Bolivia: Part 2

This type of traveling is addicting. The route is not known, the means are unsure, and a miscalculation can be everything from mildly inconvenient to severely dangerous. Walking out of Uyuni and into the desert late that evening was exciting. There is always a little bit of apprehension that follows, but I can easily push this feeling to the back of my mind. The circumstances that we were in were a bit more tricky than I had previously alluded. Mike and I were in the country illegally. It is a $135 fee for the Bolivian visa and Mike and I were supposed to pay in Uyuni. We were now leaving Uyuni with no intention of going back to pay the fee. I was against paying on principal. I would only be in this country for 4 days, and I knew not when I would return. I was also against paying based on my financial situation. Obviously we would have to address this situation at the border but we also needed to be careful while in the country. A run in with authorities would quickly become messy.

Heading South, Mike and I walked several kilometers outside the city. We would stop periodically and ask, "En cual direccion es la frontera de Chile?". We got funny looks and were directed down a few different trash strewn roads before we ended up at a decent spot. Our first ride came quickly and we made almost 200km to the town of San Cristobal in a truck with two women and a dog who was, unfortunately, not happy about having his spacious back-seat-domain intruded on. We had just enough time that night to hike several km outside the city and set up camp on the outskirts. The traffic had died down to just tour vehicles returning to their homes and vehicles bound to the many local mines. One truck stops but is not offering a ride. He tells us no one will pick us up and to return the way we came. We brush it off and don't think much of it. Until the next day.

Culpina K was a small town in the middle of the desert that we stayed in during our 4x4 tour. Now it was the last mark of civilization on the way back. Mike and I found a ride there early in the morning and then sat by the road for the next 4 hours as no traffic passed. Sure, there was the occasional mine truck and tour vehicle, but they were not going to pick us up. We looked at some maps of the area and saw that there was a road to the North which went through several towns and was significantly closer to the border. Unfortunately we had ridden almost 100km out of the way but we cut our losses and set off on our new route. The rides were fairly plentiful and we made up the 100km quickly. It was still early in the day and our final ride was a red pickup. There were 3 people in a single cab and the back was full with barrels and gas cans. Mike and I piled in and rode the next 50km to Rio Grande. When we arrived, we asked the driver which way to the next city and the border. He furrowed his brow and said very confidently that the way to the border is down South, where we had just been. We told him no and showed him the map with the road. The next city was Julaca and they pointed us in the direction of the city which we estimated to be about 30km away. Mike and I walked down the road in disbelief that people didn't even know where the borders were.

Not even 5 minutes later the same red truck pulled up behind us. They said they were headed to Julaca and offered to give us another ride. As they got out the moved around some things in the back of the truck they said "you guys went the wrong way". Mike and I thought nothing of it and happily hopped in. Soon we were driving off into the middle of nowhere. It was not until the road started leaving the power lines that something felt wrong. I started thinking about why these guys had suddenly decided to drive to Julaca. "Are you worried at all?" I asked Mike. He looked at me confused for a second, blinked, and replied: "yeah". I looked around, trying to find some sign of civilization, some sign of help. There was none. I started looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and I chastised myself for jumping in the truck so quickly with out asking questions. Mike shifted uncomfortably, trying to see into the cabin of the truck for signs of a weapon. We had rounded a corner and started to slow down when I saw one of the men shift inside. "Mike, they have a gun." "Shit, shit." Mike's eyes darted around wildly. He was sitting on the passenger side, the same side as the man with the gun. They were obviously trying to keep everything hidden and we didn't want to react too soon. I made my backpack available to Mike and we each grabbed a hold of one of my trekking poles. Right now they were collapsed into the storage configuration and they were a fairly heavy, 2 foot length of metal. My other hand went to the knife at my side.

The truck started rolling to a stop in the middle of the road with cliffs to the left and salt flats to the right. There was no one else around. I looked a Mike with an intense expression. "We have to be quick," I said. There were three of them, but in true South American fashion, none were taller that 5'5". The truck came to a stop in a cloud of dust and I took a deep breath. Both doors opened at the same time. Mike was faster than I thought. The trekking pole made a sharp crack as it struck the gunman across the eye socket. One hand went to his eye and the other swung a small revolver into sight. Mike dropped the trekking pole and brought his full weight down on top of the man, bringing him to the ground and seizing the revolver, which was still in the Chilean's grasp. At the same I had brought my pole down on the drivers head with full force, causing him to stagger back into the open door. He had a knife in his hand and the next blow was directed there, connecting across his knuckles. The man screamed, dropped his knife and held his hand to his chest, clearly shocked at the brutal attack. On the other side of the truck I heard Mike shout some curses in Spanish and tell the man to get back. Mike had the revolver pointed at his head and was clearly shaken. The third man in the middle of the vehicle also had a knife but had been so shocked that he had not moved. Now all three looked at each other uncertainly. I had the trekking pole raised over my head and my pocket knife deployed in my left hand.

Alright, relax. None of that happened. Well the red truck did pick us up, and the man did say "you guys went the wrong way", and I did ask Mike if he was worried, and the truck did stop in the middle of no where. Mike and I were ready to pounce in the event of a weapon but there was none and the men were just driving further off road into the salt flats and were merely just dropping us off. Later we realized we should have been more careful but we walked the rest of the 10km to Julaca before sun down.

Julaca looked like a railroad town out of a Western. A large square water tower in the center of the city was the only source of water and was filled by train. Ninety percent of the buildings in the small town were abandoned and crumbling. From one end to the other, you could walk in 5 minutes. Five abandoned railroad cars sat near the tracks and proved to be a perfect shelter for the night. In the morning, we explored the abandoned factory and walked around the town. It was one of our favorite places so far, a ghost town situated in the middle of the desert. It was not until I tried to find our route that I realized a problem. There was no road to the border, just a train track, straight as an arrow, off to the horizon. Mike and I consulted our map. It looked like it was around 60km to the border, with one town halfway through. It was a walk-able distance for sure, but the sun was hot and we only had two and a half liters of water each. About this time a cargo train came through the station. We immediately tried to hop on but the cars were moving too fast. It is an intimidating thing, attempting to jump on to a hundred-ton chunk of metal, clanking along at 20 km/hr. We watching the train fade into the distance and set off walking after it. We had a long way ahead of us.

An hour later another train came up behind us. It was hot and the salt was crunchy under our shoes. The train let out a few horn blasts and we waved as we continued to walk on. That is when we heard the shriek of metal brakes slowing the mass of cargo. The conductor gesticulated wildly and Mike and I were elated. Seconds later we were riding in the back of the main engine, sitting in plush chairs, and ecstatic about our luck. It was actually 69km to the border and we made the trip in a little under two hours. The train let us out before the border checkpoint and we walked up from around the bend. Our next hurdle was ahead. Mike was confident that he could get through with his card from Chile so he walked into the immigration control building. An hour later, we were 20 dollars poorer and walking into Chile. Luckily, the border control agents understand the concept of bribes and we continued on with out a hitch.


The small border town of Ollague was over 200km from Calama via a salt paved road and it was not heavily traveled. It was getting late for hitch hiking but Mike and I didn't want to stay in the town that night. An easy solution was the train we were on previously. We asked the new Chilean conductors if they could give us a ride and they said the couldn't. The new engines had a GPS and the company could tell when they made an unscheduled stop. Instead, Mike and I hopped on the back when the train was leaving the station. We high-fived and enjoyed the most spectacular scenery so far. We were on the train for an hour before if got dark. It was a full moon and the volcanoes were brightly illuminated. The purple and pink hues of the waning sunset created a jaw dropping scene. From here we climbed to 4000m through the second highest railroad on the continent and third highest in the world. We sat on a 1 foot by 5 foot section of steel, with our feet resting on the car couplings. The temperature dropped and the clothes went on. It made little difference. Five hours into our journey we realized we might have made a mistake. We were riding on a train which was climbing a pass with the temperature well below freezing and the windchill was brutal. The train was moving to fast to egress and even if we could get off, we were in the middle of no where. There were one or two lights many kilometers away and nothing else but desert and mountains. The moon was bright enough to cast a shadow of the train on the rocky ground below us. By this time Mike had taken out his sleeping bag and was trying to stay warm. I had a few more warm clothes so I was just biding my time, waiting for the journey to end. At one point the train stopped on adjacent tracks to let another engine by. At this time Mike and I hopped off and looked for a campsite. It was not until I was off the train that I realized how cold I was. I started shaking uncontrollably and I did not stop until I was warm in my sleeping bag.

The next day we woke up in the middle of a sea of sand and rock. Rolling hills followed the valley up to the volcanoes we had ridden past the night before. We consulted the map and roughly determined our location. We set off towards where we thought the road might be and after an hour or so of walking reached the road. After a few more hours of walking we caught one of the sparse rides back to Calama. It was nice to be in civilization again and I continued on to Santiago with out Mike, who headed North to Arica.