Big Sur

The ‘overflow’ Casa de Ciclistas in La Paz is at Mabel’s house; Mabel, stepmother to indefatigable casa host Cristian, also hosts cyclists in her very comfortable basement. We are received as family and really hope to see Mabel, Pablo and Yolita again.

Before leaving, we are lucky to spend time with some very hairy Alaskans. Max, Kanaan and Andy of “A Trip South” introduce us to Russian dumplings, excessive egg eating and the finer points of taming facial hair that is over a year old.

After the frantic road out of La Paz, we welcome the solitude that the desert brings on the second day.

Wild camping with Anna, we begin cooking together. Travelling with other cyclists obviously requires a certain amount of adapting to each others’ ways. We soon find though that on the most important topic (food) Anna’s appetite and hunger for good camp food matches ours and a beautiful new cooking team is born.

Just one of an eclectic mix of tasteful posters we get to peruse while having lunch in a shop in Curahuara.

An icy downpour forces us off the road and into a disused shelter. The stove comes out and in a flash we are huddled over cups of tea until the weather clears…

…and a few kms later, we are settling into another idyllic camp site…

…with beautiful views of Volcan Sajama – Bolivia’s highest peak at 6542m.

A day’s very dusty and windy riding…

…blows us into the sleepy village of Sajama, in the shadow of the mighty volcano.

From our humble lodgings we have a majestic view to enjoy with our breakfast…

…and it follows us around all day – even scrubbing clothes becomes enjoyable with this backdrop.

No photos please! Anna gets ‘papped’ with her own camera in the hands of Maria Luz, one of the residents of Sajama with a keen eye for photography.

There’s not much going on in Sajama, and the handful of village shops are rarely open. We patiently knock, and wait, and hope…

…supplies are short and we have to improvise but there’s still sufficient food to throw three cyclists into a cooking frenzy back in our hotel room…

…which provides a sumptuous chorizo dinner and leftovers for a decadent breakfast.

Leaving Sajama behind, we ride towards two more epic peaks…

…pausing to look back at their imposing neighbour…

…and stopping to explore clusters of houses with their own tiny stone chapels…

…tattered and a bit worn inside, but definitely still used and loved.

We jump the queue in front of the many trucks also waiting to cross the border at Tambo Quemado…

…and then we are into Chile for a few days of detouring in the desert.

We are forbidden from carrying fruit, vegetables, dairy or meat into Chile and not expecting to encounter shops or restaurants on the Chilean side, we have prepared reluctantly for a five day stint of dried foods and basic meals. We strike gold however on the first morning – a roadside café offering delicious fried egg sandwiches…

…but clearly not everyone is as lucky with their access to food out here.

We share the road with a procession of trucks on their way to Arica on the Chilean coast. Despite being very courteous, the lorry drivers can’t avoid covering us in layer after layer of dust.

Most of the time though, we have the road to ourselves…

…and can take time to watch the landscape open up in front of us.

Afternoon winds are brutal…

…and finding ourselves on a wide empty plateau in the early evening, we have to push 3km through sand and wind to find some shelter for camping.

We find ready-made shelter in a corral which is perfect for cooking our dinner out of the wind.

After a silent night of tranquil camping, we are just a short hop away from the edge of Chile’s Salar de Surire. A wide, bright, sparkling, deserted expanse of salt and a haven for vicuña and flamingos.

Tentative steps out onto the salar thankfully reveal that it’s spongy but not a complete bog.

Flashes of green from quirky local plant life…

…contrast with the dazzling white salt and turquoise thermal pools. We arrive at the thermal waters at Polloquere…

…and jump in. James quickly returns to his “creature from the deep” incarnation, last seen on Lake Tititaca…

…and I scoop up the silky mud for a face pack. In the cold afternoon winds, the warm waters at around 45°C are bliss…

… but it’s a very different story out of the water. Getting straight into warm clothes is a race as the temperatures plummet. We layer up to keep warm…

…as the sun goes down.

Waking to towers of rising steam and with no wind, the waters are hotter than the night before…

…nothing for it but to get back in…

…and enjoy an all over body pack…

…thankfully, there’s enough mud to cover everyone!

Dragging ourselves away from a luxurious morning of mud wallowing, we begin our journey back towards the Bolivian border. With barely anything marked on our map and only having seen a handful of lorry drivers for days, we are surprised to find so many place names marked on this road sign…

…but there’s definitely no one around…

…as we climb away from the salar…

…and onto a lunar landscape.

Signs of life return as we descend towards Bolivia and reach another pretty church in Isluga…

…with delicate details.

Crossing back into Bolivia is quick and easy and soon we are back amongst the truckers as the sun sets over the border town of Pisiga.

Keen to camp, we accept an invitation from friendly Miguel (who owns the local grocery shop in town) to camp with his baby llamas. They insist on overseeing every aspect of our routine, and welcome us appropriately back to Bolivia.