DAY 1

23 November. Setting off in convoy with Alex and Eric in their van and Manuel on his motorbike, we rolled West from Uyuni onto a long dirt road that would carry us across one of the most surreal landscapes in South America.

The higher we drove, the more the world shifted — from open plains into the realm of sleeping volcanoes, ash fields, pastel lagoons, and deserts carved by time and wind. This was another long-awaited drive on our bucket list: the remote 400km Western route linking Uyuni, Bolivia, to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

Crossing Bolivias Altiplano desert

Climbing steadily, we passed through swampy puna grasslands where llamas and vicuñas grazed, and Andean geese waddled along the waterlogged edges. By the time we reached the park-entry turn-off at 4,580 metres, we were deep in the thin air of the altiplano. The sun was hot inside the truck, but outside the wind sliced straight through us.

The sky was a flawless, high-altitude blue, hardly a cloud in sight. On the flats, mile-high dust devils twisted into the sky creating swirling pillars of sand that drifted across the desert like wandering spirits. The road itself was a rough, endless washboard, its corrugations stretching toward the horizon. Tour groups in 4x4s blasted past in clouds of dust, shuttling tourists chasing the same wild beauty, despite the occasional traffic, the place felt deeply remote. For the next four days and three nights, we inched across 400 km of a landscape that looked equal parts Mars, moon, and mirage.

Geology of a broken world

The altiplano, meaning high plains, is the remnants of a volcanic battlefield. Millions of years ago, the Andes tore themselves apart, leaving behind a chain of collapsed calderas, ash plains, lava domes, and mineral-loaded basins. What’s left today is a patchwork of colours impossible to forget.

Pastel coloured Lagoons

These lagoons were born from ancient volcanic eruptions that left behind shallow basins across the altiplano. Fed mostly by snowmelt and underground springs, their waters evaporate quickly in the thin, dry air, concentrating minerals and algae that give each lagoon its surreal colours — ruby reds, milky greens, electric blues that shift with the light.

Scattered across the desert, these mineral-rich pools are a flamingo paradise, their alkaline waters teeming with the tiny brine shrimp the birds filter out with such precision.

Everywhere we looked, volcanoes anchored the horizon — some perfect cones, some shattered and jagged, others quietly leaking sulphur from deep fissures. It felt like driving through a geography textbook, only far colder, drier, and windier.

A cold night

We pulled into Laguna Cañapa just before sunset, a glassy lagoon dotted with dozens of elegant pink flamingos feeding in the most beautiful lagoon I’ve ever seen.

Everyone was hungry, so I dove into the back and whipped up a hot pasta dinner while the others chatted over a beer with a lovely couple who had arrived an hour earlier. George and Bridget are from Germany travelling in their Toyota camper truck. As soon as the sun set, taking all heat with it. Leaving an icy wind that drove everyone in side for the night. We spent the evening teaching Manuel to play Monopoly Deal who was a quick learner.

Over night the temperature dropped to –9°C, and by morning everything was rimmed with frost, the lagoon a sheet of ice. Tim slipped outside around 6 a.m. An hour later I joined him, bundled tightly against the icy air. Jaxon after that, Charley not moving from her warm bed.

Watching the flamingos wake as they stood huddled on one leg, heads tucked deep into their backs, one long twiggy leg encased in the ice. As the sun crept over the horizon, one by one they cracked the ice around their feet and walked across it toward the warmer shallows. They really are such elegant birds, thriving in a place equally beautiful and harsh.

Jaxon loved to photograph them, identified two different varieties as the James’s and Andean flamingos. The bird photos are his, the scenery are mine.

Day Two — Laguna Cañapa

The scenery only intensified as we left Laguna Cañapa behind. The ground shifted from gravel to pale ash fields — grater remnants of those ancient volcanoes that had blown themselves apart..

The lagoons grew stranger and more beautiful with each kilometre: swirling pinks, brilliant blues, jade greens. Driving was slow, and I was perfectly fine with that.

I couldn’t stop photographing everything, trying to bottle up all this raw beauty and keep it as a forever memory.

Inside the truck the sun had us nearly overheating, but the moment we stepped outside the wind would slice straight through, sending us scrambling for jackets again. By late afternoon we’d covered roughly 100 km, passing by several pretty lagoons along the way.

To Laguna Colorada

After hours of long, dry, dusty roads and several Kodak stops at some of the strangest rock formations. Giant, wind-sculpted shapes rising out of the desert. Eroded by centuries of sand and wind, the rocks stood twisted and contorted.

One stretch is known as the Dalí Desert, said to have inspired the surreal, melting landscapes in his paintings. We pulled over a couple of times to wander and climb among the natural sculptures. Viscacha darted between the boulders — long-tailed, fluffy, rabbit-like creatures that perched on warm rocks and happily accepted freshly cut carrots from the kids.

Rolling into the area around Laguna Colorada, where we decided to camp tucked away from the wind not far from the park entry gate. Not the prettiest of camps, but the wind was so vicious we were all happy to find shelter. Bridget & George pulled Manuel into the cab of their truck, all three squeezed together in the front seat, staying warm and sharing a beer. For dinner I cooked a huge pot of chicken and vegetable soup loaded with lentils, barley, and every hearty vegetable I could find. Also sharing it with Brigit and George, who were unable to cook outside in the gale.

Suddenly around 10pm the wind turned off and everything was perfectly still.

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Day Three – Short on Cash, Long on Washboard

 Knowing we’d cross into Chile at the end of this route, we had timed our spending perfectly. Until we learned there was a park entry fee — 150 BOB per person — and panic set in. We counted everything: 315 BOB. Not enough. Manuel was also tapped and had to borrow from Alex and Eric. No chance to pay by credit card or USD, we had to make a quick decision to hide the kids in the camper as turning back simply wasn’t an option. With the kids out of sight, we rolled up to the gate and paid only for the two of us. Naughty? Absolutely.

Onwar where the washboard stretched out as far as we could see. It was a day of derby style driving, we all chose our own path in hopes of finding the smoothest line. Our fingers and toes crossed nothing breaks on Bruce, all this washboard she’s taking a pounding, and a recovery hour here wouldn’t be easy.

Passing more volcanoes and over vast flats we look like were standing still in scale of progress. I’m in awe of the size and beauty.

Geysers and mud pools

Reaching the geothermal zone we could literally hear and feel the earth alive and breathing beneath our feet: bubbling mud pots, sulphur vents, and geysers spitting steam into the frigid air. Hissing and grumbling like it had opinions of its own.

Hot pools & cold beer

Today was a short driving day as we found a gift from the gods, a deliciously warm hot springs, the steam drifting off into the icy wind. Pulling off the road we quickly parked, changed and dove in.

The next morning we slipped back into the hot springs for one last soak. Jaxon wandered off to photograph flamingos while I chatted on Facetime with Auntie Rita.

Day Four — Final Deserts, Park Exit & the Border

We crossed our final stretch of desert as we exited the park gate with the kids hiding in the back we smuggled them out as easily as we smuggled them in. Ten minutes later we reached Bolivian border control, cancelled the truck’s TIP, and continued through 10 km of barren no-man’s-land before the Chilean border finally came into view. We had made it across in one piece.

Another country.
Another desert.
Another chapter.