I broke east, bouncing across a country of bad roads.  I camped next to a French couple in Cochabamba, which had some great street art watched over by the 133 ft. Cristo de la Concordia (Christ of Peace) statue atop San Pedro Hill.  Bound for Samaipata, construction, dirt roads, deep ruts, and huge holes had me tapping out just over two-thirds of the way there, in Comarapa.  The darkness and my nerves needed attention.  By the time I arrived, it was 9pm.  After a bit of searching, I found a place to buy cheese and bread.  And cookies.  I deserved a treat.

    I arrived in Santa Cruz de la Sierra on the last day of 2017 and spent two nights sleeping in the driveway of a hostel.  Wanderers and travelers were already drinking when I arrived in the early afternoon, and they would continue all night.

    Osvaldo from Argentina made us all brick oven pizza.  I mentioned my brakes, which had begun bothering me yet again.  He turned me onto his mechanic, Limbe, who proposed replacing the brake pads with a softer material.  Hmmm.  Interesting theory.  I did seem to be burning through some brake pads.

    The work would take a day, so someone suggested I check out some Jesuit missions nearby.  Sounded like a nice little day trip to me.  I stuffed my raincoat in my camera bag and headed to the bus station.

    “Nearby” is a relative term.  I rode shotgun in a passenger van to San José de Chiquitos, the closest Jesuit mission, 380 km (236 mi) and five hours away.  I took a mototaxi to the Jesuit mission proper.  It was a beautiful, quiet, peaceful place that began as a simple church in 1725 and was amplified in footprint and function over the next forty years.

    I wandered a bit around the small town, asking where the next closest mission was, and I was soon on a proper bus to Chochís.  So lovely to have that big bus window pushed open, orange curtains blowing in the Bolivian wind.  I closed my eyes and tried to inhale everything at once.

    The bus dropped me and two other guys off on the highway, at the road leading in to Chochís.  The mile walk into town   reminded me much of Central America: dusty dirt roads, small, simple homes and buildings.  I felt out of my element without the van, my things, a toothbrush.

    I found my way to a park, sat on a bench, took off my shoes and socks, and simply sat there for an hour or more, soaking up the fading day in this small place in the middle of nowhere, Bolivia.  I was at once at ease and uneasy.  So alone. So far from my things.  Aware of the irony of being so ill at ease in the context of such a trip as this.  I had somehow spoiled myself to feel so out of my element there.  And then, how it should be became what it was.  And I trusted that what it was, or what it really was, would come later.

    I walked 2-3 miles to the mission the next day.  It seemed much newer, and the highlight was hiking and climbing around the hills behind it.  Back to the parking lot and then somehow to the bus station.  A man was gathering his family into their truck to leave.  I accepted his offer and enjoyed a sublime, bumpy ride into town.  There was certainly something about riding in the back of that pickup truck, right then, right there.

    It was an even lovelier bus ride back to Santa Cruz, watching another day disappear, window open, orange curtain blowing. Again, I closed my eyes.

    I picked up La Bestia at Limbe’s place and headed way southwest for my 47th birthday – my second one on the road.  I would receive one of the best birthday presents ever.

    At 10,100 sq km (3,900 sq mi), the Salar de Uyuni is the world’s largest salt flat (The Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah are 40 sq mi, FYI).  Formed as the result of the evaporation of several prehistoric lakes, it is now covered with a few feet of salt crust.  The average variation of elevation is only one meter over the entire area.  When it rains, it becomes an 80-mile-wide mirror, the world’s largest.

    Juan drove a group of us to the Salar, with a stop at a salt bazaar in Colchani on the way.  Then it was on to what surely must be one of the most other-worldly places on this planet.  Heat waves on the horizon made dubious both distance and the very existence of things.  The recent rains shortened our tour, but added to the light play and reflections, which would be better without the flattening sun.  I looked forward to the later tour I had booked for the next day.

    I wandered a bit around Uyuni, biding my time until the tour.  I began to fill in Argentina with camping sites, routes, etc.  Both Argentina and Chile were great for camping – the best south of Mexico.

    Diego drove us to his spot on the Salar, where we arrived about 1 ½ hours before sunset.  It was the most gorgeous glass, the earth a perfect recreation of the sky above.  We just stayed there, happily, for the next 2-3 hrs as the clouds moved and the sun fell and the grey and blue and purple and red and orange painting above and below changed every few minutes.  It was unlike anything I had ever seen. We were at the peak of it all: mid-January.  We were in the center of such a magnificent mirror.  While most took selfies, I shot hundreds of pictures of shifting beauty.  Every time I thought I had seen it all, it would dissolve into a slightly different exquisite iteration.  I felt so blessed to be there, witness to it, part of it, sandwiched, immersed, swimming, out of breath.

    Happy Birthday.