Day 3: Viva Bolivia!
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| Laguna Honda |
True to its name, this lake has an unbelievable stink, which seems to originate from the numerous flocks of flamingos. Everyone in both groups snaps photos happily.
Laguna Hedionda
It's a popular lunch spot, so we drive off a bit to secure a private spot. We eat delicious papas rellenas while watching the birds, when suddenly all four of our guides and cooks get into a heated argument with a park staffer. Apparently we are in an area meant for parking only—to avoid trash, the staff bans picnicking. Mercedes argues repeatedly that Tupiza Tours always uses this spot and eventually wears the man down. Defeated, he walks off as Mercedes yells, "VIVA BOLIVIA!" to the laughter of all.
The rest of the day is spent on the long, unbelievably bumpy drive to the Salar. Angel is driving FAST now—I think perhaps he wants to get to the Salar for sunset but it isn't clear. At one point we spot our companion car in the distance, flashing its lights. We gently try to tell Angel & Mercedes that they are sending us a message, and that they should call or simply drive toward them. Mercedes believes that because the other group only decided today to stay at the Hotel de Sel as well, they can't get in without reservations.
Twenty-five minutes later we arrive at the hotel, and see the giant tourbus outside. The staff claims we do not have reservations. Sonia, more optimistic than I, is certain that Tupiza Tours made our reservations, and the hotel simply threw them out when opportunity drove up.
We end up at a pension not dissimilar to those of the previous two nights. Lo and behold, the other group is here as well, asking why we hadn't seen them flashing their brights. Oh, Angel. This place is slightly less cold than the previous nights, with a "hot" shower for 5Bs.Yes, one shower for about 20 guests—with a shutoff time of 9PM.
As our cars were the last to arrive, we time our 10 showers within seconds. Even people who pride themselves on fast showers cannot complete in much under 15 minutes, because the shower is basically a low-pressure faucet. Gilles emerges at 8:55.
It's odd that this place exists—Beatriz had implied the only available lodgings for the third night are in a small town called San Juan that we'd passed hours ago, or the Hotel de Sel for an additional fee. Are there multiple salt hotels? Why was the cheap pension, right on the Salar, not given as an option, rather appearing as a last resort by our quick-thinking drivers? Are my Spanish skills preventing me from understanding the situation? (Possibly.)
The pension's only real feature is that it's constructed of salt. But other than the salty floor, it's hard to tell. This room is the tightest yet, barely room for four people and all our paraphernalia.
The dining room contains a large group of exactly the kind of travelers that bother me. I instantly feel that these are people that probably don't get involved with the locals when traveling, and learn nothing from being abroad. Am I being judgmental? Perhaps...but the more they chainsmoke while gabbing loudly about sex, the more I must resist the urge to dole out bitchslaps. Over in our area, Angela continues to discuss her tiny body and displays her delicate wrists as proof of her diminutiveness. The bitchslap is coming at some point.
We are served "kitchen sink" soup again, but at least Mercedes' version is well-made. Main dish is spaghetti, with a rather thin sauce but still tasty. The other group has a different meal so I don't think our cooks are sharing food, but I suspect that a giant batch of soup is being carted around in one of our cars disguised in a gas tank.