed feeling fine, didn't sleep much due to the cold and Theo's snoring, and got up next morning feeling not too hot at all. I forced some breakfast down but it didn't feel like it wanted to stay there. Anyway off we went, following at first the same route as the previous day towards the glacier, but shortly before reaching it we turned off and headed up a rocky spur until we were far above. Further up I could see the stone hut where we would spend the night. I'd seen it the day before from the glacier and it didn't look much higher up; obviously, now that I actually had to make the climb, it seemed a lot further. The last hundred or metres or so of vertical distance were more or less a scramble up huge jumbled rocks; by now I was feeling really terrible. Every few metres I went forward would be followed by several minutes of recovery time, sat on a rock in the sun. I needed to drink but felt sure if I did, I'd just bring it straight back up. Once I made it to the hut, I just collapsed on the floor and sat there for a long time. Besides me and my guide Theo, there were three other groups climbing the mountain that day. Two of them had spent the previous night down at the hydro-electric plant with me; a German guy called Johannes and a group of three Spanish guys. Late in the afternoon, a third group arrived, two more German guys and a Canadian couple. They had come up from La Paz that day. Given the way I was feeling with a night's acclimatisation, I wasn't sure how they could be feeling anything other than terrible. Dinner that evening wasn't much fun but I forced some spaghetti down along with plenty of coca tea. I went to bed at around 7pm; Theo was going to wake me at midnight to start for the summit, which we would then hopefully reach around sunrise.

I actually managed to sleep most of those few hours, which was a relief because had I not, I would have just laid there and spent the whole time talking myself out of continuing to the summit. But Theo woke me exactly at midnight, with a steaming mug of coca tea, and I knew there was no choice but to go for it. All I could think about was my time on Kilimanjaro a few years before, when in an identical situation I very nearly failed to force myself out of my sleeping bag, yet did so and managed to make it to the summit for one of the greatest experiences of my life so far. I knew that here on Huayna Potosí I didn't feel nearly as bad as I had then, and I was in every way better acclimitized and prepared for the climb. I had to do it. So at around 00:30, Theo and I left the hut, the first group to start the climb. It was a perfectly clear night and we had a moon just a day or two past full to light our way, so my headtorch stayed in my backpack. We scrambled down a few metres over rocks till we reached the start of the ice cap that we'd climb up all the way to the summit. Crampons on and start to climb. The first stretch of maybe fifty metres ascent was fairly steep and we kind of sidestepped up. Further up all the footprints in the snow coalesced into a single trail, a foot or so wide, which showed us the way ahead. The slope levelled off somewhat but continued to climb relentlessly. Looking back I could see a glow of light from the hut maybe a hundred metres below me, then the headtorches of the next group just starting out. In the distance the lights of La Paz glittered. It really was a magical feeling, there in the moonlight, so bright that it felt like day, stars shining above me and in the distance ahead of me the summit looming large.

I wish I could show you some pictures here to give you a feeling of what it looked like, but unfortunately my tripod had died in Torres Del Paine (I ripped its head off trying to get a shot of the Milky Way!). Anyway, the higher we climbed, the more often I found myself having to stop and rest. Which was only to be expected, we were after all now well above 5500m; oxygen was getting scarcer with every step forward I took. I had plenty of Golpe bars with me for energy and they kept me going. Still I felt like my progress was getting slower and slower, my rest stops more and more frequent. The only thing giving me any confidence was that none of the other groups showed any sign of catching up with me. The summit was clearly visible above us the whole time, shining brightly in the moonlight, yet it didn't seem to be getting any closer. The only way to judge progress was by looking at the snow covered bulges and mounds that loomed up next to the trail, and at the smaller peaks across the valley behind me. As we moved forward I would point to a distant peak or a hummock of snow rising high above the trail beside us and ask Theo how high it was. Each time his answer would be lower than I'd hoped and expected, and enthusiasm would drain away. But eventually we came to a short but very steep slope which Theo told me we would have to ice-climb. Behind me now I could see the Spanish guys and their two guides, five little figures below me, roped together inching their way along the snow trail. I started to climb the slope, like Theo had showed me on the glacier, but it was absolutely exhausting work. It was only maybe twenty metres of vertical ascent, but it took me ten long minutes and several rest stops to make it to the top; when I'd made it I took a few paces further then sank to my knees in the snow, resting on my ice axe. I felt like it was almost over. I couldn't go much further. Theo stood beside me and looked at his watch - 4am. "Somos muy rapido. Sin duda, vamos a lograrlo!", he said; "We're very fast, no question that we'll make it!". I didn't quite believe him but still his words gave me a boost. As I got back to my feet, the Spanish group came up over the lip of the climb and I let them overtake us before following along behind. In the black & white moonlit night they looked exactly like I felt: exhausted. Looking back, I realised how high the last climb had brought us; all the mounds and peaks that had seemed to tower above me were below me now - only one peak was left above, and it seemed to rise vertically up, all 6088 metres of Huayna Potosí itself.

Ten minutes gentle walking later and we were at the base of the final summit slope. Together with the Spanish guys I crashed out on the snow and stared in disbelief at the slope. Theo assured me it was no more than 70° steep and only 250m high, but from this viewpoint it looked infinitely steep and infinitely high. There was no way I was going to be able to climb it, no way at all. We rested there for a long time, until the cold started to numb our fingers. The Spanish boys started first, all three of them roped together to their two guides ahead - or was one behind? I'm not sure. I was too deeply engrossed in my own doubts to pay much attention to what they were doing. Ten minutes or so after them I told Theo I was ready to start.He went ahead, and kept me on a fairly short rope. We walked the first few metres, then had to sidestep like earlier, then soon it was into the climb. Exactly like on the glacier; dig in the axe, take a step up with the left foot, a step up with the right foot, dig in the axe again. Except this time I found that after every four or five steps I needed to just hang on for a few minutes and recover my breath and my energy. I looked back down & could clearly see the spot where we had all relaxed in the snow at the foot of the slope; it already looked a long way down although we had barely started the climb. Theo reckoned it would take an hour to make it to the summit, which would get us there in perfect time for the sunrise. As I climbed though I had no idea how quickly the time was passing. It seemed to me like I would climb maybe five steps, very quickly, then have to rest for five minutes before I could carry on. I tried to climb more slowly so that I could make the rest stops shorter, but it didn't work. Somehow climbing slowly seemed to take more energy than climbing quickly. However quickly or slowly I was climbing, I was gaining rapidly on the Spaniards ahead of me, and the fact that for whatever reason Theo had chosen to ascend directly beneath them wasn't helping either; every time one of them swung an axe I got a face full of ice raining down on top of me.

Eventually I reached a point where I felt like resting was costing me just as much energy as climbing. Hanging onto my ice axe, my legs trembled from the strain of just holding position. Looking down, and then looking up, both ways seemed equally full of difficulty and danger. What was I doing here, in the dark, in sub-zero temperatures, 150m up a near vertical ice wall at nearly 6000m above sea level with no hope of rescue or assistance if anything should go wrong? It seemed like the craziest thing I had ever undertaken amongst all the crazy adventures I have had in my time. I'm not sure if Theo was helping or not; he didn't say a word, just waited there patiently above me. I asked him how much further to go; he said we were half way. I think he was lying. I'll never be sure. All I know is that I just resigned myself to carrying on, there really was nothing else to be done. Dig in the axe, take a step up with the left foot, a step up with the right foot, dig in the axe again. Repeat like crazy maybe five times, maybe ten. Then hang on your axe, stretch your legs and wait till you feel a little bit of energy creep back into your muscles. Then off you go again.

Some time later I was right underneath the rearmost Spaniard. Swing out to the left a bit, overtake them to the side. No more ice falling on my face now, Theo above me seemed to be able to climb without making any fall. Keep going, keep going, starting to get light now, off to the left I'd lost sight of La Paz but I could see the lake where we started, below me I could see two more climbers with a guide just starting up the slope, where were the other three who should be with them? I looked up again; Theo was waiting for me. Follow him, dig in the axe, take a step up with the left foot, a step up with the right foot, dig in the axe again. Is it me or is the slope starting to get a little less steep? Keep going, I thought, definitely less steep now, no more rests, keep going, keep going, I don't need the axe anymore.... I looked to the left and suddenly in the gathering light recognised what I was looking at, got that feeling you get when you know you've achieved something you've wanted for so long and worked so hard, suffered so much, to achieve. It was the unique summit snows of Huayna Potosí, rising up to a sharp wind-blasted cornice, right there seemingly within arm's reach. I stumbled forward and suddenly I was crawling on hands and knees onto level ground and before me there was nothing but empty space. Theo had stopped; he was letting me reach the summit first. I collapsed onto my belly and just lay there, breathing hard like a stranded whale. I didn't move until I heard the Spaniards arrive behind me. I had done it. I had reached 6000m for the first and quite possibly the last time in my life.

I looked at my watch and saw it had taken fifty minutes to make the ice climb. We were a little early for the sunrise, fifteen minutes we had to wait up there until the sun rose above the clouds covering the Amazon lowlands to to the east of us.

After a while, Johannes and Matthew, one of the other German guys, arrived at the top too. The others had turned back, they said, which didn't surprise me given their rapid ascent from La Paz. Here's me with Theo.

Huayna Potosí's shadow stretching over the Bolivian Altiplano, all the way to Lake Titicaca, and the Isla Del Sol.

I wanted to stay up top forever. I felt great, and after all the effort to get up there, I wanted to enjoy it for as long as I could. I guess I was up there for an hour or so, then it was time to start back down. Which to be honest was scarier than going up. Mainly because in the daylight I could actually see how crazy a proposition it was. But there was no way around it. I was going to have to go down sooner or later. Theo drove a big stake into the snow at the top and I abseiled down the 50 metre length of his rope. Then I dug myself into the wall and waited for him to come down and join me. Then he dug his aluminium stake in again and I abseiled the next stretch. Five times we repeated that procedure until I was back at the base of the ice climb.

After a short rest we carried on down. Looking back up, I could see the two German lads coming down. It mightn't look that steep from this angle, but that climb is 70° and when you're on it, hanging on for dear life, it feels like it's vertical!

Obviously it was downhill most of the way back to the hut, but still I found it heavy going. The lack of oxygen, and the fact I hadn't eaten much since the previous morning were taking their toll. I could feel energy draining away from me with every step, and the going soon became almost as slow as it had been on the way up. Soon after we passed the first, smaller ice climb, we came across marks in the snow beside the trail that looked for all the world as though somebody had been dragged along. By the time I made it back to the hut, I was literally running on vapours - I had given all I had and there was no more in reserve. It was about 9am, and Theo said I could have an hour's rest, then we would have breakfast and head back down to the reservoir. I crashed out on my mattress, leaning against the wall - half sitting, half lying - and just lay there, feeling steadily worse until even the slightest movement seemed to demand superhuman effort. When Theo told me there was some breakfast for me downstairs, I just said OK and carried on laying there. At least I wasn't the one suffering the most in the hut - the drag marks in the snow, it turned out, had been made by Katie, from Canada, who had basically collapsed on the way up and unable to either continue onwards or return, had had to be dragged down by her guide and her boyfriend. Time went on and I wasn't feeling any better. I desperately needed to eat something to get some energy but I just couldn't; I knew that whatever went down would be coming straight back up again. Eventually I managed to drink a little coca tea with lots of sugar, which helped a little, but couldn't summon the courage to stand up until I was basically thrown out of the hut, because the warden bloke was closing up and himself heading back down to La Paz. It was a long, weary walk back down to the reservoir and my ride back to La Paz, but at least I knew that with each step I took the air was getting a little thicker, and civilization - and a hot shower - a little closer.

Well it had been only been two nights since I had left the city but it felt like it had been a lifetime. I had that hot shower, slept for a few hours, caught up on e-mails then went back to Oliver's Travels for my final meal in Bolivia. Yeah I know it sucks to eat English on your last night in a country like Bolivia but damn it those steaks were good. I had a couple of beers there too, nothing too heavy, then headed back to my hotel at around 9pm for an early night. Next morning I had a very early flight to Buenos Aires and I asked reception to book me a taxi for 5am. I got everything packed for the morning, set my alarm for ten to five, then went to bed. I was laying there thinking about the mountain when it occurred to me that I had left both my credit cards hidden in my rucksack, in the hotel's luggage storeroom, whilst I had been on the mountain. I had hidden them there whilst hanging out in La Paz before the climb, because I didn't feel too safe carrying them around with me on the streets of the city; I'd then forgotten to put them back in my wallet before starting the climb. I wondered whether they'd still be there or whether someone had had a look through my stuff while I was away and found them. I decided it could wait till the morning and I soon fell asleep. At 4:45am there was a knock on the door; it was the night clerk telling me my taxi had arrived. I pulled my trousers and T-shirt on, grabbed my jacket, then looked in the Secret Hiding Place in my backpack to see if the cards were still there. Thank God they were. Great. So now put them back in the wallet where they belong. Where is my wallet? Not in my trouser pocket where it should be. Is it on the table? No. On the floor somewhere? Nope. In amongst the bed sheets somewhere? Can't see it. In my day pack? It's nowhere! It must be here somewhere... It's not. Take everything out of my rucksack, my daypack, strip the bed. No use, it's not here. I must have been pick-pocketed. But that doesn't make sense, I definitely had it leaving the English pub, I distinctly remember putting my change into it. And then the walk back to the hotel was just five minutes along a main road, there hadn't been many people around, no crowd where you might think a pickpocket could sneak up unnoticed. Whatever, it was gone, with all my money (about $100) and my only ATM card. How was I going to get to the airport? My flight was at 07:30, far too early to go to a bank to get a cash advance on a credit card, let alone to go to the police to report the theft. My only chance was to try to remember the PIN for one of my two credit cards. How lucky was it that they had been left in my rucksack all that time instead of being in my wallet! I had various random PINs swimming vaguely around in my head but no idea which belonged to either of these credits cards. I had basically six chances to make a correct guess, or I was going to miss my flight. As the taxi drove me to the nearest ATM, I racked my brains and one particular number kept popping up, so I decided to try that first. Tried it with credit card #1: denied. Tried it with credit card #2: success!! I withdrew just enough Bolivianos to get me to the airport, pay the departure tax and maybe have some breakfast, and then off we went. A couple of hours later, I could finally relax on the plane and enjoy this view of La Paz with Huayna Potosí rising above it. My return to Bolivia had been nothing if not memorable. But now it was onwards to Argentina for the final few days of the trip.

Next page: Final stop - Argentina
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