Is Bolivia’s Western Lagunas Route Really That Remote? We Found Out.
After having acclimatised to the altitude a few days in Uyuni (at 3700m), we point our wheels toward the infamous lagunas route. Not the well trodden Eastern route. No, we’re going all in, taking the even more remote Western route, meandering close to the Chilean border.
The first 175 kilometres or so, we just follow the road back to Ollagüe, that we have ridden before to reach Uyuni. Then, we go left. Despite the cold, my hands are sweating. My heart is beating hard as if to warn me of the upcoming danger. Or maybe it’s simply the altitude playing tricks on me.
No turning back now. Is this place really as dangerously remote as social media and the internet are claiming it to be?
Gravel. A little washboard. A few sandy patches. Nothing too bad.
I start to relax while a lake dotted with flamingos appears in sight. Vast mountains dot the horizon. I feel tiny. Excited. Alive. I can do this!
While I relax, the ride gets tougher. Gravel turns into bigger rocks. Tractoring uphill. Pogosticking downhill. My jolly red CRF dances about on her last breath. We have reached above 4800m. It feels as if we are alone in the world. Two red motorbikes and their riders jumping about on the breathlessly silent altiplano.
A little slither. Some laughter. Are we really finally here? Who knew we could actually do it!
As if it materialises from thin air, our first stop along the route appears. The ‘Los Flamencos Eco Hotel’ at the shores of Laguna Hedionda, also known as stinky lake. Not having the budget to stay in a room, we are allowed to pitch our tent at their indoor picnic place. Protected from the wind, with views across a stinky lake covered in shivering pink flamingos.
The sunset bursts into colours, while ice cold winds make their entrance.
With a cup of tea and sandwich at hand, we watch the colours give way to frighteningly cold, dark skies.
This place is remote, but we are not alone. There are houses here. Lodges and tour jeeps. Not many and not all in one place, but more than enough to save you in case something goes wrong. So yeah, social media and the internet are lying to you. It is remote, it is sketchy at times, but you are not utterly left to your own devices. We’ve seen more people in one day here than we see over multiple days on a remote Scottish hiking trail (the Cape Wrath Trail).
Back to riding!
After a scrumptious breakfast at the lodge, we hit the track. I would say road, but that would be highly misleading.
Not having ridden 300 metres, we realise that we are no longer on our gpx track. We should be riding along our stinky lake, but alas, that road is currently still very much part of the lake. High ground it is! We’ll cut back down later.
Leaving the salt crusty shores of Laguna Hedionda, we follow a clear track for a while. Easy going. Time to take in the unbelievable surroundings. Catch our breath a little, as far as that is possible at these soaring altitudes.
Suddenly, our beautiful track splits up into four somewhat clear, sandy tracks and a whole bunch of faded memories of long past vehicles. Let’s pick one. Nope. This seems to be the wrong one. Cross-country to the next. A lazy solution that quickly turns into a breathless struggle.
Remember that I mentioned sand? Well, we found it. A lot of it. Jonas most kindly buried his wheel into it. Getting the bike out might be exhausting at sea level. Here it is utterly, frustratingly deadly. Why doesn’t the air contain the oxygen I need? My poor, poor brain!
Back on track. We traverse a vast yellowy-orange landscape. Mountains to the right. Sandy dunes to the left. Endless kilometres of flat emptiness in between. Just two Belgians on their tiny red bikes. There might not be oxygen, but the freedom of vast skies is endless.
