A perspective on the Salar de Uyuni

Our first challenge in Bolivia was finding an ATM that had cash in it, for Catherine. Our second was finding the train station, which we walked straight past and instead found by walking alongside the dusty tracks.

Safely on the Expreso del Sur in Ejecutivo Class we enjoyed views of rock pillars, irrigation and hilarious 90s Spanish music videos, as we wound through valleys. We were summoned to the dining car for an early meal, then blankets and pillows were distributed by the suitably dressed conductor. We slept as best we could between Tupiza (where the train's electricity was temporarily cut off) and Uyuni, where we disembarked at 1am. Our very proximo hostal's twin beds and coca tea breakfast were incredibly welcome.

At 10am we embarked on our first tour of the holiday: Al Extremo's 2-day Salar de Uyuni (the remnants of a big inland sea). José our guide spoke less English than we spoke Spanish, but we were ready: no one had spoken English in Argentina either. A convivial combination of our phrasebook, miming and Google translate ensued, ensuring we understood the important details (e.g. men not women 'harvest' salt from the flats, once a month, and José used to work for Coca Cola in Chile). 

The first stop on the tour was the train cemetery, a tribute to the bygone era of mining, steel and steam across the altiplano. Veinte (20) minutas (minutes) of that and we were off to Colchani to learn how to make salt table-ready (dry it and grind it), pretend to admire some big, rough salt sculptures of llamas, and browse handicrafts. Then onto the Salar itself - with a quick stop to look at piles of salt and bubbling water making its way through from below the salt crust. Lunch was at the now closed Salt Hotel (environmentally unfriendly to run a hotel on the Salar): quinoa, beef, veg, salad (peeled) and more stilted Spanish convos.

Finally, we got to the whole point of everyone's Salar tour - perspective photos. And José did some 4WD maintenance to help with the salty environment. Roger also ate a bit of the ground to ensure it really was salt.

A second highlight turned out to be the Isla Inca Huasi - just like an island in the white salt sea, with 9m tall cacti. We tested our altitude tolerance walking up to the top, with views of the mountains hovering in horizon mirages and lines of 4WD roads criss crossing the expanse. We walked down via fossalized coral arches and caves. Finally, we left the Salar behind and headed to our homely hostal at the village of San Juan, where there was more welcome coca tea on arrival. We had a quick nosey round the village, which had a promising looking if not-yet-completed main square, and a illustrative sign for the necropolis down the road. Over the three course dinner we eavesdropped on the English group on the other table, who discussed: tea, gardening, allotments, Waitrose and spicy sauces they could eat. Our guide casually told us breakfast was at 6am, so we beat a hasty retreat without introducing ourselves.

Eggs and a hot shower fuelled us on the bumpy road towards the Chilean border. José helpfully stopped at the train tracks so we could ask about infrastructure and logistics (freight only, every day). We brushed the border, with views of the active volcano (Ollague) that marks it, and stopped to admire the second-best rock formations of the day. And then - our first flamingo lake, Laguna Canapa! And a second - Laguna Hediona! Here are the highlights of the many flamingo photos.

A further drive across the barren moonscape took us to the entrance of Reserva de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa, marked by the arbor rock (best rock formation of the day). 

A hot lunch appeared from thermos boxes on the shores of Lago Colarado, so named because of its blood red colour. The lake is fringed with stark white: an ice-borax combo. 

Then began the long road back to Uyuni, via a village with great toilets. We spotted vicuna and llamas, and napped. At a toilet break at copper mining town San Christobel we chatted to an English man travelling on his own, who was deaf and could lip read perfectly, but apparently it's much harder in Spanish. Pretty impressive. Later in La Paz we bumped into him again!

After 4hrs sleep in an Uyuni hostal, we boarded the train again at 1.45am and tried to get some sleep amidst snoring, political midnight chatting, coughing, the rollercoaster like train movements and the occasional deodorant cloud. Sunrise over the altiplano made it worthwhile, and of course carb-heavy breakfast in the dining car. At Oruro, we hurtled through town in a gas-powered taxi to jump on a 9.30am bus to La Paz!

Culture vultures' night flights: Cordoba and Salta

We arrived in Cordoba after a mediocre night's sleep on the night bus. Hotel located, we injected some caffeine over breakfast and wandered to a city walking tour (our thinking being that we would be forced to stay awake out of politeness). 

The tour was a whistle-stop foray around Cordoba's highlights: the cathedral, Jesuit block, colonial governor's house, the public university and a memorial museum to those 'disappeared' by the authorities in Argentina's not-too-distant-and-not-so-pleasant past. 

The Jesuits made quite a mark on the city before the Spanish booted them out of the continent, including an impressive church with a roof curved like the bottom of a boat (the previous occupation of the Belgian architect). We took admiring photographs, trying not to encroach on a local's very visible confession to his priest, his wife waiting with the shopping.

Our attention was also held by some of the walking tours' less mainstream offerings. Macaron-esque treats were handed out to maintain blood sugar levels, along with lurid descriptions of the university town's drinking culture. 

Back at the hotel, we avoided the murky swimming pool overlooking the train depot (much to my annoyance) and did some planning. As night fell, we walked through the end of a protest demanding answers to a much more recent 'disappearing' of an indigenous rights activist. After failing to find our desired restaurant we settled on an average pizza place, slurping '24/7' local beer and a bottle of malbec at an outside bar to finish off the night (far too early for the real nightlife that starts at 2am).

The next morning we perused some more colonial architecture, enjoyed several pedestrianized streets, ate our weight in steak at a meat-centric restaurant ('Parrilla') and pondered the afternoon away in an excellent modern art gallery (inc. sculptures that questioned our perceptions of bodies and beauty, clever marketing material for human milking, and some deft sgraffito). 


After a supply stop we then boarded another overnight bus, this time for the city of Salta. Finding a Spanish-ish hotel we freshened up the next morning with a walk up the hill overlooking the city. We looked disdainfully at the teleferico (gondola) option, until the sweat dripping into our eyes forced us to focus on walking. At the top the view was great, and much more open than the promised cafe. We puzzled for a few minutes at some artificial waterfalls made of concrete, and trotted back to the city for lunch (vegan lasagne) and lemonade at a vegan restaurant (to offset the increased steak consumption).

Vegan

The highlight of the afternoon - if you can call it that - was an exhibition displaying and explaining three children sacrificed by the Incas. They were entombed at the top of high, sacred peaks, presumably so they would be well enough preserved to display in a 21st century museum. The museum also displayed the arrays of intricate miniatures and cloth they were buried with. There are three such incredibly well preserved children, with only one on display at any one time. We saw El Nino, the little boy, eerily lifelike.

Not vegan

A final huge steak and some local dry white wine (delish) in the evening fueled us up for an early morning bus to Villazon, on the border with Boliva. As we walked to the train station at 6am the party-ers of Salta were wandering home from the clubs. 

The journey was spectacular, as we climbed onto the Altiplano (southern Andres plain) through striations of coloured rock and across millpond-flat desert. Reaching the international crossing, we befriended Catherine, a Brit on her gap year who spoke much better Spanish. This helped make the process remarkably smooth, as we crossed a bridge into our second South American country. 

Crossing the border into Bolivia

The 'Paris of South America': "Una botesha de malbec por favor?"

Flying in from opposite sides of the world, Roger and I reunited at the Tienda Leon bus station, Buenos Aires (BA). I was feeling pretty good, having achieved a Premium Economy upgrade thanks to AirNZ airpoints and eaten breakfast craning my neck to view the Chilean Andes. Roger had already been on a run through a park, lunched at an Italian and bought breakfast for our Airbnb, after arriving earlier on an awful Al Italia flight followed by long arrival queues. That night we took the subway to a steakhouse in trendy Palermo, where we had our first taste of HUGE Argentine portions andMalbec (although the maitre'D was unimpressed by our (in)ability to discuss the wine list in Spanish). We dashed back through the streets under a sudden, heavy rainstorm.

The next day we maxed out the BA walking tours. In the morning, the grand Parisien architecture, palaces, monuments and stories, particularly around history and politics. (Las Portenas (BA'ians): descended from Italians, speak Spanish, and live in a French style city with the airs and graces of English lords.) Our guide was quite outspoken, but presented the Falklands Memorial pretty evenly, which faces the mini 'Big Ben' gift from the English after WW1. 



After a salad bar lunch and icecream-flavour navigation in Spanish, we joined the Cementerio de la Recoleta tour - a highlight of the city that took us through crazy, ornate, grand, spooky and stylish crypts, from Eva Peron to a horrifying story of a young woman accidentally entombed alive, to a beloved wife killed in an avalanche and followed shortly by her dog (from unknown causes). 











Our Spanish was put to the test buying bus tickets to Cordoba, after which we needed a nap ahead of a colourful and sexy tango-and-dinner show. 

Leaving our bags at the bus station we thoroughly enjoyed the Museo Nacional de Belles Artes, from the traditional Argentinian religious inconography to bauhaus furniture. Lunch was a long affair in a little Mediterranean-feel courtyard cafe, with HUGE desserts that were probably the result of poor Spanish. 

We wandered through the Plaza de Mayo main square into the Puerto Madero area (having established the political history museum was closed), visiting a private art collection with some striking nudes and Antarctica photographs (in different displays). On the advice of a very helpful tourist info man we then pretended we were dressed better than we were, and took the lift up to the swanky bar in a high rise Puerto Madero hotel for sundowner drinks. Sun set, we scooted over to the bus station, wolfing down takeaway pizza ready for our overnight cama (bed) bus to Cordoba!

A short final note from the land of the long white cloud

[Dora] Roger wrote this, but he could have been reading my mind. 

Our arrival seems like yesterday. We landed in Auckland in the middle of a rain storm, an inauspicious start to an auspicious 22 months. Soon afterwards we were aboard a train towards Wellington, which has been our base for the last two years as we explore New Zealand.

We were immediately blown away by Aotearoa’s beauty. However, in our first few months we naturally missed home, particularly the friends and family who bid us such a warm farewell.

Now we’re on the other side of our journey, and we’re going through the same process. We’re again heading into the unknown, and while we’re pleased to be returning to the UK, we already miss our Kiwi friends and family.

Thank you to all of you who made our life in Wellington wonderful – we’ve lived, dined, swam, run, dragonboated, tramped, played, drank, planned, journeyed, cycled, worked and laughed together. In doing so, we’ve made a home away from home. It's been awesome sharing some of our adventures with visiting family and friends too.

We now know there are at least two places in the world we love loving. It’s unfortunate they’re on opposite sides of the world, but luckily we love sustained periods in cramped seating and bingewatching rubbish films! While we don’t know what the future holds, we do know it’s likely hold a great deal of New Zealand.

Off we go to South America, then New York, London and Riga (for a little while). We’ll keep the dispatches going for a little while longer.

p.s. Roger has actually been in London for work for the last few weeks. He’s been sofa surfing from friend to friend and catching up with family on the weekends. Meanwhile, Dora has been finishing her time at Meridian and saying her final goodbyes. 

We're now in Argentina - expect to hear more from us soon!