Salar de Uyuni: when the road runs out

The Salar de Uyuni had been something I had been looking forward to for a long time. An enormous slat field with no roads and only the odd few tracks marring its surface. It's a place of epic photographs, distorted perspective and memorable sunsets.

We had seen reports from other travellers of people breaking through the crust and getting stranded on this otherworldly terrain. Apparently the fee for someone to come and get you out is $1,000, and as only one company does it—you might have to wait for them to be available. I wasn’t too worried about that part; we are much lighter than the truck-camper monsters that usually end up in this situation. For us, it should be a breeze. The challenge wasn’t so much the salt flat itself, but fixing our rear suspension so we could leave the small square in Coqueza.

After losing the bottom bolt in our shock last night, I thought it would be easy enough to refit it this morning. However, when I got underneath to look, I realised that the loose shock had been moving around and had hit the hub. This had mangled the outer casing that sits in contact with the airbag. We obviously couldn’t leave it crushed like this, as it would inevitably wear through the rubber, so we decided to fully remove it and try to prise it back into shape.

It took some creativity to bend back the mangled metal casing, which had now gone incredibly hard. We wandered into a nearby building site where we found some pieces of metal we could use, along with our hammer, to remove the worst of the dents and any sharp edges. With the shock now serviceable again, we refitted it.

As ever, working under Ruby is a filthy job, so we decided to make use of the nearby showers. When we found out they were hot, I took the opportunity to dye my hair. The local construction workers were lazily fitting a few roof tiles on the building opposite while watching the strange tourist activity unfolding in the main square.

It was early afternoon by the time we were ready to go, but the van was sorted and we were clean. It was time to leave the roads behind and enter the Salar. A few minutes’ drive took us back out of Coqueza to the entrance—a hard-packed section of dirt that jutted into the vast white crystalline expanse ahead of us. We had heard that heavier vehicles are advised to stick to the “roads.” While there are no real roads here, the hard-packed grey tracks heading west are formed by repeated traffic and are safe from the risk of breaking through the crust. We weren’t interested in following anyone else’s path though—we entered the flats and immediately drove off into nothing.

I have never driven anywhere like this. The complete lack of reference made it impossible to judge speed without looking at the gauges. You could let go of the wheel, foot flat to the floor, and as Ruby drifted slightly off course due to her poorly aligned steering, just keep accelerating. It was strangely liberating and slightly disconcerting to have so much freedom. I couldn’t see tracks, other cars, or anything nearby. All that was visible was the seemingly endless plain, with blue hazy mountains rising in the distance.

At first the surface was fairly smooth, but as we moved further into the heart of the Salar it became rougher, forcing us to slow down. It wasn’t a long drive to our destination—the Island of the Fish—but we took our time and enjoyed the scenery. The Salar has several islands, and we were heading to one of the smaller ones where we hoped to camp for the night. It sat ahead of us, and in the afternoon haze it didn’t look connected to the ground at all. It was impossible to judge the distance, even as it slowly grew closer.

We had heard that the salt crust is thinnest at the edges of the islands, so we took care when approaching. We had also heard it can get very windy out here, so it was best to park close to the rocks for shelter. We drove up a little way and walked out to check first. There was no need to worry—the hard crust ran right to the edge, and we parked behind a large rock that blocked the worst of the wind.

This worked well for a while until the wind changed direction. I set off to check the other side, which seemed better protected. Not wanting to repack everything, we slowly moved around to the other bay. Just as we settled again, the wind shifted once more, so we repeated this process twice more before accepting that it would be what it would be, and hoping it would calm as the sun set. As it dipped below the horizon, lightning storms rolled far across the surrounding mountains, while our little private salty beach was bathed in a warm pink glow. There was utter silence except for the jingling of the cat’s bells as they explored this new terrain.

Thankfully, the wind did eventually drop, and although the temperature fell too, it wasn’t as cold as expected. I hear people like to get up early and watch the sunrise over the salt, but I decided I was more of a “watching it set” kind of person. So we had a leisurely start to the morning, made slower still by Aimee’s disappearance. At least now she had her tracker on. With no GPS signal out here, we still had Bluetooth, and since the island was small, it didn’t take long to locate her—completely camouflaged under a particularly spiky cactus. With this victory to start the day, we packed up and headed towards the main sights of the Salar.

Our next stop was Incahuasi, the main island. Lee took the wheel and had great fun putting his foot down across the flat expanse, seeing how fast we could go. Even with a reduced gearbox, Ruby still managed a comfortable 80 mph. While there was probably a bit more left, I was grateful we didn’t go any faster. Despite the complete lack of obstacles, it still felt slightly out of control as I sat in the back, baking my bread on the move and keeping the pot from sliding onto Aimee.

Incahuasi is covered in giant cacti and is a popular stop for tour groups, so there was more activity here, including other campers. We parked a little way off and tried the obligatory perspective photos that such a vast flat space allows. We had fun messing around, and also learned that they aren’t particularly easy to do—and that lying down on salt burns a bit. We tried to include the cats, but they weren’t interested. Aimee got out, realised there was nowhere to go, and immediately went back inside. At least we could keep the doors open, as it was hot in the midday sun while we took increasingly silly photos of Ruby.

Next stop was the Salt Hotel and Plaza de las Banderas. We paused again for photos and to explore the salt hotel, complete with some frankly disturbing salt sculptures.

Nearby is also the Dakar Monument.

After this, we decided to drive out to see if there was any water left in the mirrors. This area of the Salar is often covered in a thin layer of water, creating a giant reflective surface that is popular at sunset. We were near the driest time of year, so we weren’t sure there would be anything left, but it was close by. As we approached, the ground became slushy and we thought we might be lucky. Unfortunately, there wasn’t quite enough water. The tyre tracks broke the surface, ruining the mirror effect, and all we succeeded in doing was covering the bottom of Ruby in salty sludge.

Although we were on a deadline to meet friends in Uyuni, we still had time for one more night here. This time I wanted to be right in the middle of it, completely alone. We headed back a short distance and visited the salt sculptures before finding our final spot.

Our camp for the night was simply nowhere. We drove about ten minutes away from anything visible, until we were completely alone, surrounded only by distant stormy mountains and the cracked salt pattern beneath us. It was beautiful.

After two silent nights out here, it was time to get Ruby washed. We needed to stock up on fuel, food, and friends. It was time to attempt one of the toughest roads we would drive—Bolivia’s famous Laguna route.