The Atacama Desert is the driest non-polar desert on earth. It stretches from the western coast of central South America up into the Altiplano, a high altitude desert spanning Chile, Bolivia and Peru. The central city of Calama averages only 5mm a year, with many towns here going years without rain. Much of its landscape looks completely devoid of life, with plant life sparsely visible on the barren rocks. The Andes to the east and the Chilean coastal range to the west create rain shadows from both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.
I journey through the Valleys of the Moon, of the Rainbow, and of Death. They’re like alien landscapes, stained in yellow and red, with dry lake beds white with salt. At the higher altitudes where the volcanic range catches a bit of moisture there begins to show signs of life. Vicuña can be found here on remote hillsides. They’re a smaller relative of the guanaco, and an ancestor of the domesticated alpaca, known for having the finest wool of all the camelids.
Wading in the grassy oases, flocks of Andean & Chilean Flamingos busily filter algae from the salty water. As the sun falls, shadows grow long, and the temperature begins to plummet. With the night, the flamingos legs will become frozen in place as the water turns to ice. And with the warmth of the new day, the geysers of El Tatio begin to bubble and spout.
When the Spanish colonialists ruled here this was part of the Viceroyalty of Peru. The northern edge of the General Captaincy of Chile was loosely defined as the Atacama desert. After the Spanish were defeated this area fragmented between the independence movements of Peru, Bolivia and Chile. Once mineral wealth was discovered here (sodium nitrate inland and guano along the coast), the fuzzy borders became a cause for the 1879 War of the Pacific. After Bolivia violated a treaty and attempted to auction off a Chilean mining company, Chile declared war. Peru joined with Bolivia to try to repel Chile, but land was captured from both. As a consequence, Bolivia became landlocked, at the mercy of other countries’ tariffs and ports. Diplomatic relations with Chile have been strained ever since.
I make my way north through Putre into Lauca National Park, near the Bolivian border. The valley floor sits at almost 15,000 feet, higher than the tallest peak of the lower 48. An old women with a scraggly sheepdog pushes her heard of alpaca down the valley towards me. She must be about four feet tall, skin cracked like leather. I’m greeted with a warm smile. She still has the spirit of her youth. We try to talk, as best we can. She writes the name of her pueblo in the sand, Parinacota. It’s named after the 20,610 foot volcano that looms overhead. Her village has maybe a dozen homes. They’re built with rock and mud in much the same way as the ruins of those who lived here centuries before. Some of the homes have hornos out front, round brick ovens for grilling alapaca meat on an open flame. What must it be like to live up here, without the noisy media and consumerism of the world below, a mind shaped by a simple life lived close to the land.