Another world

If ever I needed vindication of why I'm travelling, these last five days have provided it. Travelling through the deserts of Chile and Bolivia opened my eyes to amazing new sights while also consigning any doubts or fears for my trip to dust.

Last Sunday I began this journey by leaving the town of Salta, heading straight towards and then through the Andes. The coach ride alone was a memory in itself. Through Argentina and Brazil I've lived many a long journey but none so which have kept me as captivated as I was en route to San Pedro de Atacama. Pervesely seated beside a charming blind man called Ricardo, the coach snaked up high through the rugged mountains (like the Trough of Bowland after a steroids overdose) and then eventually down through the Atacama Desert via my first encounter with a salt flat that this part of the world is synonymous with. A little drama aided us on our way when crossing the Argetine/Chilean border as a flat tyre was disovered but then reinflated.

We landed in San Pedro some nine hours after our 7AM departure and the bus terminal as marked out on my map was little more than an open area of dust. As is becoming frequently the case, I took more time than neccessary in locating my hostel and this delay was fuelled by a lack of Chilean currency, choosing a hostel out of the centre and failing to summon enough energy at such a high altitude. (2,436 m)

Dazed and confused I rang the hostel and within a few minutes, the owner and his family had arrived to collect me in their pick-up.

After I'd unpacked and settled in at my hostel, I picked up a bike and cycled back into the centre where I joined a couple of Dutch friends; Max and Sasha; and an Aussie and Canadian called Mark and Robin. We found a cheap little restaurant and enjoyed a three course meal, followed by some Chilean beers at a nearby bar.

On the Monday, little was planned but in the end it was a day of great adventure. After making my way over to the hostel where the aforementioned were staying, it was soon agreed that a jeep ride to a nearby salt lagoon was a good way of letting the hours pass by. With the hostel owner at the wheel, me, Max, Sasha, Robin and a Welsh lady called Karam all piled into the back of his truck and set off into the baking desert. After around half an hour we arrived in this surreal oasis where against the baron landscape there were two deep blue lagoons and a handful of flamingoes.

Being no ordinary pools and with such a high salt content, we were able to float on the surface unaided and did so for a good hour, marvelling at the absurd nature in which we spending our Monday lunchtime. While there, I posed while reading a book and was then then washed down thoroughly with clean water as not to look like a man sized salt sculpture upon disembarkation.

We returned to the town invigorated but with slightly scented towels. After a shower and crisps, I, along with Max and Sasha joined the tourist brigade for a late afternoon excursion to the Valley of the Moon. Fairly self-descriptive, the trip took in a number of valleys and rock formations caused by the volcanic activity in the area and was finished off with a panormic view across the mountains at sunset.

Once back in San Pedro and suitably fed, myself and Sasha agreed on finishing our stay with a late night trip to a party in the Death Valley, a short ride out of town. After a couple of beers in a cosy bar, we jumped in a jeep and headed for the strobe lights in the desert. The scene was as expected with people around a fire, a DJ spinning some tunes and a bar to keep you tanked up until the early hours, AND it was all set in a naturally formed discotheque with the lights bouncing off the rock faces surrounding us. Gradually the numbers swelled and by 5AM wed had enough beers, rum and pisco to last us until Bolivia. By 5.30AM I was tucked up in bed awaiting my alarm some one and a half hours later.

Not surprsingly it came and was most unwelcomed. In part this was due to my lack of sleep but more so that the upcoming day was to be the start of the three day trip across the Bolivian salt flats. Our jeep group was composed of me, Robin, the Dutch guys and another couple from Vancouver. We crossed the border with little problems although Sasha was beginning to pay for the previous nights excess and the increasing altitude was providing little sympathy.

Once into Bolivia, we were treated to a few stops at some large and colourful lagoons, one against the backdrop of an impressive volcano, before we rolled up at some thermal pools for a recharge followed by hotdogs and salad for lunch.

In the afternoon, we visited some geysers where I got too close and was ambushed by some volcanic mud. Largely happy that it missed my eyes, it did however leave its sulphiric mark on my sleeve, camera, eye lid and hair.

By mid afternoon we'd arrived at our accomodation for the night which was no more than a scattering of buildings in the middle of the desert. After a brief rest we checked out one more lagoon which was home to many a flamingo.

That night, with no showers and the temperatures plummeting, we wrapped ourselves up in everything and enjoyed a hearty meal of soup and spaghetti, served by our lovely guide, Alfredo.
The next day involved a little more time on the road but a touch less interesting sights to observe. Nevertheless, it was stunning with more lagoons and flamingoes as well as a stop at an area covered in crazy rock formations. With the day drawing to a close we arrived in a little village where we to stay but our jeep route was blocked down a backstreet by another jeep so Freddie took a detour. Sadly when we were facing up a narrow street, his brakes failed him and slowly we rolled backwards with only a wall and our fears standing in the way. After a few seconds, we collided with the wall but there was minimum damage and we all lived to tell the tale. Alfredo was temporarily upset but soon regrouped and made us chicken for tea. That evening I was last in the shower queue and missed out on a hot shower to my utter outrage.

Thursday was to be our last day of the trip and also the longest. With my alarm torturing me at 4AM we were all out and in the jeep within forty five minutes in search of sunrise over the Salar de Uyuni. Though Freddie took his time getting up then also running into another couple of village roadblocks, we did make it in time and had plenty of laughs jumping around taking pictures on the enormous and earie salt flats. Warn out and only 7AM, we were driven to an island in the centre of the lake where we had breakfast on salt chairs and tables, then climbed to the summit for pictures and little air.

With the sun now shining brightly we drove to the middle of the blindingly white expanse and tried our hand at doing the usual photo trickery with mixed results.

From here we visited the Salt Hotel, made completely from salt, and then had more chicken for lunch.

Our trip was concluded with a visit to a train cemetery on the outskirts of Uyuni before we were dropped at a hostel in the town. For tea I had a llama burger which went down well, mainly becuase of the comedy rather than it's taste and our group had a toast to an excellent few days together. Robin waved goodbye and Sasha was sick.

Today the plan was to be in Tupiza, some seven hours of cliff hanging roads away but due to Sashas illness, this has been postponed until tomorrow, when herself and Max will be able to join me. Until then, a trip to a local town has been earmarked so this should tie me over although after such an amazing few days, I'm happy to just reflect for a while.

At this point it may have dawned on you that you are now the blind man on the bus. Despite all these lovely pictures I have painted, you will not be able to see them, at least in this post, as the internet here is achingly slow and I' lost 45 minutes of my life trying to fight this. When I arrive in a town where the internet moves faster than a Bolivian pentioner, I'll be sure to put them up. Until then just use your imagination, ci?