Rain stops play

After the horse riding adventure we booked up with the same company for another adventure, a four day jeep trip into the high Andes, passing geysers, colourful lakes of flamingos and ending up in the world's largest salt plain. It sounded fantastic and we set off full of anticipation with Yzhar and Dor, two young Israelis, and Hugh, an older gent from Canada, a real character with an unusual and colourful past. We had heard horror stories about poor safety records, decrepit vehicles and bad drivers on these trips and had done plenty of research to ensure we were with a reputable company. All seemed well.

We climbed higher and higher along dirt roads, traversing passes of over 4700m, struggling through boggy river beds and bumping past herds of llama with their pom/pom tassled ears denoting ownership. As we moved on the skies started to darken and gather storm clouds and the terrain got boggier, on several occasions we had to get out of the jeep so that it could get through the mud. Eventually our luck ran out. The jeep got well and truly lodged into a wide river bed and no amount of pushing, digging around the tyres or wadding the mud with undergrowth would help. As the hail started to fall and the clouds drew in we sheltered in the car for safety to think of a plan. We had one hour left until darkness fell.

In the event there was nothing we could do as an almighty storm raged around us with the loudest thunder I have ever heard, and forks of lightening spearing the plains on all sides. Darkness fell. Our driver Abel set off for a nearby village as we sat in the car, layering on every available piece of clothing in our day packs to fend off the cold as the temperature plummeted. My thermometer read ten degrees in the car shortly after sunset and it could only get colder. Abel eventually returned, muddy and wet, saying that we could walk to a nearby village but as the storm was still raging, and he admitted than he had got lost on the way back to us, we took a group decision that the safest thing to do was to stay put, try and get some sleep and hope that the six bodies in the car would keep us warm.

The night passed slowly, even more so when Mike explicably decided to recount the plot of each of the six Rocky films, and we were up at dawn standing in ankle deep mud to move our packs off the roof of the car and lock them inside the car before we headed to the village. In the village there were only four inhabitants, two elderley women in the traditional garb of full skirts, shawls and bowler hats an old man and a small child. None seemed in any way pleased to see us, five muddy gringos needing food and shelter. We huddled in the makeshift hospital where four narrow hospital beds were piled with thick blankets.

Abel set off to try and extract the car from the river bed, frustratingly refusing to let us help him. The day passed and with still no sign of the rescue jeep we thought was coming, or of Abel, we all set off to hike back to the car to help. We found Abel in his underpants in the freezing cold water frantically digging around the car, but anyone could see it was a helpless task. At this point good humour turned to frustration as we learned that our rescue jeep had not set off until after two that afternoon which meant an inevitable extra night stranded in the mountains.

Directed by a very enthusiastic Hugh, we all helped push the car and managed to move it about a metre but any attemps at further progress were futile. We returned to the hospital to shelter for the night, eventually joined by the rescue jeep driven by Alejandro, the owner of the company. We kept our spirits up, joking about our predicament and playing cards and yahtzee to pass the time before sinking into our tiny beds in our muddy clothes, Mike and I squashed into one bed together, for a suprisingly deep sleep.

The next morning the pitter patter of rain and sleet on the tin roof told us that all was still not well. After the guys had managed to extract the jeep we waited until after lunch for the rain to abate and made the difficult decision that the safest thing we could do was to return to Tupiza once more and try again on a different route the next day. We eventuually arrived after a treacherous journey and checked into a cheap motel, where the promised hot water did not materialise and we also disovered that all of clothes had become soaking wet during their holiday on the roof off the jeep. Still, we whipped out those brave faces once more, had a nice dinner and prepared ourselves to start again the next day, our company having agreed to extend the trip and try again without extra costs. Hugh, who was planning to head south after the trip, decided to call it a day and we set off as a four, saying sad goodbyes to the man whose quirky sense of humour had provided many laughs on our endurance adventure.

The skies were still grey but the rain held off as we drove for six hours up through winding mountain passes and across the desolate but beautiful landscape of the high plains of the Andes, dotted with llamas and the occasional windswept settlement or mining town. The roads were littered with rock falls and in many areas the compacted gravel surface had been washed into the valleys below. We stopped for lunch in a brief show of sunshine while a group of men rebuilt a section of the road. We passed countless vehicles stranded due to breakdowns and an Argentine couple stuck in the mud.

Eventually we got within 60km of Uyuni, our destination, and were told that the final hurdle was to cross two rivers. The first we navigated without much difficulty. The second was a bigger challenge. We drove up stream to find the safest place to cross and went for it, water splashing up over the bonnet. Half way across, the jeep stalled and the water pounded against the upstream side of the car. Abel climbed along the side of the car and managed to open the bonnet and after drying off a few parts with toilet paper the car mercifully started again and we were off, all rejoicing that we were home free. I said to Alejandro casually "so that's all the rivers we have to cross then?" and he replied " there is one more but it has a concrete bottom so will be easy". I passed the message to the others in the back and we were all in good spirits as we bumped along the road.

With 30km to go we saw a long queue of cars on the road ahead and my stomach turned over. This spelled trouble. Sure enough, the 'easy' river crossing was a raging torrent of red mud being fed from the crackling storms we could see in the mountains to the east. We stood and watched as the temperature sank and the torrent refused to abate. Many locals were wading through the wide ditches at the side of the road, picking their way along the railway tracks parallel to the road and wading back through the ditches to reach the far section of the road to Uyuni. We all agreed to try this, Alejandro agreeing to arrange for a jeep to collect us on the other side. In the event, this was all arranged with a Bolivian sense of urgency and it was totally dark before he told us we could try it. After much deliberation we decided as a group that to attemp it would be madness. Instead, reluctant to spend another night in the jeep, we pitched Jose, our trusty tent, on the highway and the four of us squeezed in, shoulder to shoulder, for an amazingly snug night, sending ourselves off to sleep with a huge giggling fit about our predicament and the funny things that had happened along the way.

Dawn broke, the river had sunk to a safe level to cross and we headed, finally, to Uyuni, Dor joking that our four night, five day journey to travel 250km was akin to reaching the promised land. We killed an hour in Uyuni's steam train graveyard, the rusting metal eerie against the flat grey dawn skies, tucked into a breakfast in the town before finally, finally hitting the salt plains made all the more beautiful by the rains, with fluffy clouds reflected back in the water over the bright white plains.

We spent an amazing day exploring the dramatic landscapes of the plains in bright sunshine. All of us were exhausted from the previous days but it felt like progress and that was enough to keep everyone awake and enthusiastic.

Mike and I booked the night bus to La Paz, feeling secure that our adventure was finally over, but there was one more adventure to come. We turned up to find a hoard of angry people with black eyes, scrapes and bruises. The bus from La Paz had flipped over just outside Uyuni. Two travellers had videoed the driver drinking spirits on the twelve hour journey in which he took not one break. One girl had lost half an ear, a few others had broken bones. Mercifully no/one was killed. Eventually a replacement bus was found for us and we all boarded reluctantly, afraid of the journey but knowing that waiting another day or choosing another route would not change the odds of safely arriving in La Paz. And arrive we did, thirteen hours later in extreme discomfort on a crowded bus full of flies, six days into a journey of never/ending pitfalls, dirty and exhausted.

Travelling is all about adventure but this was not the kind of adventure that anyone wishes for. However, Mike and I cannot say that we regret any of it, nor will we ever forget it. We were incredibly lucky that our fellow travellers were such amazing people and there was never a cross word or any bad humour. Dor, though only 22, had the skills of a diplomat, a clever head on her shoulders and a relentlessly upbeat attitude. Yzhar was incredibly relaxed, sensible with his decision making and quick to find humour in every situation. Hugh, well, where do we start with Hugh? He was one of a kind, off the wall, and a brilliant team member and it wouldn't have been the same without him.

We didn't see flamingos, or colourful lakes or geysers but in many ways we wouldn't have had it any other way.