Salt Flats extended...pt 1

Our driver had promised to meet us at 7:30am - the first of many lies - so we all got up and readied ourselves in the cold. Having still had no running water and having to flush the toilet with icicle-thick water despite paying the kind of money you´d expect more for, none of us were washed or in any way content with life, but we threw on more layers and breathed in for the onset of cold that was set to greet us as soon as we stepped out of our beds.

Then we waited. Grew anxious. And waited some more. The hostel owner told us not to expect much before the border opened for business, first 9am then 10am, then it was closed for the day. But wait, maybe not. Was that... oh, no...uhhh.... shit. Communication at an absolute minimum out here in the middle of NOWHERE, we were at the complete mercy of these drivers who seemed even more clueless than all of us put together. A great feeling.

We walked to the nearby refuge to talk with our driver, who still hadn´t materialised after promising the early morning departure (if not for one frontier, for the other next to Argentina). He was chilling nonchalantly in the warmth of the kitchen, having no reason to go into the cold to update us. While we were there we got a radio update, which was really pointless, basically saying that they hoped to open by the afternoon but that a car had crashed and that was now causing more blockage to the queue waiting to get through. More great feeling.

We trudged back to the others, 3 London lawyers now feeling well n truly put out, and tried to think of the next step in our fast-failing mission across borders. Some Jeeps passed through, unsuccessfully trying for the border, and I begged the driver of one with a spare seat to let me come back for the ride to Uyuni, feeling a little too close for comfort with my flight looming ahead. He basically didn´t want to take me, and made up some excuse about my bag being too big to take on. That was it. I lost it, threw up my hands in exasperation and ran inside as the tears started.

The English girls comforting me, I was lost in a hopeless world of no more options. Our drivers insisted on staying put to wait until the new information at 6pm, no other car would take us and in fact no other car was passing since the few left in the morning... I never thought I would see the other side of that border. The mountains, in all their natural splendour, started to mock me with their beauty. The icy lagoon swallowed every inch of hope I had left in my body. And the wind smacked the door closed on its way out.

That was it. R, the Swiss guy, went back to the refuge to have Spanish words with our driver. 5 minutes later we heard a commotion outside and were told VAMOS, we were going to the other border, about 6 hours driver away.

The plan was to drive until a little village about 2 hours from the border, sleep there and wake early to drive across and into the town closest to the Chilean side of the border.

But what did I say about false hope? It´s a bitch.

After a semi-satisfying dinner, our driver returned with some news. Apparently the 2 drivers were heading back early morning to the other border because it had actually opened at 6pm the day we left (of course). They had people to collect that had paid much more money than us to do a 3 day salt flats tour - so of course they got priority. Which displeased the English lawyers. Greatly.

After unsuccessfully demanding another car be sent from the agency, they were forced to make a choice - go back to the other border and risk being stuck again or go on a public bus to the border and another bus to San Pedro, their original destination. They chose the latter, basically due to lack of better options. I of course hadn´t paid anything yet so I was fine to go by public bus, if it got me out of Bolivia. I would´ve in fact ridden a donkey if it got me there too.

So that was what we were left to sleep on. More hope. Or lack thereof. I longed for a shower. I longed for Chile. I longed for anything but this.