The next day, Martín, Valentina, and Diego set out early from Putre again, determined to explore more of Lauca National Park. Their goal was to see the Cotacotani lagoons and later walk to the viewpoint over Lake Chungará.
As they drove higher into the altiplano, the air grew colder, but the sky was crystal clear. Snowy volcanoes appeared in the distance, including Parinacota and Pomerape. “It feels like we’re on top of the world,” Valentina said, watching the road wind up the plateau.
When they reached the Cotacotani lagoons, the view left them speechless. Dozens of small, dark-blue lakes stretched across the landscape, connected by narrow channels. Birds moved gently across the water.
“Look,” Diego pointed, “those must be Andean geese. And over there, flamingos!”
They sat on a rock to rest and noticed a small group of vicuñas grazing nearby. The animals seemed calm, but every few minutes they lifted their heads to check for danger. “They survive here with so little,” Martín whispered. “Just grass and cold wind. Imagine if we had to live like that.”
Valentina smiled. “That’s the lesson, isn’t it? Life adapts, even in the hardest places.”
After a while, they continued toward Lake Chungará. At 4,500 meters, it is one of the highest lakes in the world. The surface was smooth, and the snow of Parinacota Volcano reflected perfectly on the water. The silence was so complete that they could hear the distant call of a bird echoing across the lake.
A park ranger was standing near the viewpoint, watching through binoculars. The friends approached and greeted him.
“Any luck today?” asked Diego.
“Yes,” the ranger said. “I’ve seen giant coots and a couple of Andean foxes near the shore. You should stay quiet, and you might see them too.”
They followed his advice, and soon a fox appeared on the rocks, sniffing the ground. Its thick fur shone in the sunlight. “Incredible,” whispered Valentina.
The ranger added, “These animals are used to the cold, but they are not used to people. Visitors must be careful not to leave food or disturb them. If wildlife gets too close to humans, it can lose its natural instincts.”
That comment made the friends thoughtful. On the way back, Martín said, “It’s strange. We come here to admire the animals, but our presence could hurt them.”
“Exactly,” Valentina replied. “The park exists for them first. We are just guests.”
As the sun began to sink, the water of Chungará turned golden. The volcano’s shadow stretched across the lake. The friends sat together in silence, each reflecting on what they had seen.
Finally, Diego broke the silence: “I used to think national parks were just pretty places for tourists. Now I see they are also schools. They teach us how small we are, and how much we depend on nature.”
Martín nodded. “Maybe that’s why the rangers are so strict with rules. It’s not about control, it’s about respect.”
Valentina smiled softly. “And maybe we should take that respect back home with us, not just leave it here.”
When they drove away, the lights of the setting sun painted the altiplano in orange and purple. The volcanoes stood like guardians over the lagoons, and the friends carried new lessons with them — lessons of balance, silence, and gratitude.
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