gettting ready to head into the salar (salt flats) the following morning.
left to right: Gwil (Canada), Mateas (France), Simone & Stefan (Switzerland). And some skinny, dorky guy.
The train cemetery just outside of town...
Salt sculptures at the salt-flats “museum” (really just a tourist trinket shop...)
Everything you see is salt cut from the flats...
we mean EVERYTHING...
tables, chairs, beds, walls, support collumn. OK, not the stove...
the rest of the museum, and the watchful guard dog.
that's salt, not sand.
salt as far as the eye can see...
salt worker taking a siesta.
its a popular spot, and we were far from the only tourists in landcruisers...
one of the hundreds (thousands?) of salt piles dug up to prepare for use.
Patriotic Talor. Not so surpringly, there was no american flag...
The salt hotel...
salt as far as the eye can see
don't pee here, it says...
entrance to the salt hotel.
patch where the cut the salt blocks from to build the salt hotel.
seems like it should be at the south pole?
Dionysio, our guide, and his wife/our cook, Fermina.
no end in sight - the vastness of the flats was impressive.
“Isla Pescado” (Fish Island) - quite literally an island sprouting out of an ocean of salt.
quite photogenic, too.
there was a group of 40 or so french motorcyclists which we kept running into...
don't touch.
as usual, we were not alone...
thems some big cacti.
talor tries to blend in.
fun with perspective...
creating the fun with perspective...
this one didn't work so well...
tourists in a tour book.
nice, try, but good enough.
liliputians.
almost, but didn't work.
dry, dry salt.
and just what we needed - a flat tire. Of course Dionysio & Fermina wouldn't let us help at all...
tourists posing while guides fix the land cruiser.
we finally left the never-ending salt, for never-ending desert and dust.
nearly ready to go.
luxury digs our first night - we actually got a private room with 6 single beds.
the hustle and bustle of desert life in San Pedro de Quemes.
where the heck are we?
not sure what this was doing here on the hill over the town.
town, desert, sunset.
peek-a-boo! our landlord's son in San Pedro.
the front yard.
our evening's entertainment. they were a little off key and off beat, but fun.
dinner time. Pichu Machu - french fries topped with onions, hot dogs and beef. health food.
saying goodbye the next morning.
what desert is complete without a lava field?
Yuck! A vicuna head in the desert.
Let's not forget the active volcano...
Yes, is active, if not impressively so.
canadien cowboy in the bolivian desert...
the gang's all here - except talor.
Dionysio and Fermina.
stop taking so many darn photos - let's go!
those are flamingos - really, they are...
intimate desert lunch.
believe us now? flamingos...
now the gang's all here.
A vizcacha - odd, long-tailed bolivian rock rabbits.
stefan ponders the vizcacha...
erik seldom ponders.
be very quiet. i'm hunting vizcachas...
Odd creatures, the vizcachas...
The world-famous rock tree of Uyuni.
Laguna Colorada.
Minerals and algae make it bright red.
Our 2nd night digs - a bit cozier - and MUCH colder.
After two days crossing salt flats and desert, what else but cheap wine and cards?
cold, hungry and happy.
5am the next morning - freezing at the hot geysers.
very spooky in the pre-dawn light.
and very, very cold.
it felt dante-esque.
warming frozen hands in the sulferic steam...
bubbling hot mud
more like mars than bolivia.
don't fall - the mud's hotter than boiling water.
ah, but after the sub-zero dawn, what's better than a soak in the hot springs? Mateas certainly liked it.
Oh, yeah. that's better!
starting to regain feeling in the appendages.
Pondering “Dali's Rocks” in the distance.
3 tough, tired hombres.
Laguna Verde.
Chile, at last! The impressive bolivian immigration center at the border.
Talor can't wait for the bus and takes off for chile...
