BOLIVIA

Gem of the Andes

Bolivia felt like Peru’s wilder cousin. Less polished, less touristed, and more raw. It was the kind of place where the road feels rougher, the air feels thinner, and every day holds a little more unpredictability. I was fourteen years old on my first real international backpacking trip, and crossing into Bolivia felt like stepping deeper into the unknown. Not because I suddenly knew what I was doing, but because I wanted the adventure more than comfort. I was never scared. I wanted more.

We entered Bolivia by land, crossing from the Lake Titicaca region near Puno. It was my first time crossing an international border on foot, and the excitement hit immediately. The landscape stayed familiar at first, the high plateau, the sharp light, the wind that cuts through layers, but the feeling shifted. Bolivia had an intensity that felt closer to the bone.

Copacabana and Isla del Sol

Our first stop was Copacabana on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca. It was quiet and unassuming, the kind of place that does not reveal its magic all at once. From there we took a boat out to Isla del Sol.

Isla del Sol is one of those places that never fully leaves you. The light feels ancient. Golden hills roll toward the lake, stone walls carve paths through the landscape, and the water stretches so wide it begins to feel endless. We hiked across the island from one end to the other, stopping constantly to take it all in.

Somewhere along that hike I had one of my favorite photography moments of the entire trip. A shepherd crested a hill, guiding a large group of sheep between towering stone walls. For a brief moment, we blocked his path. The sheep gathered, the shepherd stayed calm, and the scene unfolded slowly in front of us. I lifted my camera and everything aligned. Light, subject, composition, story. It is still one of the strongest images I have ever made.

La Paz and the Road of Death

After Isla del Sol we traveled to La Paz. The city felt intense and alive, built into steep terrain where everything moves at an angle. Markets spilled into streets, people moved with urgency, and the altitude made every breath feel intentional. Some scenes were impossible to forget, including dried baby llamas hanging from strings in the markets, surreal and unsettling reminders that Bolivia does not soften itself for visitors.

While in La Paz, my uncle and I rode El Camino de la Muerte, the Road of Death. It is a full day of mountain biking along narrow roads carved into cliffs with massive drop offs. Here is the truth. I told my uncle I was great at riding bikes. That was a lie. I had not ridden seriously in a long time. But I wanted the experience so badly that confidence came first and skill had to follow.

And somehow it worked. Fear never arrived. Focus did. Adrenaline did. The ride was intense and unforgettable, and it reinforced something important. Sometimes the adventure works because you say yes before doubt has time to speak.

A Human Moment on Lake Titicaca

Back near Lake Titicaca, we witnessed another moment that stayed with me. Indigenous locals lined up to carry heavy bags of cement off arriving boats. Without much thought, my uncle and I joined them, helping transport materials that would be used to build a school. It was a small act, but it grounded the trip in something real. Travel is not only about seeing. Sometimes it is about participating quietly.

Santa Cruz and an Unexpected Detour

From La Paz we flew to Santa Cruz de la Sierra to meet more family, including my cousins Santiago and Sebastian. Santa Cruz felt warmer and flatter, with a different rhythm entirely. One of the most unexpected highlights was visiting my uncle’s potato chip factory and seeing how potato chips were made. It was such a random detail in a trip filled with mountains and ancient landscapes, which is exactly why it stood out. Travel is rarely only about famous places.

South to Uyuni and the Salt Flats

The journey continued south through Sucre and Potosi until we reached Uyuni. From there we set out to explore the Salar de Uyuni.

The salt flats are difficult to describe until you stand on them. Flat, endless, and blindingly white, they erase distance and scale. The sky reflects off the ground until the horizon disappears. It feels like walking inside a dream.

We spent three days exploring the Salar by four wheel drive, visiting the train graveyard, photographing flags from around the world, and playing with perspective using tiny animal toys we bought in Uyuni. It may sound playful, but it marked one of the first times I actively created images rather than simply documenting what I saw.

In the middle of the salt flat rises a cactus covered island, the only mountain interrupting the white expanse. It feels impossible, like a mirage that somehow solidified.

Near the edge of the Salar, closer to the Chilean border, we encountered hundreds of flamingos gathered in shallow water.

Delicate birds standing against a backdrop of volcanoes and high desert mountains. It felt unreal.

We also found thermal pools in the freezing high altitude air. It was too cold to be outside and too cold to get into the water, but we did it anyway. That became a theme of the trip. See a body of water, touch a body of water, even when it makes no sense.

What Bolivia Left With Me

Bolivia was raw and untamed. Less curated than Peru and more demanding of your attention. It asked you to meet it on its own terms.

At fourteen, I did not overthink it. I moved forward, carried my camera, and trusted the experience. I followed my uncle into moments that felt big, strange, and unforgettable.

Bolivia taught me that adventure does not always arrive cleanly. Sometimes it arrives as a dusty border crossing, a cliffside bike ride you were not fully prepared for, and an endless salt flat that makes you feel small in the best way.