I have made it. I have succeeded in leaving Bolivia. From here it is only 200 kilometer straight down to the Pacific harbor city of Arica. The first 60 kilometer pass through the National Park Lauca and is as beautiful as the National Park Sajama at the Bolivian side of the mountains. I see some vicuña's before the Parinacota Volcano. The vicuña is family of the lama but far less abundant. In the Lauca National Park there are plenty of them. It is difficult to photograph them, because they are very shy. The vicuña's are not the only highlight. After a descent of a few kilometers I reach the Chungara Lake, the highest lake of the world at 4.600 m elevation. Flamingo's live in the ice cold water. Different types of flamingo species have been able to adapt to the extreme conditions of high Andes lakes.

After Lake Chungara the road climbs a few kilometer to a new watershed. A huge valley filled with large boulders is spread before me. Ponding waters lie between the rocks. It is snowing lightly but the views are still good and the road remains dry. The dark landcapes are nearly uncovered with vegetation. This is due to the altitude but in equal measures to the lack of precipitation. I am blessed that I experience one of the few precipitation events in the year but also this time the few flakes of snow will not result in a blooming high altitude desert. More grim than the snows is the wind. A raging storm is developing over the plains. My velocity is dropping below 10 kilometer per hour on flat stretches. I have to climb again so the velocity is even lower right now. I am waiting for the road to finally begin the descent to Arica, but the road is only climbing.

This could be a tough day. When I finally reach the crest of the ridge, I descend two hundred meters but then there is another huge valley to cross and behind a new ridge that is much higher than this one. Another disappointment comes when I have descended to the valley. The two villages are abandoned. I have planned to buy some food here. Now I have to do without for the rest of the day. I have not eaten anything since the morning and I was not able to buy anything in Sajama or later in the day. This will again be a hungry day.

The crossing of the valley is a torture and the ascent of the ridge is even worse. These are times that the glamour of a journey like this seems distant and far away. I have no choice but to go on. Eventually I reach the top and, finally, the road starts to go down. The weather improves rapidly as I am losing altitude. When I reach the the civilized world just before the sun goes down, clear blue skies welcome me. The pretty, quiet village of Putre is shook up by a primal, earthy outrage in a restaurant by a hungry, underfed cyclist.

Day 45: Putre - Arica 145 km

Today I want to reach Arica, the big harbor town of Northern Chile. From Putre, I have to descend 3.600 m to sea level. Strange enough, the road is not descending at all. It is not the first time these days that I am confronted with a scenario that is far worse than my expectations. The road is going up and down and the wind is blowing straight in the face with a force that is as strong as yesterday. After six hours of cycling I am still far from halfway and I have not descended substantially yet.

The landscape is completely dry. Nothing is growing here. Finally the road starts to go down. Actually, the road falls down with steep gradients. After 10 kilometer I am surrounded by strange cactuses. The cactuses only grow between 2.500 and 2.800 m elevation. If I descend further, the slopes and valleys of the mountains are blank with vegetation again. The desert has all kind of colors before I descend into a valley, flanked by huge ridges, hundreds of meter high and completely white. The white sands I am surrounded with by now, are the strangest thing I have seen untill now. The sun is omnipresent in the reflection of the white sands. The sands themselves are also omnipresent, the wind is blowing sand in my clothes and in my eyes, in my mouth and in my ears.

After 30 kilometers the descent is over. I am below in the valley that will lead me to the ocean. The ocean is however still 50 kilometer away from here and the wind is not anything less than in the mountains above. The last 50 kilometers to Arica are not characterized by pure cycling joy.

After three hours I I reach the Pacific. There is a great view over the bay and the city of Arica and the rock cliff of the Morro. The sun is just going down in the Pacific when I reach the city. I am experiencing a huge culture shock. Green grasses, real shops, people in nice western clothes, orderly traffic. This cannot be South America! With a confused mind I am walking through a pedestrian shopping zone (!), as I hear my name. I decide not to take account of the shouting, there is nobody I know in Chile. After three times, my mind takes another step. If I do not know anybody in Chile, how come that someone does know my name and shouts it to me? I turn around and I see the smiling face of Gary, one of the twins of Sajama. The rest of the day is filled with wining, dining and having a damned good time.

Day 48: San Pedro de Atacama - Valle de la Luna 50 km

I do not have too much time any more. Because of the political trouble in Bolivia, my plans to cycle in the high country seem unrealistic. At the moment the borders of the country are said to be closed. Tourists will be stuck in the country. The German government is thinking about plans to evacuate the tourists in Bolivia by their army. I have to change plans. I am thinking about doing a tour in the Lake district of Chile, two thousand kilometers southward. On the way, I could explore the Atacama desert in San Pedro.

San Pedro lies in the heart of the Atacama desert, the driest place of the Earth. There are places in the desert, where there has not fallen a drop of rain since the Spanish presence on the continent. That means that it has not rained for 400 to 500 years. San Pedro lies in the biggest oasis along the Rio Loa. The green resort is surrounded by utter nothingness. In the distance the Atacama desert rises up slowly to the range of mountains and volcanoes that form a barrier between the high Altiplano and the low Atacama desert.

Today I am doing a day trip through the Valle de la Luna, which means literally the Moon Valley. The name is apt. The colours in the valley have an otherworldly quality. At some places the rocks are deeply red, at other places white from salt. The rocks sometimes have strange shapes, weathered by the wind in bizarre sculptures. The mountains of the Altiplano can clearly be seen, however distant they are. No scale seems to be able to set things in perspective. Mountains of 6.000 m altitude seem twenty minutes of cycling away. It is impressing to see the mountains of the Andes in a faint bow behind the desert plain, climbing steadily out of the valley into the thin air.

Day 49: San Pedro de Atacama - Laguna Blanca / Laguna Verde - San Pedro 120 km

I cannot resist the idea to climb for one last time to the Altiplano. In a day trip I can climb to the pass across the Andes and descend to the Laguna Blanca and the Laguna Verde, two high lakes just across the Bolivian border. The whole ascent I will have the Volcan Licancabúr on my left hand. The volcano is nearly 6.000 m high, though lacks any substantial snow cover. The lack of snow is not caused by high temperatures but by the absence of substantial snowfall.

It is not possible to enter Bolivia at the normal frontiers. In Southwestern Bolivia there are no villages and cities, neither angry demonstrators nor unreliable politicians. According to the people of San Pedro it should be possible to cross the border for a day trip.

Early in the morning I am on the way to the long, long slope that progresses up into the realms of the volcanic peaks of the Andes. After nearly 15 kilometer I have crossed the valley floor. From now on the only way is up. The slope is not too steep. Therefore the road goes straight up with only faint curves. There are no changes along the way. One long road through nothingness, slowly climbing through a landscape of orange red stones. After three hours of climbing the colour of the ground changes a bit to somewhere between brown and orange. Some streaks of puna vegetation are proof that I am gaining altitude.

It takes another two hours to reach the dust trail that leads up to the pass. It is not too far anymore. The road was said to be in poor shape but it is better than I expected. I reach the pass after less than an hour of cycling over and through the sand road. The landscape is very surrealistic with the deep red surface and the lonesome mountain ranges, rising out of Mother Earth. From the pass at an elevation of about 4.600 m it does not take too much time to descend to the lakes. After one of the longest ascents I have made in one day, I reach the lakes.

Laguna Verde means 'green lake', Laguna Blanca means 'white lake'. Both lakes seem to have a colour somewhere in between. The strange colour is caused by the high content of heavy metal, the result of the high volcanic activity. However chemical, acid or radioactive the water, it does not matter to the the flamingo's. They can adapt to every circumstance, except for human beings. The animals are extremely cautious. I try to get the gracious birds on picture, but every time they fly away. It is already three o'clock. I have to return.

I should have returned earlier. The wind has grown again to a storm. The climb back to the pass is a horror scenario of raging storm, sand in my eyes and breathing in an overdrive frequency. Because of the wind, the cold or the altitude, but most probably because of a combination of those three factors, I have to cough at an intensity that is far out of control. It is difficult to stop the coughing, but also very important. There is not too much oxygen in the air and I need the sparse oxygen for cycling. The coughing is a complete waste of oxygen. The short distance back to the pass takes me two hours. From now on it is only down over one of the best descents in the world: nearly 2.500 m elevation downward in more than 30 kilometers without any substantial curves nor any traffic. Within half an hour I am back in the Atacama plains. Another half hour brings me back in San Pedro.

Read about my cycling adventures in the Lake District of Central Chile on the next page.