The random adventurers: First bit of Bolivia

The hostel cat, saying goodbye to us.

We woke up early in the morning and had breakfast on the hostel terrace overlooking the rocky hills.

With our things packed, we got to the bus terminal and waited for our bus to La Quiaca, the last town before Bolivia.

Bus terminal and crazy sunshine in Tilcara.

Sadly, we didn't get to take a picture of the sign, but we were already at 3.442 masl. And we felt it.

Getting off the bus we felt tired and already a bit out of breath, while we marvelled at the change of atmosphere already.

Tecnically, we were still in Argentina. But we were already in the most Bolivian athmosphere.

The ladies with the typical Andean clothing and the long, thick, plaited hair (called "cholas") were everywhere, selling things from little carts, or getting ready to go across the border with goods they had bought in Argentina.

Most of the carrying-goods-to-sell hard work is apparently done by women, although you can also see man, usually really old (or maybe they're 35 but look 95 because of the tough life?) doing it.

One of the smallest blanket wraps.

We suddenly felt like spoiled babies, with our little 13/15 kilo backpacks with all the fancy ergonomic straps and comfy features.

Chola selling oranges.

We walked to the border crossing, where no-one looked at our bags, and we just stood in line for a little while until we got our passports stamped without much fuss.

As we were waiting to get the stamps, we started noticing that we were suddenly surrounded by armpit-hippies.

(bitchy mode ON) They looked and sounded like upper middle class kids pretending to be homeless, which was confirmed by a phone call one of them made and that I shamelessly eavesdropped because I can't help myself and I'm a horrible judgemental witch. (bitchy mode OFF)

We crossed the border along with a couple other gringos, the A.H.s and the cholas carrying their huge blanket-wraps filled with goods like nappies, cookies, toothpaste, red bull, and others.

Everyone was chewing on coca leaves as we walked down the street. It's a tradition in the North of Argentina, and the Andean parts of Bolivia and Perú. It helps people fight hunger and fatigue, and it's also great for altitude sickness (although gringos prefer the tea, which is a bit less bitter).

People were also eating at street stalls that sold food in little plastig bags. We found the train station first, and a place to buy food after, and waited for our train.

Last train to Uyuni.

The train was nice and neat (although is was packed with hippes spreading their smell all around, yelling at each other and opening windows to let the wind and dust in).

Someone also thought it was a good idea to leave the TVs in the cars constantly on and blasting awful romantic music, or the loudest action movies imaginable.

Hippies and gringos.

As a result, we basically spent the whole trip in the dining car having café con leche, listening to an endless playlist of cumbia songs, and laughing at each other's tiredness face.

Altitude really affected our brains, and we felt it as the train rocked on the tracks, passing by little villages with adobe houses, fields of corn with every age people working the land, and winding rivers running trhough green valleys.

Bolivian landscape.

More Bolivian landscape.

The dining car.

My tired face.

Chey's tired face.

Finally, we arrived in Uyuni at midnight, and got to our "hostel", which was more like a hotel, and promptly fell asleep like babies.

We woke up the next morning, arranged a visit to the salt flats, and spent the afternoon looking around the very small town of Uyuni.