The Laguna Route Pt.1

We had arranged to meet Louis and Kareen in the small village of Uyuni. It sits to the east of the Salar and is the last real town as you head west. While Uyuni mainly exists for the tourist industry around the Salar, it also has a very cool train graveyard where you can camp. We planned to meet there later and spent the day in town preparing. The first port of call was the car wash. Ruby was washed so enthusiastically that half the paint came off, along with the fuel gauge wiring. I wasn’t complaining—she definitely needed it.

Next, we stocked up on groceries, cash, and some antifreeze. The altitude over the altiplano meant that nighttime temperatures would drop well below freezing, and we didn’t want a frozen engine. We dropped off our laundry at the lavandería for good measure and bought three large 7L water bottles before heading out to the train cemetery. We saw our friends parked near the edge, and together we headed in and parked up next to the old rusting trains. We spent the evening catching up with them and making plans for how we would approach the route the next day. We needed to get our laundry and some fuel first thing, and then we would head out through the little village of San Cristóbal, where we would leave the roads behind us for the rest of the country.

As it is a remote drive, it’s important to be well stocked. The entire route is above 4000m and around 500km long. We needed to make sure we had enough petrol to get us into Chile. Our tank is about 50L and we carry a spare 20L on the roof. We were still not sure, given the road conditions and altitude, whether this would be enough. To make sure we had no problems, we emptied the three large water containers into our drinking water bottle and filled them again with fuel from the tank. With an extra 20L on board, we knew we’d be fine. In the morning, we could head to the fuel station and fill the tank. Bolivia being Bolivia, they were unlikely to fill my fuel tank, let alone my water bottles.

In the morning, we were ready to go at a reasonable time. We grabbed our laundry, were thankfully allowed to fill up our car, and put Uyuni behind us as we set off in our little two-person convoy. Louis and Kareen stopped at San Cristóbal to fill their fuel tank, and shortly after we turned off and left the main road. We had heard of so many people breaking their rigs on this route that we hoped, for once, Ruby would be the exception. At least if she wasn’t, we wouldn’t be alone.

After sorting out the last few bits and reaching the start of the route, we didn’t get far before deciding to pull in and stop for the night. We chose the car park at Bosque de Piedras, or the Rock Forest. We nestled the vans between the large rocks, out of the wind, and collected wood for a campfire.

It would have been the perfect night, but we were a little distracted. Some bad news from our house rental back home meant that while I was enjoying chatting with everyone, I couldn’t help but worry about our house and our pets. It seemed our tenant, who had been there the whole trip, was doing something suspicious, and we had been told by old neighbours—via friends still living on the road—that our cats looked sick and neglected. This weighed heavily on our minds as we sat half the world away, unable to do anything. At least we had excellent company to distract us until morning, when we could try to sort things out. We sat around a scavenged fire and ended the night by building a huge playlist of fire-related songs.

The next day, we set off around 10am. Happily, our friends were not early birds either. I did a quick check of the suspension and we bounced off down the washboard road once more. We had news that one of our cats had been found, and Lee’s dad had kindly agreed to take her in. We just needed the other one to turn up and we could relax a little more. In the meantime, we bumped slowly along the relentless washboard towards our first lagoon: Laguna Negra.

It turns out that the laguna route is not very wheelchair friendly, but we were both amazed by how much ground Louis managed to cover. He did unfortunately have to admit defeat when it came to climbing a large rocky boulder, but as impressive as the lagoon was, he wasn’t missing too much. There would be plenty more to come.

We decided to head on to the next one, but didn’t get far before the temperature gauge suddenly shot up and we pulled over abruptly. A quick inspection showed that one of our coolant hoses had failed. All my fresh engine coolant was on the ground. While not a huge problem, it was frustrating after just paying to refill the antifreeze, which isn’t cheap. It was also awkward to access the hose and we didn’t have a spare. We repaired it with amalgamating tape and reattached it to the bottle. After topping up, we drove about 20 metres before stopping again—an airlock. After some time we bled it and the engine was good to go again.

As frustrating as this was, it turned out to be a good thing. If not for the leak, we wouldn’t have checked the engine bay. Here we noticed the air hose had fallen off the back of the air filter. We had driven around 30km of extremely dusty dirt road, meaning all of that had gone straight into the engine. The moment I saw it, my stomach sank—we were heading for a rebuild. You don’t ingest that much debris without damage. We were now committed to another 400km before we could change the oil. At least we hadn’t gone further. Time would tell how bad it was. For now, all we could do was keep going.

With the delays, we skipped the next lagoon and headed instead towards our planned campsite. We passed through the tiny shanty town of Villa Mar, which didn’t offer much except a few beers. We parked just outside the town by the river and enjoyed some of Louis’ pancakes. It was now higher and colder, and with no wind protection we retreated into our vans early.

I didn’t expect to be disturbed out here, and we actually slept better than the previous night after getting the good news that our pets had been found and safely rehomed with Lee’s dad. But at 5am we were woken by a loud noise, almost like a gunshot. It repeated several times before going quiet again. When we ventured outside at a more reasomable hour, we discovered the cause: huge cracks had appeared in both rear panels of the van. We assumed it was temperature-related, but it didn’t really make sense—we’ve been in colder, higher, and hotter places. Something was clearly different here, and now we had enormous cracks in the filler along the side of the camper. Wasn’t it lucky we hadn’t just had it resprayed… ha ha.

Like the other problems, there was nothing we could do here, so we packed up and continued on. Kareen seemed happy to follow behind Ruby, and after a slow day yesterday due to our breakdown, we wanted to cover more ground. With no reliable maps, it wasn’t clear whether the road would reconnect with the main route. No app showed it, but tours used it and others had marked it, so we decided to take it. It would link the route together nicely rather than retracing our steps. In reality, we needn’t have worried. It was rough but perfectly usable, as long as you were happy to drive no faster than 15mph. We climbed slowly through bleak mountains rising either side of surprisingly green valleys.

There was plenty of time to enjoy the scenery at this pace, and at least the cold air meant the engine wasn’t struggling on the climbs. After about an hour we reached Laguna Capina. From where we stood, it looked more like a salt flat—and according to Louis, also a lithium mine. We took some photos before heading back inside to escape the freezing wind.

As we were making good time, we decided to continue on and camp at the best lagoon of all: Laguna Colorada. Although there are no official roads, the route is clear enough, though slow and relentlessly corrugated. Eventually we reached the entrance to the national park, where you must pay and register to continue. Fortunately we had cash, as there is no card payment and the nearest ATM is probably in Chile. We had even heard of people bartering clothes to get in. The guard signed us in, gave us tickets, and showed us a map, explaining that the main route ahead was closed and we should take a detour—6km, then right turn. We checked the odometer and set off.

The turn-off was surprisingly easy to spot despite the lack of signage. Clear dirt tracks cut across the desert, and soon we caught our first glimpse of the lake.

The longer we travel, the harder we are to impress. We’ve seen a lot. But this lake took my breath away. It felt like we had been dropped onto another planet. The swirling sandy mountains stood in stark contrast to the crisp blue sky, and then there was the water. Photos don’t prepare you for it. This wasn’t one of those places that looks better online—it was better in reality. The most incredibly beautiful thing.

Of course, this was also the point where I had to focus on driving. The track dropped gradually towards the lagoon but turned to deep sand in places. You had to hit it just right—too fast and you lose control, too slow and you get stuck. Ruby’s rear end slid as we wobbled through the soft sections, but gravity was on our side and we burst out in a cloud of dust that engulfed our friends.

We eventually reached the lagoon and decided to camp at the viewpoint. There was some uncertainty about whether camping was allowed, but with daylight left we settled in and hoped we’d be told if it wasn’t okay before dark. We were soon joined by another German camper and spent the evening taking in the views.

It seemed no one minded us staying, so we set up camp. The view was incredible, but exposed. The wind picked up fiercely, howling under Ruby and chilling us despite layers of blankets. We retreated inside and realised that for the first time ever, the wind had blown out the Wallas heater. We got it working just long enough to cook, but it was clear it couldn’t handle the conditions.

It was surreal to wake up to a bright pink lake filled with flamingos. For once, they were actually pink. We quickly learned that mornings were the best time for drones—the wind picked up around 11am and it was time to move on. In those still early hours we once again appreciated the extraordinary beauty of the place, before the flags began snapping in the wind and we headed off.