Up, up and away
Driving technique or lack of it
Simple safe haven
Day 2. More of the same? We shall see
Relief at last
Day 3 More lovely sights
Fourth (and final?) day
Manica moments

Up, up and away

This missive concerns a trip to see the salar. Click here for some background [webmaster]

We were due to leave at 10 oí clock, but we are in South America. At least we had a chance to meet the cast of characters.

Ami Middle aged Israeli travelling alone at the moment as his girlfriend has returned home following the passing of her father. Chatty and amiable.
Manfred Swiss independent traveller in his thirties. Striking appearance following complete loss of body hair two years ago. Charming smile. Just arrived from a heavy session at the carnival in Humahuaca.
Ignacio (Nacho) Uruguayan born but living in Mexico since his early youth. Bearded and enigmatic.
Eddy Driver/cook. Diminutive (well, come on, heís Bolivian) Buzzing and seems eager to please his punters.
Luiz Trainee version of above but larger.
Us us.

It was predictable but a fact that we set off late. The managed of the tour company gave us a cuppa while we waited. Not a proper cuppa, but some inferior camomile stuff or so we thought. It later transpired that this herbal tea is in fact a coca preparation.

It should be noted that Hippy and I had made some preparations for the trip and although we were toting the smallest bags they were in fact full of water and, more importantly, wine. In fairness to party members, they were not returning to Tupiza and we had taken over the luggage store with all manner of bike gear.

The 4x4 seemed a little worn but sturdy, and when we started of sounded healthier than Bertha at this altitude. Stopping in town to pick up provisions further delayed us but by 11 we were on our way. As the road turned into the riverbed, I did begin to wonder how bad the road would get. As the riverbed continued for the next 40km and we drove through streams, mud and sand, I think I had my answer. As we exited the river the gravel road climbed and climbed. Beside us the most amazing gorge was coming into view.

The late start was not going to be a problem as this was `the short dayí (we were informed when we set off that the first day would be 7 or 8 hours on the first day and about 11 on the second) doing a mere 170km in the allotted 7 hours so we would get to our bed for the night before nightfall.

We stopped for a couple of photo calls on the way up. It was the most strange geology - the whole of the side of the gorge had eroded into different coloured spires of rock, some a brilliant orange fading to pale yellow and rose pink. The tall limbless cacti complimented the backdrop. Once again, this valley was named Valle de la Luna. Eddy seemed a bit upset when I suggested that this was not altogether original and that itís the 5th Valle de la Luna that weíve seen within 500 miles.

I began to realise, as the only girl on the trip, for 4 days I may have difficulty finding seclusion for calls of nature with only the odd miniature shrub and cactus for cover. Heigh ho!

Driving technique or lack of it

Rising still further and further the cloud cover thickened as we headed towards the Altiplano. Specks of rain and then hail bombarded the jeep. It became increasingly clear that there had been considerable rain up on the top here. Along with the deepening mud there were sections were the gravel road had been eroded away by streams crossing the top. The erosion typically meant that a deep trench had been cut across the road to a depth of about two feet and a width of one. At each of these, Eddy slowed to a crawl so as not to damage the suspension. At each of them we came to rest with the back wheels down the trench. At each of them we emerged with the engine mounting in revs and the rear wheels spinning in the loose gravel. It was clear that our beast had plenty of power. Some of the crevasses were so bad that it was a mission to fill them with anything to hand that would bridge the gap so that the wheels would not get stuck. In some cases it was wandering around to find stones, in other cases it was kicking the remaining bits of road into the hole and once we stuffed the ditch with branches. All this was taking a lot of time as each hazardous piece of road only a couple of km apart. It was worrying me that 4 days of this would be a nightmare. The first few times you negotiate a precarious piece of road it quite exciting but when it gets to the twentieth it is just hard work.

Mud was another matter. Every time we came to a ëpastyí section, Eddy would attempt to drive through using two wheel drive. When we inevitably came to a halt, Luiz would get out and lock the front wheel latches (one of the most annoying things about Toyota 4 wheel drive systems) while Eddy wrestled with the transfer box to try and get into 4 low. Eventually, Ami, who was sitting in the front all the time owing to his disproportionately long legs, would sit holding the lever in its fully engaged position until we set off and everything meshed. It was clear that we were going to need 4wd for considerable amounts of the time but Eddy and Luiz ignored our pleas to leave it in high ratio 4wd and in fact disengaged as soon as we were back on the level again. Thus we progressed in fits and starts.

There were points that it was considered best to remove a little weight from the vehicle. Being a lady I was usually exempt from walking in the mud, or pushing when it got stuck. There was also the factor that Pat and I were on the back seat of 3 rows. The back of the second row did not fold down so we had to clamber over it. This was OK for me when me trainers werenít muddy ëcos I could put my foot on the seat and get over. But once muddy my legs arenít long enough to stretch from the foot well and over the back seat so instead a I performed some contorted manoeuvre which involved a one legged forward roll over the seat. Hence I think the driver thought it easiest if I stayed in the back. After all he was the one who would have to clean the upholstery.

Then there were the rivers. The road in places followed river bottoms. Earlier, these had been dried up and were fine (Bertha wouldnít have liked the round polished stones, though) although somewhat bumpy. Now they were swollen with the run-off from the recent showers. The depth of water was not the problem, though, but the ingress and egress to the rivers was. All of the banks had been eroded into a step and so we had to depart from the normal route to find gentle slopes to enter and exit by. This was merely an annoyance as the vehicle seemed to comfortably cope with the 2 ft high cones of grass that filled the countryside either side of the road. Luckily none of them contained any rocks. Ami took on the role of director in these missions guiding Eddie with military precision.

Then it went dark. The forays off the main route got to be less comfortable and, more seriously, each time we left the route it took us about 10 minutes to find our way back to the ëproperí road. Being a bunch of independent travellers we were of course all equipped with the standard ëmagliteí. There was one river crossing that worried me rather when we appeared to have lost the track entirely. Scouts were sent on a mission across the river to randomly shine torches and discover the track. And then stood in position lighting the edge like a landing strip.

And so it went on. And on. And on. It should be pointed out that we came across ëcommunitiesí about every hour and these at best consisted of one or maybe two houses (and the obligatory llamas and football pitch). Not very reassuring as we were now traversing grim roads in the pitch black. Even the moon did not favour us. Hippy was getting more and more worried ands the grip on my arm increased to vice like over every bump and with every twitch of the steering. I did my best to suppress my squeals and keep up a steady patter to keep the atmosphere relaxed. With such poor range of vision with the dipped headlights focused on the divots in road there was little warning of hazards ahead. We have always had a policy on this trip so far not to ride in the dark and now I vow to maintain that rule. It was terrifying for me knowing that around the next bend the road could be washed away again and we would not see it till it was too late. Of course this being Latin America that vehicle was now furnished with anything resembling seat belts. Ami at one point reached for his seat belt, concerned that if we hit a crevasse he would be through the windscreen only to discover that there was a belt but no socket!

Simple safe haven

We were overjoyed to reach our lodgings for the night and personally I was surprised that the promised ëbasicí lodgings were not that bad. OK so the route to the outside privvy had become something of a mud slide (the steps to it being just cut into the mud bank) because of the rain, but that couldnít really be blamed on anyone so we simply took it all in our stride. The blessed relief of being out of the vehicle made the world seem better and everyone seemed chuffed with the wine that weíd brought with us.

The stress of the day had been punctuated by lighter moments. Every now and again we would come across a herd of llamas. There is something about the proportions of these animals and the expressions on their faces that never fails to be entertaining. Just as when they break into a run and their long necks lollop back and forth whilst their dreadlocked heavy wool bounces up and down. Now the vicuÒas, distant cousins of the llamas, that we saw were a different matter. They were thin and elegant, and ran effortlessly away as soon as we approached. No chance of a photo.

In fact our motley crew were rallying together seeing the whole thing as an exciting adventure while privately praying that it would not be the same tomorrow. We had all been impressed with the vehicle and were only frustrated that Eddie had been reluctant to stay in 4 wheel drive. To be fair, when the car had been in 4wd it did make some pretty awful noises and we could see why they shied away from it. I was relieved that we did not have any whingers amongst us. Maybe it was the fact that we had all travelled a lot and knew had bad things could be, that we just pleased that we had made it to the abode intact and the looked clean and more sophisticated than we had expected.

Our beds were made of tarpaulin stuffed with straw on sprung bed frames on a concrete floor, which was distinctly better than the ownerís whose similar bedding was on a mud floor. We had electric light, the owners didnít. Our two-course meal of soup, followed by chicken, salad and potatoes was most welcome at 11pm. The rain was relentless. I awoke every now again and worried about how bad the roads would be the next day after even more rain.

Day 2. More of the same? We shall see

An early morning, trip to the pit latrine up the slithery bank, I felt overwhelmed with guilt. I saw the owners wringing out bedding that had been drenched in the night. I realised that not only did they only have an earth floor but also an adobe thatched roof, where we had a galvanized roof one of only two in the village. What must have their night been like? We had been dry and warm. For them wet at 4200m they must have been freezing. I tried not to think how little of the 100 dollars each we had paid for the trip would go to these people. The life up must be harsh, wet summers and winters with the temperature dropping to minus 20. The only thing that thrives here is llamas - at least that provides wool and meat. Little vegetation grows up here, which means not only is food limited but so is fuel for warmth. A young girl of 11, carrying her brother of 2 on her back came begging for money into the grounds of the hostel. We normally do not give money and prefer to give food to those really in need but Pat made an exception here. It is no wonder that each person we met had a cheek stuffed with coca leaves. Whether it helps with the altitude or not it probably makes the harshness of this environment more tolerable.

Eddie assured us that the roads would only been bad for the first couple of hours and then they would be ëmuy secoí ie very dry. Considering todayís itinerary was 350km, we hoped so because if it is as slow going as yesterday that took 10 hours for 170km we would have problems.

We were leaving an hour late, and then our guides disappeared. It transpired that they went to ask the locals whether the road, sorry mud track, would be passable today. Heaven alone knows if they had a plan B since the terrible road we had taken yesterday would now be worse with the rain that had fallen in the night. From the village we rose and rose. It was comforting that a vehicle had clearly made it through that morning, and we worked on the principle that if we didnít find it stuck or crashed the way must be passable.

The track up had sections of deep mud. As Eddie attempted up-hill mud in 2 wheel drive and then would lose traction and the back end would slither around, we were all losing patience. I was, I have to say, terrified. The narrow one lane track had a sheer drop on one side and as the vehicle slide around not in complete control, I averted my eyes from the edge and concentrated on the bank rising on the other side with tussocks of grass covered in snow. I wanted my crash helmet and bike gear, for the possibility that we lost control and went over the edge. (nice thought, Hippy, but Iím not sure the bike gear would save you from the crushing injuries you would sustain as a 4x4 rolls down a cliff) At this point I wanted to be on the bike, rather than trapped in a vehicle that if it rolled off the edge I would be shaken around like a ball in a babyís rattle. I put on my sheepskin Chilean hat, not for the cold, but in some vain attempt to persuade my brain that it would protect my head in the event of disaster.

It had to happen. On one steep slope and foot deep mud, in the customary 2 wheel drive the back end slid into the bank and ground its way deeper into the mud. The only damage was a bit of bumper had fallen off. The men got out lightening the vehicle and push - we insisted on 4 wheel drive. I held on to every stable surface as he slithered up the slope. I would have preferred to walk. We made it! The boys got back in at the top, breathless. The effects of walking up hill at 4200m were taking their toll.

200m along the road we hit another bad patch. This time I insisted on getting out. Chivalry is one thing but safety is another. Walking the 500m in pasty mud left us filthy and tired. It had been like walking in sand as my trainers slipped in all directions with every step. That combined with the altitude of 4500m and little oxygen, we arrived at the 4x4 as if we had been running for half and hour.

My major concern with the slithering was not the bumping into the inside of the hill. After all, it was not my car! Each time the traction was lost, instead of throttling back until they got grip, they simply gunned the motor with the wheels spinning and so the back end crabbed across the track leaving the vehicle at right angles to our preferred direction. This is all very well but it makes it somewhat tricky to get things back pointing in the right direction as it is now impossible to reverse back out to any great extent. We all agreed that perhaps some one setting up 4x4 lessons in Bolivia would be a great asset.

From our overnight stop, San Antonio de Lipez, we passed San Antonio Viejo ñ itís former incarnation. Eddy told us the tale of the town which, as best as we can tell is: Once upon a time, this town was as rich as Potosi (which is, in fact, saying something). Then it was struck down with a plague. A series of 3 priests was brought in to get rid of the Devil who was supposed to have taken root. The first two failed and the third thought up a cunning ruse to beat Beelzebub. He challenged him to a race to the top of the local mountain and tricked him by leaving the church through one door and returning by the other. I think the Devil would surely have not been conned by this but this is where I got a bit confused. The plague continued so the priest brought in 3 virgins who visited all of the houses in succession and the inhabitants either died or survived. Any way, everyone got fed up and moved to the new San Antonio. No, it didnít make much sense to me as a moral tale.

Relief at last

At last the rain stopped and we mounted a final crest descending into semi-desert. It was almost impossible to believe the change in conditions.

The point of this part of the caper was to take in the scenery which consists mostly of dormant volcanoes and lakes. Having seen everyone else's photos displayed hither and thither, the first lake we came across did not bode to well. To get the best effect, one wants clearish skies with a couple of suitably fluffy clouds, still waters in the lake to get nice reflection and a bit of snow atop the volcano. Of the three we really only had the latter. Knowing that weíd taken extra time to get here, we pressed on to see if things would improve later in the day.

Indeed, things did begin to clear up and by the time weíd passed through the army post near the Chile border and settled down to lunch , things were getting positively beautiful. Our lunch spot was the home to a host of decorated llamas. The decoration that all of the domesticated beasts wear here (and that includes sheep and donkeys) is tufts of brightly coloured wool poked through ear piercings. In the case of the llamas this may be supplemented with ribbons woven into the wool of their manes. We were surrounded by them in a verdant little valley with ice capped mountains in the background and bright red rock outcrops all around. The weather had cleared, lunch was nice and all was right in the world. I was made up that the place was littered with largish rocks to provide a little privacy for the necessary.

Other promised highlights for day two promised to be hot springs, geysers and a whole host of (more) attractive lakes. The hot springs were hot and springy but not quite as ëplunge in and enjoy yourselfí as I had hoped. It had been suggested that we may be able to wash here if we wanted to. Something like washing in the footbath entering a swimming pool I would imagine. Pat, Manfred and I did give our feet a little treat, and I for one was pleased with the results. They had been sat in wet trainers from the previous dayís river crossings and were now warm and soft. The kind of soft akin to that we had had from the thermal springs in Chile. Ask Esther for confirmation.

The lakes did not fail in their promise. With varying hues and each with its own set of mountains as a backdrop, they were rather splendid. Laguna Verde is something of a classic of this type. It has (as one might guess) greenish water. More aquamarine as it happens but it doesnít roll of the tongue so easily. Still no reflections, though and Hippy was clearly getting frustrated and beginning to get photo-itis trying to take pictures of all and sundry. I prayed that there was better to come as I had expected as I was putting the mocker on quite a few of Hipís photo requests.

The geysers were splendid. Missing only what I believe to be the genuine geyser (i.e. one that spurts water up in the air) all other volcanic venting forms were represented; gurgling muddy puddles, constant vents of steam pluming up into the air, eerie misty patches surrounded by sulphurous deposits and simple deep chasms into the ground that displayed nothing but produced incredibly powerful sounding roaring and hissing down below. We were amused to read a sign that had itís back to us and discover a warning not to advance beyond it as there was ëpeligro de muerteí. Thanks for pointing that one out to us, guides. I had felt a little nervous seeing that the ground was perforated with miniature holes each with steam and mud gurgling in it. So whilst Pat was striding around confidently I was ¥looking me feetsí and tentatively glimpsing into the larger pools.

Days end was a quick glimpse of Laguna Colorado as we passed on our way to the hostel. This one is on the tour route ëproperí and had a host of 4x4s parked outside. Our major concern revolved around the fact that we were obviously the last to arrive and so were given the last room which had a Christmas decoration rather than a light bulb attached at the end of two wire from the ceiling. No end of coaxing would bring forth light from this object. At last we were brought a gas lantern. To be honest, I always find gaslight rather appealing in out of the way places. I blame Cardoness Camp Site and other gas lit episodes of my childhood.

There was a much more relaxed feeling that evening. It looked like that rest of the tour would be plain sailing now that we were on the ruta tourista. I was impressed with Amiís determination to be tidy, and the efforts he went to rustle up a bucket of very cold water to have a shave. The rest of us could not face the idea of a cold bucket shower at this temperature (now falling to a chilly 5 degrees and only just dark) and hoped that our dirt may keep us warm.

Manfred was clearly a bit of a romantic like myself and we stood enjoying the sunset. For me it was hard to decide which was the best direction to look in, was it where the sun was setting behind the hostel, glowing brilliant orange or to the East where the fluffy clouds were turning all manner of shades of pink and purple. Nacho and Pat showed quiet appreciation whilst Ami was a little cynical, feeling that one sunset is much like another.

Day 3 More lovely sights

I slept well and woke early, not as early as Manfred, who had made it up for sunrise. A little more dedicated to natureís wonders than myself.

Deja vu! Return of the rabbit, Iím sure I have seen it before in a strange hotel in Chile. As it bounced back and forth in our doorway I wondered if it was going to follow us around the world. I did not dare approach now knowing the potential temperament of Latin American rabbits.

As promised, Eddy stopped for us to get views of Laguna Colorada at close quarters. It was clear had in got its name, with the colours in the lake varying from adobe red, green and sulphurous yellow. The lake in the cold of the morning was steaming with warmth of thermal waters entering it. Llamas grazed on the lush emerald green moss it the edges of the lake and pink flamingos shuffled around the shallow patches scooping up water in their beaks. Add this to still water and perfect reflections of the red snow capped mountains and blue skies; we were definitely getting what we had come to see.

We passed by another couple of parts of the beautiful lake but by now were a little jaded and moved on reasonably fast.

The next major stop was some rocks in the middle of the desert. This does not sound much. But in the morning light the sculpted, weathered formations were stunning against brilliant blue skies. A moment to contemplate the serenity of the world.

I finally got my vicuÒa photo a little later (all the lads on the vehicle had been teasing a bit about Hippy wanting to photograph every vicuÒa going and they were relieved that at last she had one that she was happy with). In one of the sparsest bits of desert, there was not even the smallest tuft of grass to eat. Eddy claimed that they live in gravel breaking them down for the minerals; I'm not convinced it seems more likely that they digest lichen off the surface of the stones. We will never know.

We stopped on the way for Pat to don the scarf, in his unending support for the Trotters.

Lunch was at a tourist hot spot. This lake was again a myriad of colours and perfect reflections; it was only minus the moss and llamas. With so much beauty, it is hard to choose which shot is best. Hope the photos do it justice. It was only marred by news from the BBC world service that Liverpool were winning 2 nil. We switched off the radio fearing there was worse to come.

Another army check point where they checked our passports and from the office I spied something strange on the washing line. Slices of meat out to dry, well why not. It should be briefly noted for the benefit of armed forces the world over that if there comes to be a war with Bolivia, bomb the buildings that are decorated with jungle camouflage but are incongruously located in beige desert areas. You canít fail.

On the way to our abode for the night we got our first glimpse of true salar, crossing a mini version of Uyuni. The solid salt sparkled as the evening light hit it and in the distance the horizon became a mirage of water. It was enough to make us look forward to the real thing the next day.

Hips and I needed a bit of a walk around the village. Our spot in the back of the 4x4 was hardly luxurious and we ëneeded a bit of time togetherí. The village contained exactly 5 streets ñ 3 one way and 2 the other. The entertainment in the area seemed to be sitting on street corners. This is amazing as Bolivia seems to have more sports facilities per head of population than llamas. Speaking of which, we were delighted by a fine display of shagging by a pair of the hairy brutes. Unlike our experience with the rest of the animal kingdom where procreation takes approximately ten seconds, these guys were really going for it. The lady llama lay down on her chest and made wonderful groaning noises while her suitor piled on top and hung in there for over ten minutes. I had to leave after a while in a fit of jealousy at his performance. Hence the well know Spanish compliment: Èl coge como una llama [weblinguist]

That night we were upgraded, there were hot showers and Pat and I had a room to ourselves. Admittedly it only had a curtain for privacy and an epidemic of flies, but it was enough. We were pretty much all knackered and couldnít even finish a litre of wine between the five of us. We retired early, excited about the following days promise.

Fourth (and final?) day

After a standard brekky of tea de coca and bread and jam we were packed in no time and ready for the off. We were all excited in an almost childlike kind of way. Eddy and Luiz had gone to great efforts to clean the car so that the windows would give us top all round vision. They had also covered all of the sensitive bits of the vehicle so that they would be safe from salt ingress. With such excellent preparations, what could possibly go wrong?

About 10 km out of the village we broke a half shaft.

In case you donít know, this is the thing that transmits power from the engine to the driving wheels. I am sure you understand then that we came to a halt. I was not too worried as I had noticed that there was a spare in the back of the vehicle for just such emergencies.

The shaft was for the left side.

We had broken the right hand one.

Luiz got picked up by a vehicle that was fortuitously travelling the same route that we were. Eddy started to disassemble the axle.

There was no way of getting the drum off the axle. The brake pads needed to be released to their base position and for some reason would not move. We hammered, levered, prayed, cursed and did all of those things that mechanics do.

Meanwhile, a motorbike hove into view and then stopped about 500 yards away. I set off to see what his problem was. The sun here is incredibly strong and even with long sleeves and my arab scarf on I felt that I was getting burnt. It turned out that the local youth was having problems with the ignition which comprised a series of loosely twisted wires. I crimped as best I could but realised that no major improvement was going to be made without recourse to soldering ñ not an option.

Eventually we decided to resort to rough tactics as we were getting fed up with sitting around in what can only be described as a desert. There were no other vehicles passing and so we needed to move ourselves. Standard tactic with a Landrover is to remove the prop shaft and use 4wd to drive the front wheels.

Not with a Toyota it seems.

We resorted in the end to re-coupling the drive shaft and limping along in 3x4. I hung out of the side of the vehicle to see if any harm was happening to the separated wheel. It was making some pretty nasty scraping noises but I said nowt as I guessed that everyone really wanted to get to the next village which was 15 km away.

On tricky bits we all hopped out to lighten the load and push if need be. On the first time that we did this, we realised that the loose wheel was hanging at a somewhat wonky angle. Clearly the shaft in these things helps to maintain the steering geometry. Again, we said nothing.

Luiz appeared over the horizon on the back of a random blokeís bike. There was no shaft to be had. Eddy pointed out to him that he would be best employed in trying to find another vehicle for his clients. He returned to the phone to see what he could rustle up. We made our way slowly to Manica.

Manica moments

Luiz reported that he had sourced a vehicle from the carnival beset town of Uyuni. It would be arriving at two.
OK, it may be arriving at three.
Donít worry, youíll get to see all of the stuff that you were promised.
We polished of the last three bottles of cold beer in the village and twiddled our thumbs.
Three came and went.
Only just, though. At about ten past, in a cloud of dust, the lone ranger appeared in the form of Pablo in his swanky Land Cruiser. After despatching his passengers, we loaded up his motor and were ready for the off in next to no time.
Well, first we had to get petrol. Or so we thought. In fact, Pablo was trying to track down his passengers who had buggered off without paying.
Pablo is a fast driver.
But Pablo knows what heís doing.

We whacked across to the salar at a steady 90 kmph on dusty dirt roads and then zoomed over the salar at about 110. The second bit was totally cool. Can see why they do their land speed records on these things. We were heading for Isla de Pescadores. We could see it from where we entered the Salar and we could see it for the next 45 minutes while it seemed to remain at the same distance from us. Then we were there. It is so weird how the distance perspective thing happens out there. The air is so clear that you can see for miles and this thing is so huge that you just cannot tell how far you are from anything.

On our passage over the salar, islands in the distance hovered in thin air. The salar itself was such a brilliant white and the crystals of salt sparkled like diamonds on the surface. All that disturbed the surface was the odd set of tyre tracks. It was one of the most beautiful things that I have seen. Worth the wait.

Isla de Pescadores has lots of jolly tall cacti and a unique breed of chinchilla that got stranded there thousands of years ago when the lake receded to its current plain of salt. We saw plenty of the former, which were up to 12 metres tall (that makes them 1200 years old) but none of the latter. Shame really as we like our little furry creatures. Ami, as usual was in a bit of a hurry to get on whereas we were trying to hold things up to guarantee sun down on the salar. The sun was so bright and the salar so white that I am afraid that our photos will just be a white-out of glare. But I can assure you that from the top of the island the views were surreal. The stark contrast between the sparkly flat white salar and the huge green spiky cacti was unreal.

As we were leaving the island, a local lady begged a lift and as Pablo was on general rescue mode we obliged, of course. Regrettably there was no room inside the vehicle but she gamely hoisted her skirt and hopped up onto the roof rack and wrapped herself up with our luggage. All that was left poking out was her bowler-hatted head. Off we went.

Out on the plains we had a quick photo op or two and then headed on for a bit of a wet patch where we could get some nice cloud reflections. On the way we spotted a stationary vehicle on the horizon. Pablo was obliged to go to their aid. This guy will surely go to heaven. It turned out that they had electrical problems. The passengers seemed in a worse condition than the car. Rather than wave a cheery thank you and hello, they shut up their windows and hung towels up to hide themselves when I was taking pictures of the guys working on the engine. Miserable sods. Not a single world passed between the vehicles apart from when a lass wanted to take a pee and she shouted over for us not to take a picture in the most unnecessarily sour tone.

We forgave them as they had probably been there for hours. As we packed up to go we asked Nacho (I should point out that Nachoís contribution to the trip had been an immeasurable amount of translating to keep us abreast of what was happening. Nacho, we thank you) to ask how long theyíd been there. Ten to fifteen minutes apparently. Definitely miserable sods.

On the way to help these guys we got our first taste of the reflections possible only in the rainy season on the salar. Shallow salt water produces perfect images of the mountains and fluffy white clouds in the sky. What more can I say.

We made a brief stop on the way to Uyuni to inspect the Hotel made of salt. It was a bit of a disappointment. As with salt the world over leave it to the elements for a while and it starts to look rather grubby. The inside was an improvement. And everything was in fact made of salt, the bed, walls, table and the lot. We were not allowed in so I cannot vouch for the toilets. The news from Pablo is that they are in the process of dismantling it - the nature preservationists seem to think itís a bad idea. However using the salar and harvesting the salt from it is apparently OK!

We did it! We had managed to delay things enough to see sunset over the salar. And Pablo being the great guide that he is he steered us to a flooded area just for those reflections. Manfred and I stood in wait for the best moments to capture. Ami again seemed in a rush. The skies turned the most amazing colours, and the reflections in the salar just added to the sight. It was worth all the delays of the day just to see this. If the vehicle had not broken we would be half way back to Tupiza by now.

Understandably Pablo wanted to finish his drive with some remnants of light and we headed off. Typically as we drove along the skies and reflection just became better and better. The pinks and golds turning purple and crimson. Even non-romantic Ami could not resist videoing it out the window of the car. I think we have a convert. For me I have seen some amazing sunsets but this one was beyond description

If you are prepared to rough it I little I think that the Altiplano at the end of the rainy season is possibly the most absorbing scenery I have seen. I loved it.

Uyuni exists as a centre for tourists to take trips out onto the salar. There were loads of backpackers hanging around in town, which rather explains why everything was so expensive. We dined with the others to say farewell before heading off to the station. Our tour had been arranged to take us back to Tupiza but this was not going to happen now as we had no transport. Luiz took us by the hand to the station to explain the ticket buying system. It goes like this-

Train arrives at 2:30 a.m.
Tickets go on sale at 11:00 p.m.
Unless the bloke selling tickets doesnít turn up.
We sat on a bench.
Loads of old bowlered ladies turned up so we sat on the floor.
Some stoned Chileans played the didgerydoo.
Badly.
The ticket wallah turned up at 12:30.
I sat watching our bags and random bowlered women bags
Now, Iíll say one thing for Bolivians and queuing and that is that once youíve established your place in the queue you can go away and come back and be allowed back in the correct place. I was number 5.
Stupidly, I asked for a ticket for 1st class.
I sat watching our bags and random bowlered women bags
He didnít know if there were any spaces, could I please wait.
I waited
I sat watching our bags and random bowlered women bags
And waited.
I sat watching our bags and random bowlered women bags
Eventually, inexplicably, he sold me a ticket for second class. Oh, so what.
The train of course arrived on time and left an hour late. Figures.

We had a couple of crying children who calmed down when the train was in motion. We slept badly as you do on a train and awoke with dawn and gorgeous views as the train wriggled its way along the side following the river. There was a scary point when the train suddenly slammed on the brakes. (Probably more for me than for Helen as I had just unzipped my fly and was flung against the bulkhead of the toilet.) Rather than the feared washed away track instead a cyclist had been on the line. I canít blame him as it was the only dry patch on which to ride.

9.30am. back in Tupiza safe and sound.