The land of superlatives. This is how our travel guide refers to it, and rightly so. The poorest country in South America is also home to the highest, coldest, hottest, windiest, driest and wettest regions on the planet. And that’s not all – far from it. We feel as though we regularly have to resort to superlatives when talking about our journey in this unique region of the globe, this region of extremes.

Looking at the map of this little-known country, we realize that there are two Bolivias: the Altiplano, in the west of the country, a plain sandwiched between the two Cordillera mountain ranges, nestled at an altitude of 4,000m, which makes up 1/3 of the country and is the dream destination of a traveller or two; and the Bolivian Amazon, to the east, where the landscapes merge with those of Brazil, and which covers the major part of the country.

We begin our trip in the Altiplano, on the Argentine border, and stay in the region throughout the entire incredible month in this equally incredible country. We travel as far as the famous Lake Titicaca, on the Peruvian border, where we wrote this 9th FTT newsletter.

We’re completely bowled over by the country as soon as we cross the Argentine border: a crowd of women in traditional dress hurries through the labyrinthine market, street hawkers bellow with all their might, and folk music flows through streets where undeniable chaos reigns. There’s no doubt we’re back in the realm of “real” travel, where familiar landmarks and expectations are meticulously demolished one by one.

After interviewing a number of micro-entrepreneurs with the assistance of FIE, a microfinance institution (MFI), we head towards the famous Salar d’Uyuni, the largest salt desert on the planet, for what will prove to be, we suspect, by far the most challenging leg of our journey.

This actually involves three separate 100 km stages. The first, from Villazon (on the border) to Tupiza, seems relatively simple. And with good reason: it’s downhill, to a manageable altitude of 2,900m. However, our first pedal strokes on the Altiplano remind us that oxygen is in short supply at 4,000m: our lungs are burning, and our attempts at climbing the small hills are not exactly impressive…

But the landscapes are breathtaking! It’s not just the flat and almost Martian environment, tinted in shades of red and sand, dominated by the vastness of the Cordillera and an almost palpable sky of crystalline clarity. There are also seas of cacti as tall as oak trees, pueblos (small villages) perched on the cliffs, and a horizon that extends as far as the eye can see and which transforms each break in our journey into a theatrical event. The advantage of cycling: there’s no one around to bring us back down to reality.

We camp on a riverbank – it’s not too cold yet. We like this country.

Upon arrival in Tupiza, we’re delighted to see, and from front-row seats no less, the environment that served as the backdrop to the film “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”. It’s a labyrinth of canyons and red rocks in spectacular shapes that remind us of Monument Valley, the famous national park of the American West.

We spend the night there and leave the next day: this stage is decidedly more challenging. And all the elements join forces to discourage us.

We remember a small town in the Far West with an evocative name, Salo, (which sounds exactly like an unprintable French swear word), where it all began. A never-ending climb, which brings us back up to an altitude of 4,000m – it inevitably results in shortness of breath, along with piercing cold and wind, all on an unpaved dirt track. The problem with this kind of surface is that it’s impossible to go this slowly without the risk of falling and damaging the bikes.

Our nerves are shot. And we won’t reach the summit before nightfall. We camp by the side of the road, at the mercy of the wind and passing trucks. To avoid the unpleasant surprise of a tent taking wing during the night, we barricade the tent with all the stones that we can find. It’s quite a fortress, and it’s here that we have our first taste of the surreal night sky of the Altiplano, as well as of the unbearable cold—adding layers to our alpaca blankets, we end up looking like three Michelin Men…

The next day, the morale of the troops drops even further: not surprising, since we’re covering barely 40 km a day and weather conditions are worsening. And the information the truckers give us is never reliable. On emotional rollercoaster ride, we set up camp once again in the middle of nowhere. A nowhere at an altitude of 4,300m.

We ask ourselves why the Altiplano isn’t flat (it literally means “high plain): in fact, strictly speaking, it turns out we haven’t been on the Altiplano. It’s only once we reach Atocha, the city marking the end point of the second stage of our journey, that we become aware of the existence of a plain of staggering dimensions, surrounded by snowy peaks, where the wind blows so hard that we can’t leave the bikes propped up on their stands without having them fall over. It’s our final push before we reach salvation: we are completely and utterly exhausted, and we’ve most definitely earned a day of rest in this canyon-city (where we watch the World Cup match between France and Mexico) before setting out towards Uyuni.

This time, Bolivia comes back at us all guns blazing: desert – real desert, with sand! – perched on top of the Altiplano. Our bikes sink into the road, the violent wind carries blinding sand clouds with it, and we really begin to doubt that we’ll even be able to pitch the tent. Fortunately, Juan, a farmer with an almost incomprehensible accent for self-confirmed bilinguals such as ourselves, agrees to lend us a sheltered patch of land for the night.

After a night’s sleep in utterly freezing conditions, we reach the pueblo of Uyuni, exhausted, our legs barely able to support the shell of our weakened bodies. We’re now good for absolutely nothing … except to eat, sleep, and enjoy the fleeting comfort of a village, which feels like pure luxury.

Uyuni, as we mentioned, is known for its salt desert, the largest in the world. It’s a hallucinogenic vision, a white sea that blurs the senses and gives us a chance to take some really weird photos…

We follow this up with a visit to Potosi – the highest city in the world (4,100m), classified as a cultural heritage site by UNESCO – and its silver mines, which for a time made it the most prosperous city in South America. Apparently, its streets were paved in silver. Today, nothing of its former glory remains: all that is left is the horrific work undertaken by the miners, who toil in a scorchingly hot and toxic environment, and who find solace in chewing coca leaves and in drinking 96% proof alcohol, and whose life expectancy is barely 40 years.

We move on to visit Sucre, the “white city” of Bolivia – also classified as a cultural heritage site by UNESCO – and which, in addition to being a masterpiece of colonial architecture, boasts of a vibrant cultural life and nightlife: most Bolivian students live in Sucre, the unofficial capital of the poorest country in South America. We spend four fantastic days there before getting back on our bikes. Destination: La Paz.

This stage ought to be a long one: 500km. But it’s considerably shortened by an epidemic of less-than-fresh “salchipapas” – fries and sausages – in our group. Everyone gets caught out by the street food: we absolutely know we shouldn’t touch it … but it smells so good, and we’re in need of a snack…and that spells the beginning of the end! We won’t hide the fact that indigestion is not a pleasant thing to experience in heart of the bush: but, we make it to the next pueblo and take a bus to La Paz, officially the world’s highest capital (3,900m). We take the opportunity to do our interviews with the microfinance MFIs CRECER, ECOFUTURO, FIE and ANED, thanks to the invaluable assistance of our contact, Gustavo Birbuet—thanks so much, Gustavo!

Some would say that La Paz holds no interest for tourists, at least as compared to Sucre,  and that it’s hardly an ideal base for descending into the Amazon jungle or for exploring the Altiplano and Lake Titicaca. But we think that everyone should see La Paz at least once in their lives. You couldn’t imagine a worse place to build a city: an arid basin, perched at an altitude that requires its inhabitants to adopt a “take it easy” attitude, with no source of water – or at least none that we could see – and yet, it shows a genuinely impressive degree of development, far removed from the image that people have of Bolivia. 

We enjoy wandering through its steep streets, exploring its colonial architecture, experiencing the ambient chaos, marvelling at the contrast between the formal buildings and the endless street vendors in traditional costumes, and enjoying the breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains that La Paz provides from virtually every point in the city: some peaks are infinitely white, others colonised by slums, but all leave us with a sense of the majestic.

And finally, we end our Bolivian journey with Lake Titicaca – the highest navigable lake in the world (3,800m). A last, enchanting moment of respite, – and it couldn’t be any other way; you absolutely have to go and visit Lake Titicaca! – before we head off on our bikes towards Puno, in Peru.

On this dream-like note, we end one of the most memorable stages of our around-the-world journey, in a country that remains little-known and largely inaccessible, but that rewards the traveller with an incredible wealth of landscapes and experiences.