The town of Llica sits on the western edge of the Salar de Uyuni, high on Bolivia’s Altiplano. It’s a quiet, unassuming place that feels a little cut off from the world—and in a place like this, you naturally want to explore. With a whole afternoon ahead and no rush, we scan the map for where to head after our visit to the Ulo crater.
On the map, a road climbs all the way to the summit of Cerro Hualchisa above the town. It doesn’t look like a tourist attraction, more like a local service track—which makes it all the more tempting.
The plan is simple. We’ll drive as far as we can. If needed, we’ll walk the rest. A bit of exercise at altitude won’t hurt.
We’re fairly well acclimatized. Our recent ascent to the crater of the Tunupa volcano helped, so altitude shouldn’t be a major issue this time. Llica sits at about 3,700 meters and Cerro Hualchisa tops out at 4,363 m.
The first kilometers and a healthy respect for altitude
The track starts right outside the village and at first runs along the floor of a wide valley beneath the peak. From the first few meters it’s clear this won’t be a comfortable ride. The surface is rutted, rocky, and battered. We go slowly but surely. No need to hurry.
Roughly two kilometers past Llica, at around 3,950 meters, the road swings sharply left and begins to climb in earnest. A few meters later it bends right, and a steep ramp reveals itself on a track that’s clearly in poor shape.
Iva’s internal warning lights come on immediately. She suggests she and Ibo should walk from here. I propose one thing first—eat and drink properly. Critical decisions at nearly four thousand meters are easier on a full stomach.
We pull over and get out. Break time. We take out the salteñas we bought that morning in the streets of Llica and wash them down with a warm quinoa drink. Everything tastes a little more intense up here. The weather is kind. A typical Altiplano mix—sun on your face, cool, crisp air. Not a cloud in the sky. I think each of us savors the moment.
Splitting the crew
The decision comes naturally. Iva and Ibo continue on foot. Braňo and I will try to push the car a bit higher and see how far we get. Braňo is driving; I’m back-seat driving. The road ahead is rutted and properly steep, but our Hilux 4×4 can handle the obstacles. We still haven’t had to engage low range. The view forward, though, doesn’t bode well. In fact, it doesn’t bode anything—the track disappears. We have no idea how we’ll reach the saddle ahead, but as long as there’s a road, we keep going. Around each bend, another stretch appears, and we trust the map isn’t lying and that we’ll make it all the way up. We reach the first critical spot: big rock steps, with stone walls on both sides that likely mark someone’s plot. Low range is now essential. We crawl up, slowly and carefully, literally at walking pace. It starts to look promising and the saddle edges closer. We reach it at a respectable 4,125 m. For the first time, we can see what’s on the other side. In the distance we can make out sections of the track from our earlier journey from the village of Tahua.
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An exposed finish below the summit
Here the track swings right and continues toward the very top. Now and then the summit comes into view, crowned by a transmitter mast. These sections feel genuinely exposed: a steep slope on one side, a drop-off on the other. We’re finally stopped by a bend on a very steep hillside. The terrain here is extremely steep and broken, with large boulders in the middle of the track. We know we could force our way higher, but why push it? We’re at about 4,200 m. We can walk the last bit to the top.
Walking up a steep track at this altitude doesn’t come easy, of course, but with regular breaks we manage the final meters of ascent without much trouble. The summit rewards us with beautiful views. Llica lies at our feet. Turn a little and the Tunupa volcano still stands crisp on the horizon, even though it’s more than 50 km away. Looking north reveals another salt flat, dominated in the middle by Lake Coipasa.
From up high our whole approach lies open beneath us. What looked like a lost track from below becomes a clear line from above. While we’re taking in the views, Iva and Ibo reach our parked car. Time to head back. But first, of course, we shoot what we can—and our drones get their turn too. We descend the same way: on foot first, then by car. In the end the outing was a fitting finale to our stay in Llica. We spend the rest of the day in town and at our lodging, planning the next leg to San Pedro de Quemes. We’d like to slip in a visit to the Empexa hot springs, which are roughly on our route. We’ll see how it goes.
Conclusion
In the end, each of us went as high on Cerro Hualchisa as courage and common sense allowed that day. Iva and Ibo chose certainty and a steady pace from the first steep climb; Braňo and I drove the car a bit higher and finished the rest on foot. Each of us had our own comfort zone—and that’s exactly how it should be in high mountains.
Bolivia is exceptional in this regard. You’ll find plenty of roads that reach extreme elevations, often well above 4,000 meters. Their condition varies—some are relatively drivable, others rough and technical—but they share one thing: they can carry you by car into truly rarefied heights that elsewhere would require a long ascent.
Our drive up Cerro Hualchisa was just a taste. Compared with the track up Uturuncu—one of the highest drivable roads on Earth—it was fairly tame. Even so, it made one thing clear: anything above 4,000 meters isn’t a detail, it’s a factor you have to plan for.