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We packed light for the journey: two days’ supplies, a tent, and our moka pot. The surface was dry and solid, good fortune, as rain would have turned it into a trap of brine deep enough to swallow our bike. We rode across the endless white, tracing a line toward the horizon, guided only by GPS and instinct. The air was thin and still. The sky felt close enough to touch.
When the Dakar monument finally appeared, the white silhouette of the Tuareg rising from the salt, I stopped the bike and felt tears well up. We’ d dreamed of reaching this place since deciding to continue our journey in South America. Now, standing on the shimmering crust of the Salar, the dream had become real. I shut off the engine. Silence. A silence so complete it roared in my ears.
Around us, infinity, sky and salt, earth and light, merging into one.
We continued toward Isla Incahuasi, an island of rock and cacti in the centre of the Salar. There, we brewed coffee on a salt table, watching the shadows lengthen. Once a sacred place known only to the locals, Incahuasi now hosts a small lodge and a few visitors. The giant cacti, Trichocereus, some over
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