✕

The symptoms may seem mild at first: fatigue and a headache. But, over time, dizziness and a state of confusion will set in. Even while resting, shortness of breath lingers, stirring panic. Altitude sickness occurs when the body quickly ascends to higher elevations, where there is less oxygen to be absorbed by the lungs. It can imperil mountain trekkers and backpackers—to say nothing of those carrying out the physically taxing labor of construction. When commissioned with the design of a series of remote ecotourism lodges around Bolivia’s Uyuni Salt Flat (about 12,000 feet above sea level), Chilean architect and 2017 Design Vanguard Max Núñez developed a prefabricated solution with worker safety—as well as habitat conservation—top of mind.

“Doing anything in this part of the world requires a lot of effort,” says Núñez. But why build anything at all in such isolation?

For Explora, the ecotourism company behind the lodges, bringing so-called “explorers” on guided travesías to far-flung parts of South America fosters a firsthand appreciation of unique and endangered biomes. After all, the Uyuni Salt Flat is a geological marvel, covering some 3,900 square miles (about twice the size of Delaware). Its exceptional flatness, the chalky color of a deep salty crust, and relatively low humidity make the basin an ideal calibrating surface for satellite altimeters. Still water that idles after rainstorms transforms the flat into the largest reflective surface on the planet. And, as inhospitable to life as it may seem, flora and fauna—including, curiously, three different species of high-altitude flamingos—find ways to flourish at the edges. The thinking goes that appreciation and understanding drive conservation, and the lodges help make a daunting 350-mile journey, long famous in backpacking circuits, more welcoming than before.

For Núñez, his initial site visit began the same way as many explorers’—in a Toyota Land Cruiser fully loaded with spare fuel, food, water, and GPS-enabled electronics. “I thought whatever we propose should be similar to this vehicle,” he says of the popular SUV. “It’s an efficient and reliable model. The design is simple, stripped down to the bare necessities.” And perhaps most important, he adds: “It gets you where you need to go, but it’s not in the landscape forever.”

Conventional wisdom would dictate locally sourced materials to reduce long supply chains. There is even a tradition of salt-block architecture here on the Andean Plateau. “Those structures are beautiful—but it’s a very different approach,” Núñez says, explaining that the blocks’ weight would have necessitated a stereotomic vocabulary, sturdy foundations, and extensive regrading. A lightweight prefabricated system, on the other hand, would limit workers’ time on-site and disturbance of the ground.

Núñez and team devised a base module (measuring 11½ feet by 19¾ feet) that could be modified to accommodate different uses and arranged into varied linear combinations alongside smaller add-on modules. They sit on a deck formed by a steel chassis that rests on shallow, minimally invasive concrete footings. Fully outfitted with windows, doors, insulation, and hookups for some utilities, each unit fits on a truck bed, and a steel frame ensures longevity during the daylong journey on rough-and-tumble dirt roads. No-nonsense steel cladding requires little on-site maintenance (a client request), and oversize angled roofs, held up by another steel frame, shield the lodges from unwanted solar-heat gain. “Inside, the atmosphere is completely different,” says Núñez. To heighten the transition from a dry outdoor environment, the architect lined the interiors with hardy tropical mani wood, which was certified as responsibly sourced. Potable water and food are brought from nearby towns, and waste is removed every few months. The setup amounts to a much cozier upgrade from its predecessor: tents.

1

2

Mani wood, prominently featured inside (1 & 2), contrasts with the steel cladding and rigging outside (3). Photos © Roland Halbe, click to enlarge.

3

For explorers who travel this particular itinerary along the salt flat, the journey takes upward of a week, with daytime excursions, ample time to acclimate to the high altitude, and overnight stays at three different locations. Each “camp” features a three-piece set of Núñez-designed lodges (one houses a handful of guests, another acts as a lounge and communal dining room, and the last provides space for staff) and takes on a distinct identity (through color and module configuration). Trekkers first stop at Ramaditas, where the accommodations echo the same reddish cast of a distant mountain range. Then, onward to Chituca—there, mint-colored refuges pay homage to the many cacti that stoically dot the barren landscape. Finally, the newest and largest camp, in Jirira (pictured in this article), grants guests panoramic vistas of the salt flat.

“The challenge was finding someone who could build such a system, designed by my team in Chile, and also transport it to the highlands,” says Núñez. For this, he collaborated with OPEC, a Bolivian engineering company with experience in large-scale infrastructure (including the aerial cable car system in La Paz). One by one, the modules were constructed 500 miles away in Santa Cruz, Bolivia (a mere 1,300 feet above sea level), shipped, and lifted into place via boom truck. “In the middle of a city, the lodges could have gone up in two weeks—but the conditions of the terrain are difficult.” Each grouping took about two months to erect, still far faster than other modes of construction.

Just as quickly, they can be disassembled and ferried away, footings and all—the connections are all bolted, not welded. The strategy, which has the potential to leave the site nearly as it was found, brings to mind the popular outdoorsy saying: take only pictures, leave only footprints. And one day, when the time is right, Núñez hopes that the lodges might live another life elsewhere. “Maybe even in Chile,” he says with a smile.

Click drawing to enlarge