Uyuni, Bolivia

For today I travelled to the end of the world - and when I reached the end I found no-one to meet me there...

And thus at 2am I stepped off the train from Villazon into the freezing night time desolation of Uyuni. After a brief tour of the town and several unsuccessful efforts to secure accommodation eventually I checked into the Hotel Avenida - one should perhaps not expect much for the princely sum of 2 pounds a night but a room warmer than the outside temperature would perhaps be a start...bedding down under 5 blankets, a quilt and my sleeping bag I shivered myself off to a fitful sleep...

Uyuni from a travellers perspective exists almost entirely, nope that’s wrong, exists entirely for the purpose of serving trips to the nearby Salar De Uyuni (salt flats). Apart from arranging tours and buying woollen goods there is little else to do when in Uyuni - indeed even a day spent in the town leads one to contemplative thoughts of what went wrong and quite how to move on...the perpetual time warp of groundhog day seeming a cornucopia of possibility by comparison.

With these thoughts in mind I awoke early and after defrosting in the shower which only maintained heat when trickling with the force of post marathon spit I ventured into town determined to do as the guidebook suggested and shop around for a good deal on a good tour with a reputable company. Armed with a list of questions regarding such essentials as menu, programme of activities and safety records I was prepared to negotiate, haggle, play one against the other and not say yes until I was sure the best deal had been secured. And thus I returned to the hotel 5 minutes later having agreed to do the tour with the first lady that approached me - she seemed nice and life’s too short for such things I think.

Perhaps Uyuni's gift is the gift of time for in the day between the arranging of the tour and the tour itself minutes passed as though they were hours and hours crawled along as though they had forgotten the need to move on. However with an almost imperceptible inevitability day became night and as the sun waned the temperature began to fall slowly to its quite disturbingly low levels. Had Kelvin been to Uyuni I feel sure he would have set the absolute zero benchmark just that little bit lower than -273.
After having a farewell dinner with my two rather moody Irish travelling companions (4 weeks of travelling - 7 combined weeks of food poisoning) I settled down to sleep fully clothed and draped in a selection of the best the local Alpacas could muster - sleep was again fitful but Mr Frost and Mr Bite were at least kept at bay...

And thus to the salt flats - travelling invariably by Toyota Land Cruiser the streets of Uyuni throng in the morning with tour after tour as numerous travellers sate their need for another tick in the travelling box and head out onto the salt flats for 1, 2, 3 or 4 day trips around a quite surprising landscape. Joined by Elias our driver (husband and father rather reassuringly) our tour group consisted of little old me, two Irish peoples (fortunately not of the ill moody variety), two Brazilians (a couple - sometimes I just can’t catch a break) and a Frenchman (nothing to say about that).

And quite a merry little band we formed as we set out upon one of geography and geology’s weirdest and most wonderful creations - the Salar de Uyuni. Thrust skywards by a monumental shift in tectonic plates the Salar was once a sea like any other but is now a blinding expanse of salt all the water having long since evaporated under the intense gaze of the sun. Towns line the shore seemingly remnants of another age when people came to bathe, fish and play at the waters edge. Where the Salar touches the land the last lapping of the final waves of a once liquid and very much moving expanse can be seen frozen in salt forever more.

After a full day on the salt flats and the (almost) obligatory perspective shots having been obtained we spent the next two days in and around the lakes, geysers and other geographical wonders of the region. Stopping briefly at villages here and there and taking time for yet more photos time outside of the 4x4 was welcomed by all - after a while and one flat iPod we all needed a break from Elias´ rather limited musical repertoire - the same song 7 times in a row is a bit much for anyone. One village sprung a surprising highlight when one young Bolivian chap - in the midst of a game of football, and on hearing that one of our member was French - waved his hand in front of his nose - certain stereotypes are very reassuring.

And thus after three relatively incident free days (apart from the Frenchman who performed a back flip and landed on his face) we returned to Uyuni still shivering from the hot springs in which we bathed at 7am on our last morning. The translation of Aguas Thermales is not in doubt but the validity of the claim, considering the proximity of vast ice patches to where we swam, perhaps is...

Deciding that another night in Uyuni was too much even for an occasional laconic traveller such as myself I booked a ticket for Potosi and having not been back in town even for two hours I found myself sat on a rickety old bus heading into the night and into the mouth of hell...