So my magical mystery Salar de Ayuni tour started with being given 4 litres of water and the final seat in a 8 person jeep. Our driver/guide was the silent type, keeping information to a minimum, well less than the minimum really and the cook was his wife riding shotgun, both looked absolutely miserable at the prospect of driving 6 tourists through the salt flats but were at least sober (drunken drivers were apparently a big problem on the tours). Lacking any formal facilitation of introductions, us passengers did our own. We were 2 germans, 2 Spanish, an American and myself. We then went on to try and piece together our itinerary from the scraps of information different people had been given. We later learned, pre-departure info was not necesarily consistent with reality and just settled in for the ride.

First was Colchani, a small town on the verge of the salt flats. The salt processing plant was closed but I did find out the reason behind those indigeneous skirts as a woman stopped to squat right in front of me, relieved herself, and then walked on, the skirt acting like one of those old fashioned doll toilet roll covers hiding the unmentionable from view.

At last we made it onto the salt flats. 12,000 square km of what used to be Lake Michin. Vastly different in the wet from the dry season, we were visiting in the wet, and it was like looking at a mirage. The small layer of absolutely still water on top of the salt reflected perfectly the snowcapped mountains reaching into a spectacular thunderous sky.

We stopped for lunch at fish Island that was actually more of a Cactus Island. A huge rock rising from the salt covered in giant Cactus, so incongruous in the white icelike landscape. We actually were on the Altiplano and the last few days for me of a month of altitude, thank goodness. After a Llama lunch we got ing the jeep again and out into the white beyond. We watched as our driver started to nod off. Well we weren´t on a road and he was sort of doing a straight line, we figured if he fell dead asleep we´d do something, it didn´t come to that. We came off the salt and pulled up at a building. It soon became apparent we were looking for somewhere to stay and at the first half dozen buildings there was no room at the inn. We drove further and further up the hill and we were then told to get out and check the room. THE room singular, a salt room with salt furniture and plenty of windows to let in the blowing wind coming off the altiplano plus the only bathroom for the whole building. For the 2 couples that had booked their trip in La Paz and shown glossy brochures of a hotel and promised double rooms this was a shock, but for me after 2 nights on a bus, and used to communal sleeping arrangements, a bed was a bed. They were placated with Dozey (our driver) saying that the places down the hill (that we´d already tried) were much worse, didn´t have hot water and dodgy electricity and then nodded absently when they said about them getting them doubles for the following night. I was surprised at how unglamourous a salt "hotel" could be. I think I would have envisioned a shimmering salt castle radiating light. It was in fact a crude box, made of dirty salt bricks, as were the beds, tables, chairs etc... about as attractive as breeze blocksit and just cheap building blocks for them...and there was no hot water (well no water at all in the morning) and only electicity after 7pm. But it´s all about the EXPERIENCE. We endevoured to get some information from dozey about possible plans for the next day, but about all we could find out was that it was an early start, but our question of, exactly what time, wasn´t answered.

At 6 Dozey walked into our bedroom and expected us to be ready, we were asleep. Refusing to be hurried but obviously, on discovering without water that showers were impossible we were soon at the breakfast table negotiating for more than one knife between us and earwigging the other tables plotting to get to the next nights accommodation first to get the decent rooms. We tried to gee Dozey into the same idea, but if any of it went in, it went straight out the other ear. On departing, a small girl approached us and asked us if we´d had showers (water would have been a fine thing) as they were 5 bolis each, the cheek! "How long is it to the volcano?" we asked, Dozey replied 2 hours, it was 5. I think he actually just told us what he thought we wanted to hear. We stopped asking after that.

Still it was a great drive and we were bonding in all the adversity. It was all pretty rough roads, and on one hill we were told that the jeep couldn´t cope with us all in it, so we would have to hike and meet it at the top. Every time we stopped we feared the worst, this trip is famous for its breakdowns and we´d seen our fair share of jeep casualties and stranded tourists at the side of the track. About 60 companies run tours out of Uyuni and basically we form a jeep caravan. Dozey and Mrs Dozey didn´t want to stray far from the bunch and we made a fairly unexplicable 45 min stop where all the others stopped at a crossroads in a place called San Juan, which only feature was a corner store. I didn´t want to buy anything but failing anything else to do wandered into the store. "That´s the first of those bags I´ve seen here" said an Irish guy who lives in Clovelly pointing at my Fitness first bag, see the Altiplano of Bolivia is how far you need to go to be unique with them!

After Flamingo lagoon, yes there were lots of flamingos, and lunch we continued the stunning drive across the Atacama desert, the heat coming through the windows was searing, and we all were putting on suncream or shading our windows with towels when suddenly it started hailing, hard, and within minutes we were in an all white wonderland and freezing. It was approximately spring in our 4 seasons in one day (aka wet and dreary) when we started the accommodation search again. The one we found was even more basic than the last, not even a pretense of a shower. We were of course in the same room again but packed closer together so at least it was cozy. Nieves the Spanish girl let rip at Dozey, who stood there looking gormless. We all decided it wasn´t his fault but those rip off agencies and set out to purchase lots of alcohol to blur out our surroundings. Everyone found out it was my birthday plus 2 so the gave me a belated celebration.

Our scheduled 4am departure was challenging considering there was no electricity so we were fumbling around in the dark to pack up, and there were only 2 toilets for 30 odd people. Joaquin and Nieves peoud inability to get up early didn´t help, so despite Jan taking on the responsibility of waking us early we were the last to leave. We arrived at amazing geysers as dawn broke and then drove on as the sun emerged. The sunrise was stunning. Magic dawn light set the desert hills on fire. Once again my camera went in to overdrive. Breakfast was at an idyllic spot by a lagoon with hot thermals. Whilst everyone else braved not so much the dip, but the post dip freezing dry and dress, I decided to sit this one out. My stomach was starting to winge at me about too much fried tour food. I hoped that was all it was I had a mega bus journey looming. After seeing spectacular Laguna Verde it came time to say goodbye to those heading back to Chile with Dozey ( Mrs Dozey we´d left inexplicably at the breakfast spot) and time for the rest of us to break for the Chilean border.

The transfer bus was filled with loud Brazilians plus an even louder man of ambiguous procedence who managed to be loud and obnoxious in at least five languages to whoever would listen. I´d actually run into him in Potosi when booking a bus seat and he´d warned me not to sit in the front row, so I hold him directly responsible for the nightmare 2nd row seat (speaker, didn´t recline...) I ended up with.

We dropped 4000 metres within an hour. At last, out of altitude and we arrived at the steamy adobe town of San Pedro de Atacama in Chile. They´d had an earthquake the day before we accounted to the even higher than normal temperature. I shed as many clothes as was decent to in public, found the bus office to book an afternoon bus out, and then a restaurant to lunch at, but more importantly abuse their bathroom facilities to wash and change.

So 40 hours after leaving San Pedro I´m writing this, STILL on the bus. But hallelujah, Chile has tarmac. I´ve passed the desert that runs the whole of the northern half of Chile. I´ve experienced first world type bus stations on changeovers (but still can´t flush toilet paper) and I´m now driving past lush green fields, trees and cows approaching my destination of Pucon in the lake district. The sky is cloudy and it´s raining. It seems familiar, oh yes it looks like England. It seems I might have had all I was going to get of the Southern Hemisphere in the fleeting moments in those bus terminals on the way down.