Salar De Uyuni. Day 2

Surprisingly I woke up in the night time feeling too hot, but the moment I get out from under my pile of blankets in the morning I’m cold again. After a breakfast of pancakes with delicious "dulce de leche", which is basically caramel in a tin, we head back out into the desert. Our first stop is the Arbol de Pledra, a stone tree that has been carved out of the sandy winds. As usual it looks bigger in the pictures.

At lunchtime we stop by another beautiful, flamingo filled lake with views of the mountains. Fermin encourages us to go for a walk whilst he gets our meal ready. On the lake side there is a very optimistic "wifi" sign, still, we check our various devices just in case. There are lots of other tour groups stopped here, some with fold out tables and chairs, gas cookers and three courses. Fermin has laid out a red and white checkered table cloth, mixed tuna and sweet corn, produced a tub of veg-fried rice and poured us all a glass of coke. We eat right on the lake side, watching the flamingos have their lunch and with the sun on our backs.

 Above: I don’t think so

After lunch we have a long drive to the Ollague volcano. On the way Fermin treats us to some traditional Bolivian music. He has three songs, all of which sound very similar, and he plays them on repeat for two hours. They all feature a woman crying "BoLIVIA, ArgenTINA, CHIle, Asi Asi!". I’m so relieved when we reach the volcano that I forget not to slam my door. There are so many mountains that at first I’m not sure which is the volcano, until I see one of them smoking. It is 5868m high and has, apparently, never erupted despite the persistent stream of smoke coming from the southern side of its dome.

Above: Ollague Volcano

Above: More mountains... or are they volcanoes?

 As it starts to get cold we head to our hostel for the night, stopping at a very small town to pick up 'vital' supplies of pringles and beer. I think the shop must exist solely for tourists passing through on 4x4 tours, but they have everything, including a cute baby llama which I hope wont end up as someone's dinner. When I ask Fermin what we will be having for dinner he responds, straight faced, with "flamenco". "Que?", I ask - "What?" and he repeats "flamenco" and flaps his arms. We´re all intrigued, and not quite sure whether to believe him or not.. there are a lot of flamingo around.

Above: Baby llama

Our hostel for the night is a salt hotel - the walls, tables chairs, beds and even the floors are made of salt (I wonder what happens if it rains). Amazingly there are hot showers available, but they cost a whole five Bolivianos (about 50p) so I don´t bother - its too cold any way. Dinner arrives and we all agree that flamingo tastes just like chicken, and Fermin bursts out laughing crying "Esta pollo, pollo!".

Above: Salt pillars, tables, chairs and floor

Salar De Uyuni. Day 1

I begin our journey into the Bolivian wilderness, Salar de Uyuni, armed with thermals, six litres of water and factor fifty sun cream. The trip will take three days through landscape my guide book describes as 'worthy of Salvador Dali'. At the 'Atacama Mystica' office in San Pedro de Atacama we meet the rest of our group - Claire from Dorset, Jack from London, Adrian from Spain and David from Austria.

The Chile-Bolivia border is very basic - a small, one room building, a flag pole with no flag and a burnt out bus. Despite their surroundings the immigration officials manage to maintain the scrupulous standards I have come to expect at a border crossing.

 No less than forty minutes and five stamps (each) later our bags are loaded onto the roof of a 4x4 and we meet Fermin, who will be our driver and guide for the next three days. He bought the car seven years ago, but it took him five years to make his money back. He is understandably very protective of it, and each time we get in we are shown the best way to clean our boots (kicking them against rocks) and glared at if we slam the doors.

From left to right: Alex, David, Adrian, Jack, Claire

There is no road, just rocks and and mountains. After seven years of driving through this terrain I'm impressed that a crack in the windscreen is the only visible damage to the car. Ten minutes into the drive the windows are covered in dust and I've hit my head on the ceiling/door frame/seat in front more times than I can count. At 4300 metres above sea level the sun is warm but the thin air does not hold the heat and there is a stiff wind, made worse by the sand and small rocks it blows into my face the moment I manage to force open the door (Fermin gives me a look when it slams behind me). The wind, however, has its benefits - churning up the mineral rich waters of Laguna Verde and giving the water it's eponymous emerald colour. Vicuñas, wild relatives of domesticated alpacas and llamas are wondering around the lake side.

Cold and yet sun burnt we pile back into the jeep and continue along the 'road', stopping at the Laguna Blanco, the 'Seven Coloured Mountain' (I think Fermin made this name up) and some hot springs which, as usual, are not natural pools but concrete baths filled with people.

Above: The Seven Coloured Mountains 

As we approach the Laguna Colorada, an amazing red lake dotted with flamingos, Fermin veers away from the incredible sight ahead of us toward the mountains, ignoring our questions and protests. We arrive at a long, low building at the base of the mountains which is to be our accommodation for the night. It turns out that we are just stopping for lunch (frankfurters and instant mashed potato) before heading out again to look at the red lake.

With full stomachs keeping us warm and 'mate de coca' (coca leaf) tea to ward of altitude sickness we head out into the plains again. Despite it's unnatural colour, flamingos are wading through the water eating what ever flamingos eat. I take endless pictures from every angle, not quite able to believe that I'm standing on green grass by a red lake, surrounded by sandy mountains with white peaks under a blue sky, looking at pink flamingos, in hot sun yet freezing cold and battered by strong winds.

Just as I think the situation can't get any more surreal, I spot a heard of alpaca on the far shore (or maybe they’re llama). We wonder over, a short walk but hard work considering the wind and the altitude. A domesticated heard, the alpaca all have colourful tassells tied to their ears. They are not in the least bit concerned by us, the six cameras pointed at them nor the wind. They look ridiculous - chewing grass and making silly bleating noises. I love alpaca.

Back in the quiet and warm of the jeep I begin to notice the affects of altitude sickness. I have an awful head ache and pins and needles in my fingers. At the guest house we are welcomed with more mate de coca tea, and David produces a bag of dried coca leaves which we all stick in the corners of our mouths to chew whilst we play cards. I give it an hour then spit out the disgusting tasting leaves out and opt for a few paracetamol instead. After a dinner of vegetable soup, spaghetti and cookies I brave the outside for five minutes to look at the amazingly clear stars before hurrying back inside and piling under my endless pile of blankets - thermals, three jumpers, two pairs of socks and scarf still on.

San Pedro De Atacama

24 hours after leaving Valparaiso our bus pulls up in San Pedro De Atacama. The town is made up almost completely of adobe (mud and straw) houses and the setting sun turns everything an amazing pinky-orange. Although in the middle of the desert and made of mud the town is immaculate. If Disney World had a Mexican theme it would look like San Pedro. There is no litter on the streets, the dogs have bows round their necks, the street signs are carved wood and neat, square little mud huts are over flowing with fizzy drinks, ice creams and llama cuddly toys.

Alex and spend our first morning booking all the excursions we want to do. Every other building is a tour agency and we have to shop around for the best deals. During the hottest part of the day we sit in a shady court yard with fresh lemonade, bread and guacamole (ordered in my best Spanish) until its time for our first activity - sand boarding! Our instructor, Sebastian, meets us in the main square and we pile into jeeps for the bumpy ride into the desert. The hardest part of sand-boarding is climbing up the sand dunes. The next hardest part is going down. Sebastian gives a long talk on technique and how to fall over correctly but wind is blowing, whipping sand in my face and I don't catch much of it. Fortunately sand creates a lot more friction than snow and its actually difficult to go fast. After a few runs I have sand in my boots/ears/nose/hair but I manage to go down without falling over.

After two hours of tramping up the dune I'm exhausted and looking forward to the next part of our excursion - drinking pisco sours whilst watching the sunset over Moon Valley. Because of the altitude, 3000ft, the air is thin and I'm out of breath just walking on the flat, let alone a steep rocky hill but the views, and the icy pisco sours, make it worthwhile. The moment the sun sets it is freezing and we all hurry back to San Pedro for an amazing dinner at a local restaurant Sebastian takes us to. Three courses for 3500 pesos (£4), a glass of wine for £1000 pesos, live music and an open fire.

The next morning we're up at 4:00 for a 2 hour drive into the desert to watch the sun rise over the geysers. It is minus eight outside the bus and it feels just as cold inside, so I get no sleep on the way. We make it to the geysers just before the sun rises over the mountains, but only just. I have the good idea of standing in the steam to warm up, until our guide reminds me that I will just get wet and therefore colder. I try my best to appreciate the 40 or so steaming and bubbling holes in the ground, but it is just so cold that all I can do is hop from foot to foot desperately watching the sun creep further and further towards me along the valley.

A few people from our group swim in near by man- made hot pools, but the thought of having to get changed and then get out of the hot water into the cold air puts me off and I go for a walk to the near by mirror lake, which is boiling hot and perfectly clear.

On the drive back to San Pedro we see wild vicunas, flamingos, llamas and chinchillas. Now that its warmer, and lighter, I begin to appreciate the mountains, lakes, cacti and general desert-ness. At about 11:00 we stop at an abandoned mining town for lunch, where now just two people live selling jumpers and llama kebabs to tourists. I don't try one but promise myself that I will when I'm less tired and more hungry.

 Back in San Pedro I sleep all afternoon before going to buy wooly socks and thermal leggings for my next trip into the desert, which is tomorrow and will last for three days, taking me all the way into Bolivia, where apparently its even colder.

Valparaiso

Only three hours away from sunny Santiago, the coastal town of Valparaiso is freezing. My first impression of the town isn't great - a grey market square with no stalls, a cold wind blowing litter around my feet and stoney faced locals in big coats. It's what I imagine Russia to look like. However our hostel is small and cozy and the next morning we go on another excellent 'tours-for-tips' which completely changes my impression of the town (helped massively by the sun coming out). In the main square we meet Lucas, dressed as Where's Wally, and the usual stray dogs... dressed as stray dogs. Valparaiso has an amazing history. Founded as a port for Santiago it became hugely important during the California gold rush when ships stopped there after going around the treacherous Cape Horn. When the Panama canal was built the thriving city went into decline. Around the main square and on its surrounding streets, the now neglected homes of rich traders serve as reminders of when it was filled with people buying and selling.

As Lucas tells us all this, there is a very comedic moment when a multilingual 'usually very intelligent but sometimes drunk' homeless man tries to join the tour. He talks to us all in Spanish, French and some English, then makes a show of being very sad when Lucas shoos him away. Then another man comes over trying to sell children's books and one of the dogs attached to our group takes a dislike to him, jumping up and biting the books. At the same time the homeless man tries to jump on a passing boy's skate board. They run into the dog and the book seller and everyone falls in a heap. All of this is watched by military police who refuse to laugh. Lucas gives up trying to tell us the history of the square and we move into the narrow lanes which stretch into the surrounding hills.

Valparaiso is famous for its houses, perched on the steep hills, ignoring earthquakes, and not one painted in a single colour. After surviving Cape Horn ships would be repainted and drop off their 'ballasts', weights used to steady the ship in rough waters. These were usually corrugated iron sheets and not needed for the final sail north. Locals have carried on the tradition of protecting their earth houses from the sea breeze and stormy weather with the iron sheets and protecting the iron sheets with left over paint, creating a patchwork of colour and houses made out of any material available. When a shiny modern building was built on the high street locals protested that it didn't match Valparaiso’s historic charm and traditions. The city is now a world heritage site and no more shiny buildings are constructed.

Valparaiso is also famous for its street art, which covers most surfaces. Porteñas ('port people', the name for people from Valparaiso) hate 'tags' - graffiti done by gangs to mark their territory. Therefore almost every house, and any other surface, has artwork on it as gangs won't graffiti over paintings and murals.

The colourful houses and crazy art work are in stark contrast to the miserable impression I got of city when I first stepped off the bus, but despite their stoney faces Porteñas are very proud of their city and its history. Its quirky charm has attracted many poets and musicians who are part of a movement to restore the city to it's former glory.

Arriving in Chile

Eight months down, two to go! In the past I've already felt ready to leave a country but I feel like I could spend my remaining two months in New Zealand. This is partly because there is so much to do and see here and because it is so easy and comfortable to travel around - I’m not looking forward to the return of the 24 hour buses. What I am looking forward to where they will be taking me: desert, mountains, ancient ruins, the biggest rainforest in the world! Eight months ago when I landed in Mumbai, South America seemed too far away to be possible. It seemed even more impossible fifteen years ago when I wanted to live off coconuts on a river boat on the Amazon, with a giant otter and pink dolphin for friends (ok, maybe that actually is impossible).

Whether I can believe it or not the plane takes off, the safety instructions are in Spanish and the interactive map marks Santiago as my destination. When the flight attendant notices that I'm trying to learn some Spanish he insists on speaking it the entire time... and he expects me to as well. This is fine until its 11:00 Chile time but 3:00 in morning New Zealand time and he won't give me any orange juice until I pronounce 'naranja' correctly.

We land in Santiago at 12:00 - five hours before we left New Zealand. The day I gained crossing the international date line is quickly lost sleeping in a beautiful dorm room with high ceilings, wooden floors, pastel coloured walls and a balcony overlooking a plaza. My guide book describes Santiago, and Chile in general, as a very European country and not what travellers expect from South America. Chile is the most progressive county in South America and the president wants it to be part of the 'first world' by 2020. They are certainly well on their way in central Santiago. Apart from the surrounding Andes mountains there is nothing to distinguish it from any other European city and, walking around it myself, I am not very impressed.

Supermarket workers protesting for higher wages. They have been 

camping on the side of the (lovely) river for forty-five days. 

It is on an amazing 'tour-for-tips' that I get the most out of the city. Our giude, Philippe, has an amazing accent - he sounds like Speedy Gonzales. He tells us the (long and complicated) history of the city, points out important buildings and some of the many statues of Spanish conquistadors. Our group gains a following of stray dogs looking attention. They, like all the others I've seen, are friendly and well fed. Apparently in the winter it is hard to find one not wearing a hand knitted jumper, and in the park there are 'public' dog kennels.

The view of Santiago for Cerro (Hill) San Cristobal 

In the cafe district Philippe shows us where we can get good coffee (coffee in Chile is notoriously bad) and takes us for our first 'pisco sour' a drink that tastes a lot like lemmoncello. On a night out it is customary to drink one or two pisco sours, then move to 'piscola' - pisco with coke. Still jet lagged I attempt to get an early night, despite the cheers and exclamations coming from the houses either side of me, the street below and the hostel common room. There is world cup qualifying football match between Ecuador and Chile and it seems that everyone except me is watching. From the chants of 'Chi Chi Chi, Le Le Le, Vi-Va- Chi-Le' through out the night, I think Chile won.