Uyuni

Bolivian etiquette has become second nature to me. I can eat a salteña without dripping its juices. I remember to look people in the eye when I say salud. (Bad sex for seven years if you don´t, says Bolivian superstition). I know how to befriend the market sellers and I always get a free top up of papaya juice.


With all these habits, you might think life is getting a little routine. But you´d be mistaken. This weekend was pretty wild and me and Rose embarked on an impromptu trip to Uyuni.


Saturday afternoon, when you were probably watching the footie, we were out in La Valle de La Luna to try quadbiking for the first time. At two pounds fifty, it was a steal and the voluptuous landscape meant we had plenty of craters to speed down.


When I said our trip to Uyuni was impromptu, I meant disorganized. (Our laundry was still at the lavanderia, we forgot to take out money and had to pay the taxi driver in Argentinian pesos!! and we both forgot our sleeping bags...) This left us unprepared for an uncomfortable journey. The suspension in the bus had been suspect and there was a bitter chill, not helped by the cholita in front of us who insisted on opening the window. So we arrived at Uyuni cold and disgruntled. 


Uyuni 6am
... And barely anything was open. But me and Rose had been fantasizing about steaming coffee for literally hours and we were determined to find it. We eventually stumbled on a rustic market selling coffee, api and buñuelos, which we devoured.

Instead of getting a few hours rest, we powered on and decided to find a tourguide. We ignored them initially because it was impossible to choose between the mob of agents shouting at us when we got out of the bus. But when a woman later passed us in the street and offered to take us to her heated tourist office, how could we refuse?

700Bs was a reasonable price to pay for three days of food, accommodation and touring so we accepted her offer and were happy with the result. Our tourguide, Jose, was a complete babe, even if his playlist was a bit repetitive. I couldn´t get "Yo no quiero alma yo quiero bebida" out of my head for a good few days!

Our first stop, at the train cemetary, was iconic and bizarre. I can´t remember if there was a story behind it but I think the pictures speak for themselves.

We also saw how salt was made and manufactured. Whole families are often involved in the business, which, being nationalized, does not make a lot of money. 50g of salt sells for 14 Bolivianos (just over 1p). The salt is heated then purified and is supposedly better quality than our seasalt. But using this traditional method, you can only make 300g of it at a time.

Considering how many tourists come here, local craftsmen decided that using salt in other ways could be more profitable.

You might have seen some famous Uyuni shots online but we decided to play around with the camera and make our own. Me and Ryan had a headstand-off which was painful but worth it! (Salt looks as soft as snow but it´s HARD)

You can also play around with perspective like so:

This visacha stole my photo idea:

Someone else who tried to copy me is this little girl.

She showed me her school and I taught her how to say hello in English.

She was every bit as adorable as she looks.

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