Southern Altiplano, Bolivia

Six strangers, one crazy Bolivian, one 4x4, and several hundred square kilometers of elevated desert full of llamas. This is how you cross the Southern Bolivia Altiplano.

Getting from San Pedro to Bolivia requires traversing a fairly large unoccupied space. Yes, it's possible to do it the long way by bus, but how boring is that when you could go cross country in a 4x4? At first glance, finding a reliable tour company appeared to be the hardest part of this whole palava. Tour companies have a reputation for treating tourists like luggage and finding sober drivers is (at least in this area) like finding a needle in a haystack. Don't worry mum, I've lived to tell the tale. We spent some time finding a reputable company by sifting through reviews from all sources. Lithium tours seemed the best of a bad bunch, and their sales pitch was polished. After another failed haggle (seriously Chileans don't budge), we locked it in without any further investigation.

Pick up was at 4-4.30am. Given that our hostel was well back from the street, that meant waiting outside. I'm sure you'll agree that standing on the street for half an hour (it was actually 40 minutes) at four in the morning in 0°C is a pretty shitty way to start a tour. At last, a giant white van (definitely not a 4x4) picked us up and proceeded through the rounds picking up the remaining passengers (who were in similar mindsets to us) and of course, the bread.

We were, for the first time in a while, actually briefed as to the plan. Our lack of Spanish and our ever changing location has given us a carefree attitude towards the 'unknown' so the knowledge gained from this briefing gave us a particularly strong peace of mind which should have sent us straight back to sleep. However, our driver turned out to be a complete and utter nut job. He had that van approaching mach 1 on the straights and only fractionally less on the corners. The six strangers eye each other anxiously before a Spaniard, Fede, spoke up: "just to let you know this is insane and we're all fearing for our lives". Our driver laughed and replied "It's a race!" At this? I closed my eyes, pretended I was riding a turtle in a sponge playground and unsuccessfully tried to sleep. We had three hours or so to the Bolivian border (not really part of the 'tour') where we would cross to no man's land, have breakfast and switch to a 4x4.

We came second in the race. Turns out it was actually a race. The border opens at 7.30am (I think) and the tour vans queue up to be processed. There are actually quite a lot of them so the later you are the longer it takes. It was well below zero at the border and the first rays of sun weren't yet offering anything but light. Processing was quick thanks to our great race result, but my fingers and toes were still burning cold. Fortunately, our driver knew how to put a spread on. Breakfast was incredible; served on a table in the Cordillera de los Andes was fresh baguette, ham, cheese, avo, cake, biscuits, fruit, yoghurt, oj, and all the hot drinks. Everyone was starving, nobody held back and there was still food to spare. This was the start to the tour we had been waiting for.

We loaded up the 4x4, switched drivers and effortlessly cleared Bolivian customs - immediately entering the dusty roads of the Southern Altiplano. At first impression our new driver, Even, seemed much less loco (crazy) than our last - that was good enough to keep us from complaining about the dicky seats in which we were sat. Seriously. Grown adults (well grown at that) in dicky seats for three days off road! I had expected it but there was definitely still a descrepency between my expectations and reality. Perhaps my perception of scale remained skewed towards that from my childhood memories, 'cause that space was small and all the gringos in our van topped six feet. At least our luggage was out of the way: strapped to the roof. And to be fair it was wrapped in tarp - an extra precaution which astonished me.

We were six gringros; Cat and me, Fede and Pelayo the Spaniards, Lennart the Belgian and Pac the French Canadian. We all took relief in the lack of Americans and French which was cause enough to get along swimmingly. The Spaniards' constant teasing of our guide kept us humoured all the way to our first of what would be many stops that day.

Snow capped mountains were a running theme of the day, loitering in the background of every vista. Then there were the lagunas: glassy calm and littered with flamingos and sea gulls. Dust and tussock landscapes gradually turned to impressive rock formations and it didn't take long for us to spot our first llamas. What we never spotted was a cloud and that is the joy of being a tourist in the desert.

Lunch was served in a dining hall by a stunning laguna. Another impressively-sized spread of typical Bolivian food (rice, quinoa, overcooked meat and plain salad). Turns out quinoa is one of the few foods you can grow in the Altiplano. Local villages take advantage of a short rainy season to sew, grow and harvest the superfood for their personal consumption throughout the year. A food they would very much need to be working this land, I imagine.

The lagunas, rocks, canyons and scenery continued to impress throughout the day, despite being on the alternate route amd missing some key stops (wretched snow!). We arrived just before sundown at a tiny, dusty and very unfinished village (who knows where). A lovely Quechua lady (who was meticulously sweeping dirt off the dirt driveway...?) showed us our beds, offered us beer and took our 10 Bolivianos ($2) for a hot shower. Whilst we washed ourselves, Even washed the car. In the desert. Where there's next to no water. And two minutes' driving will have the car browner than a Brazilian. Unbelievable.

We were well fed again that night, along with another six or seven car loads who arrived shortly after us. Our party escalated under the influence of Bolivian red wine (yes, it exists) and the dice game. Nothing starts a party like dice, eh Jools?

Seven blankets kept the cold at bay that night and we rose the next day ready to rumble. The day two scenery was just as impressive as day one. We got really up close and personal with the llamas and strolled upon some magnificent lakes and topography. The highlight of the day had to be arriving in a tiny desert town on fiesta day.

I don't recall the name of the town but I could have just about thrown a rock from one end to the other. They were celebrating their town's anniversary which appparently is a three day affair, and we had caught them well into the swing of things on day two. The state of intoxication was baffling; barefoot men stumbled around, traditionally dressed Quechua ladies aat on the ground slurring and the band resembled nothing short of a cocophony (especially old mate on the symbols - he was hammered!) But their merriment was abound. The brass band was firing on all cylinders, the dancing was high in both participation and awkwardness and the children ran amuck throwing half full beers at each other and wrestling in the dirt. It was an absolute riot.

What's more is that Bolivians have very strong religious beliefs. One of the traditions accompanying their religion is that the first sip of every beer goes to Pachamama (or mother earth). Simply put; when you open a beer you pour some on the ground - whether your indoors, outdoors or in your nana's living room. As the night progresses, apparently so does one's respect for Pachamama; more and more beer is sacrificed to the ground (intentionally or not) until the dirt road is headed for mud and old mate on the cymbols can't find his face from the floor.

Our brief appearance included a few beers, a lot of confusion, a short dance, a quick and rythmic jam on the cymbols and for Cat a lovely few twirls and a sweater full of beer from one of the more lively and less coherent locals. What an outing. It was a bit of a shame to see some tourists taking photos rather than taking part. Yes, it was an outrageous fiesta but this is normal life for these people. Taking photos without joining in is like observing monkeys in a cage, at least that was the impression I got at the time. Tut tut.

That night we stayed in a hotel made of salt in...well...I actually never found out. But it was isolated except for a hilarious shop keeper who wouldn't let us take beer from her shop - we had to drink it in the shop or not at all. We got carried away with dice and wine and night photography until the icy cold reminded us we should hit the hay. We had a 5am start the next day to make it to the Salar de Uyuni by sunrise.Read more