Only in Bolivia

So we arrived in Uyuni with Molar and Helen in tow without any major complaints other than perhaps weariness, the curse of an overnight bus. With a little haggling we managed to secure passage on a tour of the salt flats with a Spanish speaking introverted guide and a German couple (who paid twice what we did). This experience was mostly driving from location to location to see some of what the Bolivia has to offer. In the interest of brevity here is a list but the photos below tell the story better:

1. The Train Cemetery,  established when new technology meant that silver could be extracted at the mine site, removing the need for much of the rail transport

2. The salt flats where it is so flat and white that you can take fun photos

3. Incahuasi Island where there are massive cacti (and not much else)

4. Heaps of amazing rock formations done of which you can climb (can you spot me)

5. Various lagoons of different colors including green blue and red where we saw flamingos

6. Geysers which were formed by pressurized and heated sulphur, check the bubbles here... http://youtu.be/pv0ZYNsSu2A

7.  Hot Springs where the air temperature was below zero and water temperature was 46°C

8. And an endangered species, the Royal Chinchilla,  joined us for lunch (the one that looks like a cross breed between a rabbit and a squirrel)

9. And llamas, because they make Sarah happy.

Having completed the tour we chilled in a local restaurant before we had our first real taste of Bolivia, a delayed bus, thankfully only by an hour. We jumped on board at 8pm , rugged up and had 11 hours of fitful to nonexistent sleep before we stopped for no apparent reason about an hour out of La Paz.

As we were aboard a local bus (and not a tourist bus) it took about an hour of bad English and worse Spanish before we found out that a strike that could last one or two days was blocking the road ahead. On advice from a local we disembarked and started trekking towards La Paz, allegedly an hour drive and by our approximations 2 days walk, with the hope of a lift by minibus keeping us from despair.

Shortly after starting our walk a bus came towards us and the locals started flocking towards it and we followed suit. After we confirmed "Es autobus va La Paz?" we joined the queue. Apparently the plan was to drive away from La Paz and find some back streets past the road block. While we were still a fair way from the front of the bus it started making sounds of movement. Probably due to the disappointed cries of some of the locals one of the bus staff opened one of the luggage compartments and ushered them in. Reluctant to be left behind and with minds open to adventure we charged in behind them (I think to their surprise and disappointment) and settled in (Sorry Gill and Helen).

When I say settled in I mean: I was kneeling upright holding onto our bags; Molar was crouched opposite a local woman who passed time by kicking him; Sarah was squished between bags and Molar; and Helen was quite comfortable.  We were relatively quiet in the dark as the truck grinded along bumpy dirt tracks for almost an hour. 

The bus stopped and there was no movement for about 15 mins while we waited patiently for release from our confinement. Finally after some banging and yelling (the locals not us) someone opened the door and we stumbled into the light to the laughter of locals and calls of "touristicas". We were not in La Paz. We were somewhere in rural Bolivia and apparently our bus had broken down. Sometime later someone appeared from the back of the bus with a very large important looking pipe and dumped it into the luggage area and after a few attempts managed to get the engine running again.

Thankfully we were directed to enter the passenger area of the bus for this second leg of the journey where we stood as we once again bumped around questionable roads. It very quickly became apparent that not only was there no GPS but that there was not a single person on the bus that knew where we should be going.  We consulted farmers, cars, other buses and goats all to no avail. We of course had even less idea what was happening as there wasn't a single English speaker. An hour later we pulled up to the road block again, we had failed and given up - todo para nada.

We then started plodding along the road towards and then through the road block. As far as roadblocks go it was effective but not particularly impressive. There were large mounds of dirt on the road punctuated by the occasional oil barrel with signs we were unable to decipher. What was unimpressive was the number and attitude of protesters - a maximum of 300 people were just milling around and it was hard to tell if they were participating or observing. Regardless it seems bizarre that such a small number of people could hold a capital city to ransom so easily.

As we neared the La Paz side of the blockade the population changed from colourful dressed civilians to automatic weapon wielding policeman. We kept a low profile and passed as quickly and quietly as we could to the occasional friendly "Hola" and we think we timed it well as the policemen started moving more aggressively towards the blockade as we left them behind.

Walking on the road we had no real plan beyond hoping to find a cab. We were soon hailed by a flatbed trucker yelling "touristicas!" With a few words and more gestures we determined that he was inviting us to ride on his truck towards La Paz. Ever the adventurers we jumped on and were soon joined by locals and we were once again on our way to La Paz. Aware of the concern our mothers (and possibly fathers) might have we said a quick prayer and settled in to enjoy the ride. Passing road workers, cars and cops it soon became apparent that this was out of the ordinary even for Bolivia as we were pointed at, waved and cheered. See proof here ... http://youtu.be/pEFzAwYOS_E

For the half hour trip he charged us 3 Bolivianos,  roughly equivalent to 50c. But we were not in La Paz yet! Apparently there are restrictions on where cabs can and cannot go in Bolivia so a cab from where we were was not allowed inside La Paz. Instead we needed to catch a minibus crammed full of people to take us a few suburbs closer to La Paz, a half hour trip costing the princely sum of 2.50 Bolivianos each. Finally we could get a cab to our hostel but not before our driver had called his mate to determine the location of our hostel, a disconcerting turn of events.

We got there safe and sound and all agreed a nap was in order before we walked to a nearby English pub to farewell Molar. And to imagine we had been concerned there would be nothing exciting to do on Molars last day.  I've got to go now, my $1 bourbon and coke is calling.

We will miss you Molar, kind of.