Sajama National Park

Listen first. The wind moves across the high grass with a dry, steady hiss, like sand poured slowly onto paper. The air is thin and cold, and every breath feels a little shorter than it should. The light is very clear, almost hard. Shadows have sharp edges here. In front of you, a single white mountain rises from a wide, empty plain. This is Sajama National Park, on the Bolivian altiplano, the high plateau of the Andes.

That mountain is Nevado Sajama, the highest peak in Bolivia. It reaches roughly 6,500 metres above sea level. It is an extinct volcano, and it stands alone. There is no wall of ridges around it. That is why it looks so enormous. The plain under your feet is already above four thousand metres, yet the summit still towers far above you. On a calm morning, its snowcap can look close enough to touch. It is not.

Here is the first fact that surprises many visitors. This was Bolivia's first national park, created in 1939. That was long before most countries in South America protected their wild places. The aim was to protect the landscape around the mountain, and especially one unusual tree. As you walk, look at the lower slopes of Sajama. You may notice patches of low, twisted, reddish trees. Those trees are the reason this park exists.

The tree is called queñua. Scientists know it as a species of Polylepis. Its bark peels away in thin, papery layers, the colour of rust and cinnamon. Each layer helps protect the trunk from frost. The queñua forests on Sajama grow at heights where trees should not survive at all. They are often described as some of the highest forests on Earth. They grow slowly. A trunk no thicker than your arm may be very old.

For centuries, people here used queñua wood for fuel. In a land with almost no trees, wood was precious. Protecting these forests meant asking families to change old habits, and that balance between people and nature still shapes the park today. The park is not an empty wilderness. Aymara communities live inside it. The Aymara are an Indigenous people of the Andes, with their own language and traditions. Their herds, their villages, and their stone walls are part of this landscape.

Look out across the plain. You will almost certainly see llamas and alpacas. Llamas are taller, with long necks and curved, banana-shaped ears. Alpacas are smaller and woollier. Many of them carry small tufts of coloured wool tied to their ears. These tassels mark which family owns which animal. Now look further, toward the open grass. If you are lucky, you will see vicuñas. These are the wild cousins of the llama — slender, golden, and very shy.

The vicuña has the finest wool of any animal in the world. Not long ago, hunting pushed it close to extinction across the Andes. Protected areas like this one helped the herds recover. Today, vicuñas graze here in small family groups. One male usually watches while the others feed. If you get too close, he gives a high, whistling alarm call, and the whole group runs. Watch for the large flightless bird called the suri, too. It is a South American rhea, and it can sprint across the grass.

The ground here is not as quiet as it looks. Sajama sits in volcanic country, and heat still rises from below. In parts of the park, hot springs collect in pools of warm, mineral water. Local families have long used them for bathing. Further out, there is a field of geysers and bubbling vents. Steam rises from cracks in the ground, especially in the cold early morning. The air smells faintly of sulphur. Sitting in hot water while snow glows on a volcano nearby is one of the great pleasures of the altiplano.

Turn west, toward the border with Chile. Two more volcanoes stand there side by side. They are Parinacota and Pomerape, often called the Payachatas, which means "the twins" in Aymara. Parinacota has an almost perfect cone. On the other side of the border lies Lauca National Park in Chile. The two parks touch each other. Together, they protect one large, continuous high-Andean landscape that ignores the line on the map.

Now for the second surprise. Scattered across this plain are small stone and adobe towers, some taller than a person. They are called chullpas. They are burial towers, built before the Inca Empire reached this region. Families placed their dead inside them. Some chullpas near the park still carry painted geometric patterns in red, white, and other colours. Those designs have survived centuries of wind, frost, and fierce sunlight. Please look at them, but never climb on them or touch the paint.

The mountain itself has also given science a gift. In the late 1990s, a team of glaciologists climbed Sajama and drilled ice cores from the summit glacier. Layers of ice hold a record of past climate, a little like the rings inside a tree. Those cores helped researchers understand how the climate of the Andes changed over thousands of years. It is a remarkable thought. The white cap you see from here carries a long record of the past.

The small village of Sajama lies near the foot of the mountain. It has simple adobe houses, a plain church, and a few family guesthouses. Most journeys into the park start here, or in the nearby town of Curahuara de Carangas. That town is known for its colonial church, with painted walls inside that many visitors make a special detour to see. Life in these places moves slowly. The day follows the sun, the herds, and the weather.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment. Feel how thin the air is, and how bright the sun is on your skin. Listen to the wind in the grass, and perhaps the distant call of a vicuña. Look once more at Sajama, white against a deep blue sky. As you walk away, notice the rust-coloured queñua on its slopes, the stone walls of the herders, and the small towers on the plain. They have all stood up to this wind for a very long time.