The next stop after a 12 hour overnight bus journey was Salta, a delightful town set in the heart of a valley surrounded by snow topped peaks on one side and forrestry on the other. I knew that if I had any chance of sticking to my schedule, i could only spend the bare 12 hours here before moving on, on another overnight bus, so I had to make the most of it. First stop was a gorgeous deli set in the heart of the 9th July Square. Many streets and important landmarks I´ve come to notice in Argentina are named after important dates in the country´s history, not the date of completion as I first thought! ie, 'right lads, what shall we call this one? I know, for the sake of argument, its the 14th of October today, lets call it that!' The square itself was the hub of the town. Facing south was a stunning neo-classical Cathedral, pink and creme on the outside with stunning gold interior. Like most churches throughout South America, (baring huge similarity to the temples of South East Asia) no matter what conditions the worshippers lived in, (mainly poverty) the churches woiuld be paved in gold and jewels and the finest tapestry around, which I always find a little ironic.

Across the square which at its centre had a huge granite war memorial and fountain, was the musuem of contemporary art. I had a bit of a mosey, but the exhibits were no where near the standard of European musuems which was a bit disappointing. However, on the other side of the square nestled between two booming lunchtime cafes was the Museum of High Mountain Archeology, which houses artifacts from the Inca civilization including the magnifically preserved bodies of three Inca children. It was pretty creepy to be honest, especially when you come to learn that the children might have in fact been a human sacrafice which was not uncommon in those days, opposed to simply being lost and preserved in ice as first thought. Later that afternoon I took a gondola ride to the very top of San Bernado Hill which provided stunning views over the entire city at sunset. Before heading off I decided to try and some of the famous Argentian beef steak, and was ravished from my days rambling. I went in, and ordered what I thought would be a huge steak, "grande, grande" I was telling him, and he seemed to understand. But, to my horror andf disappointment, what I got was merely a steak sandwich! b***** it!! Dont get me wrong, it was a nice steak sandwich, but I was in the mood for eating half the cow. Time however to move on, so another overnight bus beckoned, this time to a small town called Uyuni across the Bolivian border.

The journey was I must say, horrid. My bus arrived at the Bolivian border at 6am, but the border crossing didnt open until 7.30am, not to mention is was definitely below freezing at this time of day here. Thank God I met a Portuguese fella called Julio who could speak spanish and understand that in fact my bus didnt go all the way to Uyuni, I had to get a separate bus from the Bolivian side to a small town called Tarija some 2 hours away, then get yet another bus to Uyuni. It just never is straight forward in South America. We got to Tarija easily enough, but there was no space for me on the Uyuni bus! I had to beg the woman let me board the bus, otherwise I wouldve had to have spent the night in Tirija, and believe me, there was NOTHING in Tarija. Eventually I negotiated that I would pay full price, but I would have to stand or sit in the aisle for the first 3 hours of the 7 hour trip. At first I had cosied myself on the dusty, bubt not altogether too bad steps of the bus. Manageable. Then, 2 scrambling egits came hurrying around the corner up the road, and in the rush to get on, forced me down the aisle. Obviously the old `that was my seat actually pal´ trick wasnt going to work here, so I was resigned to standing, crouching and leaning against the drivers window for 3 full hours on a road more suitable for 4x4 offroading. Feckers!

I eventually got to Uyuni, an old mining town situated some 3000 metres above sea level where it was bright and sunny, but scarily cold once the sun went in, and due to the altitude the air was very thin. Now I get a bit a puffy after one flight of stairs back in Watford, so imagine how the lungs were suffering at 3000 metres altitude and after doing no exercise for 6 months! I met a nice group of English med students getting off the bus, which made 6 of us in all, a perfect number for the jeep tour of the famous Uyuni Salt Flats, or Salar de Uyuni. The salt flats are in fact quite impossible to put into words, a truly unique and one off landscape found in only 3 places in the world, Uyuni being by far the largest. They were formed some 40000 years ago when a giant salt lake dried up, leaving a perfectly flat, snow white bed of salt crystals in the process. The result, is the most stunning mass of white, flat, barron land, uninhabitable and totally unforgiving. We decided on a one day, full day jeep tour. We stopped first at a 'Train Graveyard' before reaching the flats, which omitted an eerie end of the world type of feeling, as if everything had been obliterated, and you were the only ones left. Until of course a coach load of Japanese tourists came and flashed us out of the game! They just seem to get everywhere!

We continued on for an hour or so driving past nothing but pure white, flat salt, with the exeption of some evidence of excavation and a few other jeep tracks until we arrived at the 'Salt Hotel'. Now luckily for me I have stayed a night at the Ice hotel, and in all honesty, the salt hotel really isnt up to scratch! It was sturdy, and clearly warm as unlike the ice hotel you can start a fire and not melt the place down. But the intricacies of the carvings were not as sharp due to the flaky composition of the salt, and of course we are talking about Bolivia, so everything is a bit bidge-bodge. We had a nice lunch though, and trekked on further into the flats until we reached somewhat of an oasis. Out of absolutely nowhere, and I'm talking miles and miles and miles, pops up this huge rock formation (which we later figured out was previously a coral reef) populated by plants and predominantly cacti. Big Ones. The island is called Fish Island, fully equiped now with a bar and restaurant which takes the edge of the isolation a little, but we climbed up the rocks to the top amongst the cacti, some of which we learned were up to 12,000 years old. At the top, you could feintly see an old volcano to the south, and various mountain ranges further on, but apart from that, it was salt, salt and more salt, stunningly white, and unrelenting.
The Salt flats were amazing. The scale is such that it is hard to grasp distances as the perfectly white ground stretches to the featureless horizon. It was the perfect place for us to get artistic and take the perspective photos everyone seems to do there (you're not the only one Mr Miller), including standing on playing cards, human sized beer bottles and the very well prepared "conscious" photo where we played the roles of Devil and Angel on eachothers shoulders. A great chance to get creative, if not a little naughty, but we wont talk about that here.

After a sucessful photo session we headed back, stopping off at the Salt Hotel and for more photos on the hexagonal crystalised flats. At about six o´clock we parked up to view the sunset, creating a perfect end to one of the best days of tour so far with its multicoloured sky and mirrored salt water pools.

That night I had to head on again leaving the guys behind, something I have come to hate having to do. When you travel alone, you meet so many different and interesting people, some of whom you would love to stay with longer or join routes with. But with only 1 month in S.A and so many necessary stops for me, I keep having to move on, thus not building too many lasting bonds other than the mandatory facebook contact, which is at times a shame. Its like starting all over again every couple of days. Ive come to realise though that I'm not exactly the shy and retiring type, so meeting new people is never too tough!

Now, Ive been on a few tough bus journeys, but this one really did take the biscuit. No, in fact, it took the entire biscuit tin, and the McVities factory in with it for good measure. Uyuni to La Paz the Bolivian Capital is a 12 hour bus ride, 8pm to 8am, piece of cake for a seasoned 'busser' like me...wrong. First of all, I was sat next to the hugest, and I hate to be rude, smelliest, Bolivia woman of all time. I thought my Dad was bad when we elbow-jostle for an hour from Stansted to Cork on a plane, but this woman would not budge off my side, she was so far over the line, my left shoulder was actually in the aisle! Then 5 minutes into the journey, the bus was plunged into complete darkness, and we hit the dirt road. 5 hours of humps, bumps, jumps and shunts, and thats not even taking into account the woman next to me! I took 2 sleeping tablets, which I hate doing, and managed to dose a little, but an experience I'd like to forget very fast. 8am, arived in La Paz, with foolishly, no hostel booked, but I knew the name of it at least, and overheard a voice say the same place so we shared a taxi. She was called Eliza, and she was from Sardinia. Like our blessed Lord some 2000 years ago, there was of course, no room at the Inn. Thank God for the Italian girl, she spoke perfect Spanish, and so we trapsed off in the taxi in search of other accomodation. At this point, I didnt really speak much, I just let her do the talking presuming she knew what she was doing. We could NOT find a hostel anywhere, and after much trapsing, I realised she didnt actually have much english, but we were wrecked after the journey and just decided after 2 hours, and in desperation, to share a room in some dive of a hotel!

This situation was therefore very weird, and very uncomfortable for at least the first 3 hours. Picture it, we are in dingy hotel in La Paz (pretty much a 3rd world city), we are wrecked tired, I speak English, pretty good French, and a bit of Cockney Rhyming Slang. She speaks Italian, Spanish and had a weird piercing through the bridge of her nose which I couldnt stop staring at. If that had been in London or anywhere else in the modern world, I wouldnt dream of it, you'd be sent to the looney bin. But there is great cameraderie between travellers, everyone is kind of in it together, so I went and bought a spanish phrasebook, and we walked around the city, nodding, and pointing, and generally not knowing what to do! By the end of the day, we were great buddys. It took effort, but it was worth it, we both had accomodation sorted for the next few days and I learned how to say "I want a beer for me, and fruit-based drink for the lady" in Spanish. A genuinely weird and wonderful day, and sometimes it gives you a bit of faith in human nature.

The next day I checked in to the Wild Rover Hostel just across town, a gorgeous hostel set in an old mansion house with courtyard, hot water (yay) and a friendly Irish-manned bar. I bumped into a few stragglers who were heading out to the infamous San Pedro Prison in La Paz, a major thing on my to-do list. Basically, ever since Thomas McFadden a British convicted drug trafficker was sent here some 8 years ago, the levels of corruption in Bolivia enabled westerners access to the prison for a fee where you go in and freely walk around, chat to the inmates and have a tour. It is only made possible we were told by one of the inmates because 29 separate governmant officials and policemen have to be paid off every single day. The prison system is so corrupt that you have to buy your own cell, buy your own food and toiletries and even clothes. It all comes down to money, and for them, the tours are a good source of income. Some of the inmates have their wives and children living with them inside the prison. They have cable TV, restaurants, shops and even beer available at night when they, listen to this...lock themselves up! Its like an open prison, but they cant leave. And theyve committed far worse crimes than petty theft or failure to pay parking tickets. I didnt feel altogether safe, but when I looked around, there were actually more gringos getting tours of this particualr section than there appeared to be inmates. A strange, strange place. I felt sorry for a few of the younger guys, mainly dutch and south african trying for that one big pay day. They seemed fed up of being looked at like caged animals, but it gave them money, and without money, he said, you starve. There is no social welfare in Bolivia. There is no rehabilitation, there is simply crime and punishment, although what was apparent to me was that the biggest criminals, were those carrying out the "justice".

Glad to be out of the prison we had a good night in the Wild Rover discussing our thoughts on the crazy crazy place we had just visited. It was all well and good for us, we were now in a bar drinking and having the craic. But those lads couldnt join us, they didnt have the freedom, and that must be excruciating. The next morning I was up at the crack of dawn to go on a legendary cycling trip down "The Worlds Most Dangerous Road". It was 64km bike ride, which sounds like a lot, but the bulk of the cycling is actually down hill. The first 2 hours are on tarmac roads so you get used to the bike, and how it reacts to you. After a quick lunch it was time for the nitty gritty, pure dirt road, no wider than a single lane of the M1, with traffic coming in both directions, slippery tracks, wet conditions and a 700 metre drop should you choose to go too fast round a bend. Its easy to see why the road got its name. The bends are perilously sharp, blind and fast. Debris from all sorts of vehicles litters the bottom of the canyons, and roadside memorials stand in every language from Dutch to Hebrew. The reason people travel down this death road is the scenery, which is, truly truly breathtaking. The road is cut into severe incline of lush green forrestry and jagged rock. At 3500 metres above sea level, the views stretch far and wide, and we were blessed with a crystal clear day with views for miles. Apart from a couple of uphill sections which got tough near the end, it was fairly comfortable, although concentration was definitely the key. I SURVIVED! And Ive even got the T-Shirt to prove it. I ate some mental amount of food at the buffet after we'd finished, but I deserved it, and was asleep on the bus back within about 40 seconds, bumps or no bumps this time.

Ive done my stint in Buenos Aires, but will write about that next time. A Brazilian street party is calling me just now woohoo