Heading north to Bolivia

I finally got myself in gear to head north on Tuesday so hopped on a bus to Tilcara. Four(ish) hours later, after driving through incredibly colourful mountains, I arrived in the small town. Although the guide book said that my hostel offered free pick up, I decided that it would be pretty easy to walk there as the town was so small. I was not, however, prepared for the altitude. Even a gentle walk leaves you out of breath, so the trek to the hostel, carrying my backpack, was actually quite a struggle...the last 100 metres uphill especially so.

I arrived to find that I was the only guest but, as I was only staying one night, that didn't matter too much. One of the beds in the dorm wasn't actually a bunk, so I took advantage of being able to sit on my bed without hunching forward to avoid a top bunk, and removed the risk of hitting my head if I sat up too quickly in the night! The hostel, and room, was full of loads of old knick knacks, and there was, what appeared to be a working, log burner in my room.

I decided to head out to walk up to the Pucará, which is the old fortress in Tilcara, but not before admiring the view from the hostel garden...

After a little wander around the market (I'm holding off buying Alpaca/Llama goods until I reach Bolivia, where they are much cheaper), I stopped to buy some hot, pitta type, bread from a roadside stall before commencing on my walk. Still feeling quite short of breath, and nauseaus, from the altitude, I'm not sure a walk was the best plan, but I only had this one afternoon in Tilcara, so just took it slowly.

The rights of the child

After worrying that I had gotten lost, I finally came upon the fortress and slowly began the climb. Fortunately the slope was gentle, but it was still hard work and, added to the nausea and breathlessness, I kept spinning out! The trek was worth if for the views, and I'm sure it will have helped me to acclimatise.

I wandered slowly back to the hostel, stopping for a cup of tea on the way (I thought it might help the nausea), and arrived to find the log fire blazing in my room. It was still a little chilly (the Argentineans have a great need for draft excluders) so I huddled up in one of the many available alpaca blankets. As the sky darkened, there was a power cut. Fortunately my torch was to hand but, after an hour or so of reading by candlelight (and torch light), I decided to head out for dinner. I decided to go traditionally Andean and had Llama steak for the first time. It was quite nice - rather like a cross between lamb and pork. I had a glass of wine with my dinner, and it went straight to my head. The advice to deal with altitude is to eat only a little, and drink little alcohol - advice that goes against alll my instincts! When I got back to the hostel, the fire had really warmed the room, so I snuggled up for a cosy sleep.

The next morning I had my breakfast overlooking the mountains before heading to the bus station to go to Humahuaca. The main 'sight' in Humahuaca is the life size statue of San Francisco Solano that emerges from the clock tower at noon. I wasn't really feeling it in Humahuaca so, having made it to see this (somewhat over-hyped) sight at midday, I decided to get on the next bus to La Quiaca to cross the border to Bolivia.

Border crossing is always fun as I'm never quite sure if I'm in the right building, let alone queue. I managed to 'exit' Argentina without incident and starting chatting to an English guy, so we navigated Bolivia immigration together. We then went in search of a cashpoint, to withdraw some Bolivanos, before finding the next bus to Tupiza. The different bus companies were practically fighting over our custom so we just went for the one that left the earliest. Whilst waiting for the bus, I decided to treat myself to some freshly squeezed orange juice, from a street seller, for the extortionate cost of about 25p.

When we got on our bus, and after being made to move seats twice, we drove around the block before stopping for an hour for no apparent reason! After this frustrating start, we were pleased to find that the bus journey was about an hour shorter than expected. The drive through the Bolivian countryside was really quite dismal. All the landscape and houses were the same dreary beige. The sun setting over the blue glowing mountains was, in contrast, absolutely spectacular. There are large chunks of road that aren't paved, which made for a rather bumpy ride. They actually seemed to be working on all these unpaved stretches, so I'm not sure if they are being paved for the first time, or repaired following flood damage.

We arrived in Tupiza in the dark, so checked into the nearest hostel (which, after investigations this morning, appears to be the best) where they immediately tried to sell us a tour to the Salt Flats. Once we managed to persuade them that we wouldn't be going on a tour the next day, we headed out to grab some food. Relying on the Lonely Planet for a recommendation meant that the place was full of backpackers, and I bumped into three people who had been checking into my room as I checked out in Salta.

I headed to the local markets in the morning, hoping to be overwhelmed with the choice of Alpaca wear to keep me warm at the salt flats, only to find, for the first time, markets actually aimed at locals rather than tourists. Many of the Bolivian women were wearing fabulous traditional dress - full skirts, aprons, alpaca socks with sandals, hair in two long plaits and bowler hats. They are generally either carrying a bundle of stuff or a small child on their backs. Unfortunately they are somewhat reluctant to be photographed but you can see some examples here and here.

I finally found a store that sold what I was looking for and, whilst loading up with socks, gloves and a jumper, I met an English couple who were heading off on a four day tour of the salt flats (and surrounding areas) the next day. They had room for another person in their jeep so suggested I join them. As they had been recommended this tour company by someone they had met in Uyuni, I decided to go for it. There are so many tour companies here that word of mouth recommendation is the only way to choose.

Realising that I didn't have enough clean underwear for the next four days, I put my laundry in with the hostel. They promised that my laundry would be back by 7.30am, and the tour left at 8.30am, I really hoped that they would be true to their word...