The sun was just rising over the distant snow-capped volcanoes when we staggered to breakfast, ready for our first excursion into the Atacama Desert - the driest place in the world.
We’d had very strict instructions on what to bring: this area also has the highest UV Index in the world (today was 15, literally the top of the scale), so hats and sunglasses were obligatory. We’d each been given a named water bottle in our rooms to fill up at the meeting point, where they also provided special extra strong suncream.
It was just us three with a guide, Palu, a Chilean lady who now lives in San Pedro, and Adrian our driver (presumably not spelled like that?), who was one of the indigenous people from the area. Our destination was the Salt Mountains, which we reached driving on rough tracks across a barren wasteland.
When the car stopped Palu led us through a pass in the mountains. What she called “precipitate” was lying on the ground like snow - because of the salt and gypsum in the mountains, this happens whenever it rains.
The rocks sparkled in the sun - Jemima picked up flakes of gypsum which were completely translucent, which you could scratch with your fingernail. The salt, in contrast, was much harder. We licked our fingers and touched them on the salt patches exposed in the rock - yes, they were really salty!
At one point Palu threw a handful of sand at a rock face with lots of exposed salt patches, and it made a pretty tinkling sound. In another place we stood in front of a rock face that had previously been mined for salt, and you could literally hear the rock making cracking noises as it warmed up in the morning sun - like it was alive. But between those, there was complete silence - something I’ve never experienced. Not a distant car, not a bird, no wind in trees - nothing. This place was so hostile nothing grew, and nothing lived there.
She showed us an abandoned bus that had been used as a shelter by the salt mine workers, now turned into a slightly bemusing tourist attraction, and then led us up a hill to a mirador, or viewpoint. It was like an alien landscape - a row of giant red rocks in weird curving shapes like worn down teeth jutted up to our right. To the left, a huge sand dune (used in The Mandalorian apparently). In between, the barren plain. And all around, you can always see the distant volcanoes - apparently today we were probably seeing 150km because it was quite hazy. On a good day you can see 450km - that’s further than Norwich to Cardiff. Mind boggling.
After lunch at the hotel, Jemima and I ambled down to enjoy the pool until our next excursion left at 5pm. The hotel is lovely, but slightly odd, with a very confusing layout - corridors and walkways everywhere. The pool area was at the end of a series of wooden pathways, part over a wild flower field: four pools in a row, only one of which was heated (guess which one we chose). It was glorious but we didn’t stay in for too long - I was paranoid about that UV.
We met some enthusiastic young Americans (from Nashville) down there. After a brief chat, Jemima told me that if I was American, with my levels of enthusiasm, I’d sound psychotic…
Then it was time to take my enthusiasm on the second excursion. There were 7 of us this time, with Freddy as our guide - another hugely knowledgeable Chilean who also spoke perfect English (and French, and Portuguese, it turned out).
We drove through a completely different landscape: flat, and much more green with scrubby plants, and even in some places, trees. The desert is punctuated with literal oases where rivers flow - often underground, but occasionally coming into the open. We drove through a little village based around one of these points: in the middle of all this bare scrub, there were fruit trees and crops, plus people swimming in the river. Such a contrast. “Water is life”, the guides keep saying.
Our destination was Laguna Chaxa, part of third biggest salt flat in South America (Jemima and Kevin had been to the second, in Las Salinas Grandes). This was very different - rather than the flat whiteness they’d seen, the salt was grey, about a foot thick and wind-carved into shapes that looked like coral (it was extremely windy there, with that hot hair-dryer wind). It still tasted like salt though! And it surrounded the edges of a lagoon filled with krill, which was being feasted on with determined concentration by flamingoes - I literally saw only one raise its head the whole time we were there.
We spent a while admiring the views, watching the flamingoes and other little wading birds, and spotting tiny lizards that were scurrying about at the edge of the water. We were hoping to see the flamingoes fly together - apparently they can fly 300 miles a day, which surprised me - but only one obliged. It was a weirdly wonderful place. Then, as the sun started to set, we got our van back to the hotel.
The idea of the day, when we planned it, was to give us an experience of the contrasting landscapes in this area - and it certainly did that. More tomorrow…
Salt Mountains - gypsum:
Erosion!:
Salt sparkles in the rocks:
Salt! (We licked it, it was very salty…):
“Precipitate” all over the ground:
The random bus:
The creaking rocks:
View from the mirador (that first one is the Mandalorian sand dune):
Lunchtime (Peruvian chocolate 3 ways):
Pool time:
Kids swimming in the river at the next oasis (on the way to the salt flats):
Salt flats:
Krill (food for the flamingoes - what turns them pink):
Flamingoes!:
Head up!:
Flying:
Sunset on the way home:
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