Quickie blog entry in confusing internet café.
Half term, flew on Saturday from BA to Salta (North Arg), hired a car and drove north through twisty New Zealandesque landscape in the lower Andes to the Bolivian border.
Remote world, that.
Or so it seemed at the time, but was Time Square in comparison to where we were going.
After spending 6 hours doing two things that would take 5 minutes in the familiar world (changing some money to dollars, buying a train ticket), we took the ghost train from the border to Uyuni, central-ish Bolivia (climb miles into the clouds as the temperature drops to well below zero).
From there we took a trek (six people, in a dusty old Toyota 4x4) across the salt plains. Surreal landscape, 12,000 sq km of salt plains, formed from a series of dried salt lakes. It was about 30 degrees during the day, and about -10 at night, where you slept in uber basic cabins (made from salt, obviously), no hot water, one banos between 18 people etc
Our driver-guide-chef was a 21 year old guy who in my opinion was also on a tour as he had clearly never been to the Salt flats before. One suspected that he was also experiencing the thrill of driving on his own for the first time, as rudimentary techniques such as changing gears and stearing were not yet a strength. Our 'coche' managed to 'break down' on several occasions, leading to our little driver, Iradio, appearing with a solemn face, saying 'El coche esta muy mal... morte', and asking us to come and see. It 'died' for a number of reasons: lack of petrol, going over a bump, getting dark, hills. He kept making us get out and walk over bumpier sections. No idea why.
And he managed to crash it on our first night while we were having dinner. Drove into the side of another jeep. How this happened is still a mystery. You drive in 12000 sq km of flat white land, where at night you could see any other car coming from the horizon, how do you crash?
Our group were two 18 year old girls who'd just finished their GAP year ditch digging in Peru, and two 30 something rockers from Norwich, who'd sold everything and were travelling the world. With a little furry bear. Called Jish. Who we had to take everywhere, and talk to, and set a place for at the table...
About two minutes into the trip Jude said to Glyn - 'Oh no! We've left Jish in the bag on the roof. He'll be really cold. Oh no, what are we going to do...' It's rare that you actually hope someone is an abusive parent, and that Jish is merely a strangely named child.
Obviously I got right into the spirit of things with 'Jish' and couldn't think of anything cooler than travelling with a pretend bear, posing for photographs, listening to 'his' adventures, writing in his book.
Katie also thought it was hilarous to encourage this, knowing inability to faker my reaction, asking question after question about the thing. 'Er, Jude. Dougs wanted to know what Jish's favourite place was. But he was embarrassed to ask.' (It was New Zealand, by the way. Jish was dressed as Gandolf.)
Somehow we all got on fine and I hid my emotions with the aplomb of a trained actor, I must be growing up or something, and was had a brilliant 3 days, and travelled though some of the most incredible places, but best told in photos.
Then caught a bus through the Atacama desert into Chile, then back over the Andes and the border to here, Salta. Met some great people, some of whom coming to BsAs, and have an even larger to do list in South America.
