and on to Bolivia:
A train took me from Villazon - the border town btw Argentina and Bolivia - to Uyuni, famous salt desert of Bolivia (biggest desert in the world). The train was quite an experience. We paid dearly (comparatively speaking) for a dinner, and were offered four sorts of toasted white bread with a little butter and a little jam. But this with style! In an old-fashioned food salon waggon, like in an old movie, with fashionable waiters serving the toast and falling over the tables because the train was shaking so hard.
First stop in Bolivia were the salteras of Uyuni: mindblowing. it's a beach, a desert, an ocean of white salt. amazing. (on the third picture I'm enacting a Hitchcock movie, and on the fourth, I'mcrying out for a banana.)
shopping
On the way to the salteras, there is shopping - this is a spiderman-hand puppet
and a cemetery of trains
There are more tourists than I expected in Bolivia. But then, I expected nothing, not knowing anything, and for that, it's great! The first thing that became obvious is that they have an issue with toilets. Mostly, there are none - in the busses for example. Then, those that exist, are always dirty, the flush almost never works, the seats are wrongly in place etc etc. It seems a totally strange object.
maybe because the decision to come here was taken within such short notice, I'm surprised at how much I like the land here. The landscape is occasionally entirely incomprehensible. Sometimes it´s legible and fantastic: A giant sky and puffy clouds, great colors, an eagle, sheep and pigs and cows that look like they're supposed to, like in my children's books.
The only thing is, I'm craving for a Wiener Wuerstchen with mustard. But on the last day in Sucre, I had the best fish ever.
some market town in Bolivia
Then there is the whole thing about altitude. Weird. I enjoy the coca-chewing ritual, just like the mate-drinking (basically wasting time). I don't think it does a damn, but I like the aenesthetization of the soda.
In Sucre, the first hostel had the strangest vibe. A giant white breakfast room, empty, cold, with candelabras, and the guests are cramped in a tiny drafty kitchen.
The hostel in the centre had atmosphere, no kitchen, and electric short circuits in the bathroom. The cranky Bolivian lady refused point blank to lend so much as a knife, but the French expat, a lumberjack (hello darling), who was also sort of there, slipped at least some hot water. (It gets damn cold here at night). They also had a bad-tempered aggressive puppy called "Baby."
this is Salta. or sucre?
