Thursday 4 September 2014

Uyuni

It seemed little could ease the pain of leaving dinosaur park but maybe vast plains of white stuff would do the trick. The trip down to the Salar de Uyuni involved a stop in Oruro for a typical shredded alpaca (wear it! Eat it!) dish called charquekan and the bustliest market you ever did see. I'm a blissful moron at markets, you could scalp me and I wouldn't notice.

SADLY the night bus to uyuni was only 6 hours so they kicked me and some paysanas out onto the street whereupon after much shrieking we were kindly padlocked into the bus company's "office" (i.e. sty) for a slumber party on the concrete floor until release at 7am which turned out to be 8. Naturally.

The salt flats themselves are something else though. Basically residue from an evaporated prehistoric lake, they are a thin crust of icing over a pool of brine and stretch as far as my eye can see (so like 4000 miles) and offer the opportunity for "funny photos" where you use the power of perspective to demonstrate your lack of creative vision. Also it is salty and tastes shit and ruins your clothes. But I nonetheless felt right at home in our salt-block accommodation, Hostal de Sal.



We also visited Fish Island with centuries-old cactii where I barfed in the loo and the crosseyed cleaner listened in and immediately proceeded to try it on with me and shake my hand when I emerged.


Where trains go to die

Apart from the views (I'm a views dweeb ok) and the train cemetery which looks sinister and bleak at first but turns out to be the best unsafe playground in the world, the highlight was probably the geysers (eruptions of hot sulphurous gas shooting from the ground) and hot springs in freezing °C because it was like being at the dawn of time in some primordial utopia. Back in those days. Before these goddamn sapiens, tsch. There was a lot of sweaty driving to get there but it was worth it even when the chauffeur-cum-tour guide (lol) cranked up his dire Bolivian tunes at 5am.

EDIT: ALSO everyone said it'd be cooch-crushingly cold but it wasn't even that cold?? Always take Bolivian advice with a pinch of salt. Ha.

Afterwards it was miraculously back to La Paz against the odds because of protests and road blocks (created by piles of hair?) where, in my scalpable stupor, some knobber tried to nick my life with his sneaky sneaky hand but I was heroically saved by my super friend Will, singlehandedly dispelling the myth of the stupid gringo.

Now is the supposed 27 hour expedition (doubtless longer) back to the Lima endz, city of sanguches. If you can figure out what that means, I'll make you one when I'm back in the UK. With all the love I can mustard. <- clue

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