The day I saw the redeemer, no not Graham Henry.

So goodbye Iguazu, hello Rio. Two flights, the landing in the city airport of Sau Paulo was a little closer to the rooftops than I would have liked. Took the tram to the hotel, everyone was really worried that I would get robbed. The conductor said to stick to the main road, they even suggested that I stay on the tram until it turned around and went back so that I could get off on the other side of the street! No drama, got there OK and checked in. Talked to the receptionist about where to go and how to get there. Had a plate of pork with mashed beans and a beer and then bed.

I had one full day, then the second day I needed to be at the airport in readiness for my early flight. The one thing I really wanted to see was the Christ, so I decided that would be my first destination. A bus to the bottom, a minibus part way then a second to the top. The views of Rio were stunning, you could see the beaches and the Maracana stadium where the olympics were held, the big lake where the rowing and canoeing, and of course the sugarloaf. I overheard two men talking in English on the minibus so asked them where they were from. One was a local and the other an Aussie. I stayed with them and they helped me buy tickets and the local gave lots information. It was started in 1922, somehow I thought it would be much earlier. The platform at the base of the statue was rammed with people taking photos and it took a while to get good vantage points. After spending about half an hour taking in the sights and snapping we headed back down on the busses.

By the time I got back to the hotel it was 1430 and I was hot so I decided to relax in the rooftop pool and read some of my book. Sightseeing could wait until tomorrow.

Next day and I had a 'to do' list. Bus to Copacabana passing the sambadrome on the way. It was just like Weston! They have missed a trick though, they should import a load of mud they people could get stuck in it when the tide goes out.

I walked back to Botofogo, a familiar name for those who dance latin, and got the metro. This is a lovely new system. Visited the arcos da Lapa, and then the Escandaria Seleron, a set of steps adorned with bright tiles decorated by the Chilean artist Jorge Selaron. Now running out of time I went back to the hotel to get my bag then travelled to the airport.

The trip back was long and uneventful. The airline kept my bag between flights so I stayed in Morocco with no spare clothes or a toothbrush. I arrived in London Heathrow at 1600 and got the national feeling decidedly chilly. Two days previous I had been walking in Rio in a temperature of 31 degrees and this was single figures. I arrived at Bristol bus station and walked round the back to wait for my darling daughter to pick me up. Well blow me but right there was a pub, the white hart. I thought to myself, well it would be rude not to, and fitted in a swift pint of speckled hen, my first real beer for 6 weeks. Then back to Cromhall and a steak casserole.

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450,000 cubic feet of water per second.

In this case a picture is worth a thousand words...

Iguazu falls, the Argentinian side.

City of the east.

Two travel days and four flights to get me to countries new. I haven't missed a flight yet and I still have my bags. Not sure my planning is exactly perfect as I head back to La Paz for an onward flight to the Bolivian hub of Santa Cruz. I landed at El Alto airport and tried to get to the departure lounge as I was in transit. They would not let me and directed me to the exit. Walking past the luggage carousel I noticed my suitcase going round! I had specifically checked at Uyuni whether I needed to retrieve my luggage and was told no. Lucky for me I saw it or I would have been in trouble. It is an odd system when you have to effectively leave the airport and re-enter and go back through all the security again. The second flight went without hitch and I arrived in Santa Cruz. I had booked a hotel local to the airport so took a short bus ride and walked up to the entrance. I was greeted by two posh coaches, some armed police and a procession of sporty looking young men. This was clearly not usual! I walked inside and tried to check in but was too early. I sat down and watched the people in blue tracksuits slowly leave. Some posed for photographs. I found out that this was the Paraguay football team departing for LaPaz to play a world cup qualifying match against Bolivia. The guy being photographed is apparently their coach.

They lost the match 1-0 but there has been a lot of controversy about playing at that venue as it is at altitude. Bolivia have won lots of games at home and hardly any away, hmmm.

Anyway after all that excitementnt I got the hotel shuttle bus into town, four hours of my life I won't get back. I agreed a time to be picked up and he didn't turn up so after waiting and waiting I eventually got a taxi. I made my feelings plain to reception upon my return.

I got up to rain, the first of my holiday. It was quite nice! Then I noticed that my wash bag was sat in a pool of Lynx shower gel. Whether it had opened by accident or whether some clot hadn't shut it properly was immaterial, it needed cleaning and drying within the hour. Had this been in previous countries I would have struggled but this hotel had a hair dryer which saved the day. Always wondered what they were for...

Refreshed I went back the next day for two more flights. The second was delayed and it made for a very long and boring day. I finally arrived in ciudad del Este, city of the east, and once checked in had a welcome couple of beers. The barman Jorge didn't speak a word of English but was a real character communicating by Google translate. The hotel reminded me of the Googenhiem in New York.

Finally got up to my room to find that my notebook had expired. I think the screen isn't being lit. Don't lose that phone!

Where the sun doesn't shine.

The salt flats were very impressive. I had two days before flying off so headed to the bus station and got a bus to Potosi. Potosi lies at the foot of a mountain referred to as Cerro Rico "rich mountain" which has a high concentration of silver ore. The Cerro Rico is the reason for Potosí's historical importance, since it was the major supply of silver for Spain. The bus journey was 4 hours but plenty to see. It would make a tour f it own, hot springs, rock formations, a fertile plain full of thousands of lamas. We gt to Potosi and I found a hotel close to the bus station. The receptionist booked me a tour for the next day with a company called San Andres Expeditions. The driver turned up early but the hotel were fine with me leaving my stuff in the room so we set off. The driver only spoke Spanish but we picked up a guide who spoke good English. He explained that three Germans who had booked on the tour had fallen ill so I was on my own.

First stop a shop where the miners buy their equipment. They had helmets, shovels, coca leaves for chewing for the altitude, and dynamite. Anyone can buy dynamite here but you are limited to 12 sticks! He put a detonator into one stick and offered to take a photo of me holding it, I declined.

We drove to a lockup and put on protective clothes and wellies. He gave me a helmet and with light and a battery pack on a belt. It didn't go round me, must have been a small one, so he searched for a bigger one for me. Next stop the processing plant. The guide knocked on a metal gate and an old guy opened it suspiciously. He gave him a bag of coca leaves and he let us in. Having worked in a chemical processing plant I was fascinated to see how they did things. A lot of it was manual and health and safety was not to the fore. There were piles of rocks lying around and he picked a piece and split it open and I could see the metal glinting within. He explained that it can contain not just Silver but Copper and Lead. He also said bronze, to be researched! A sample of the rock is powdered and split into samples, one for the laboratory, one for the miner and one for the company. This is analysed and the results determine what the miner is paid. In he boom years he commodity prices were high mines earned fabulous wages and they christened Potosi Hummer-city as this was the vehicle of choice. There were other machines that refined the crushed rock, settling tanks, chemical extraction that involved Cyanide. He explained that the operator was not allowed to stay in that area for longer than two minutes as a precaution. We had been there for about that long (!) so I showed an interest in the next machine and quickly moved on. It felt like I was touring a museum showing how mining was done a hundred years ago not working mine.

Back in the tuk tuk  and up the hill to the mine. The entrance was small and unimpressive. Once inside I found the height was not made for westerners but for the short ass locals and I was constantly having to dip and bend.

The guide explained that the walls contained arsenic and a little later he pointed out the asbestos sitting on the walls. Why bother with digital, just come here!
A little way into the tunnel was an effigy of the devil. The miners perform a ritual before entering offering coca and alcohol to mother earth to keep them safe. Women are not allowed to work the mine in case mother earth gets jealous.

We moved further in and found a truck filled with rock. These are still pushed by hand and there are still accidents with runaway trucks severing limbs and causing death. My guide's brother was forced to retire from the mine because of silicosis. I could not help but draw comparisons with the tales of the south Wales mines.

There were no miners working that day due to elections. When we got out the guide went over to a group of miners and gave them their cut for allowing the tour to take place. In Bolivia the piper is always paid. I think I was expecting something like Wookey hole but this was much rawer, this was reality for 5,000 miners.

It's thirsty work fighting dinosaurs.

Took the bus back to Calama and booked my coach for the next morning. The trip back to Uyuni went smoothly clearing the borders in two hours. I dropped the bags in the hotel and went in search of the tour company I had read good things of on the advisor of trips. I walked past it first time but eventually found it. I had 3 days to fill so I could either do the one day salt flat tour on Saturday or on Monday leaving me two free days. I spoke to the agent who contrary to the advice only spoke a little English and he explained the itinerary. Does the driver speak English? Not really. Is the car well maintained? Oh yes sir. That will be twenty quid then. I paid and he wrote out a sheet with 7 numbers on it. So the tour is tomorrow and I am the only name on the list?! He explained that they deal with a lot of Koreans and Chinese. I looked around and the walls were festooned with hand written posters in mandarin or similar. Great. I bought some sunglasses and headed back to the hotel with yet another bad feeling.

Next day I turned up at the allotted hour of 1030 and to my astonishment the list on the wall had 7 names on it. By luck or salesmanship the agent had come up with the goods. Three Americans, a Spanish guy and an Asian couple that were on the same bus as me from Calama. We got in the Toyota land cruiser and set off, I got the front seat. Five minutes later and we arrived at our first destination, the train graveyard. Hmmm, OK. I let them wander and stayed in the shade drinking water.

Onto the next stop, a village en-route with a market aimed at tourists. I should say at this point that there was a procession of off road vehicles all following the same route. Brightly coloured garments, toy lamas and lots of stuff made out of salt, well there is plenty of it. A small museum housed some salt carvings.

We set off again and got onto the salt flats proper. They are white normally and covered in water in the rainy season but in between the dust blows onto them and they go an off white colour. I was thinking to myself 'just my luck to get the off white' when I realised that I had my sunglasses on and took them off and saw brilliant white for miles and miles. The salt dries into irregular hexagons which is really unusual. We drove to a building made of salt with salt carvings inside and out (your getting the picture) for lunch. Lunch was simple but good, chicken with rice and salad with a slice of watermelon after. Outside they had a load of flags and I was pleased to find the dragon so far from home.

Onwards to cactus island. A short walk to the top gave some lovely views.

Finally we headed back back past the piles of salt being harvested for sale to catch the sunset. W were drivens to a wet area and given wellies. We snapped away until the sun was down then drove back to the town and headed for the hotel.

Oh I almost forgot...

Footnote: next day on the bus I sat next to a Polish couple. They had done the three day trip and said that the roof on the accommodation was unfinished and they were given two blankets each with a temperature of minus five they were freezing. On top of that their driver was drunk and dropped them off at one pint then fell asleep. They had to walk a long way back to the car and wake him up. They tried to get the keys off him so that one of them could dive but he was having none of it. He went on to hit a rock and they were lucky to get back in one piece. Perhaps my choice wasn't so bad after all!

Sex change and a mystery tour.

Early start to get the bus to Chile. Set off at half five and made good time to the border. The blogs warn that it can be a couple of hours to clear both border points. We were through the Bolivian side in less than an hour so looking good. It actually took SIX AND A HALF HOURS in total, I don't know why. There was a lot of sitting about and there was a bit of queuing. They asked us to line up our bags and dog sniffed them up and down. They searched through the bags by hand, then we were on our way. Good job I had bought some Oreos to keep me going.

The road to Calama goes down Volcano alley. You turn round a corner and there's another one with its distinctive conical shape. The area has apparently been quite active recently and you could see wisp of smoke around the top of some and a grey streak snaking from top to bottom. The delays meant that we didn't get to Calama until 1900, a long day travelling. More roads under construction meant a bumpy ride too.

Calama isn't the most picturesque of towns and the online posts warned of bag snatching around the bus station. There were plenty of people around at that time of night and I had booked a hotel quite close so not far to go. I don' know what more to say about Calama really apart from I found a supermarket for the first time since Washington! All the other places seem to have small family shops with no prices showing. So I picked up my first bottle of wine for a couple of weeks and went back to the hotel and watched telly. Morning and back to the bus station and got the bus to San Pedro De Atacama, an oasis in the desert and a gateway for the tourists. Got there early afternoon and walked through the main tourist area to get to my hotel. It is festooned with travel agents to ensure the income is extracted. I had a dilemma as while I had travelled thousands of miles to see the sights, I did not want to do wall to wall tours and not enjoy it. The agent wanted me to do a tour that afternoon, a full day tour the next, followed by a morning tour the third day and the bus journey back to Calama in the afternoon. It turned out that I was too late to book on the first afternoon tour and the third day morning tour was very early so I settled on the full day tour to see the flamingo reserve.

My first impression of my hotel was that it was a little remote and no telly to watch CNN. I picked up some cans of Heineken and settled down on the warm veranda with my book and the chilean equivalent of Pringles. After a good night sleep I woke on queue in time for breakfast and my tour pick up. First a man came asking for Maria and the receptionist sent him on his way saying that there was no one here of that name. Shortly after a minibus arrived and I got up and listened intently to the names. Not mine, another British couple got on and it sped off. The receptionist had gone to do some shopping and upon return was surprised and concerned that I was still sat there. I gave here the agent's booking slip and she phoned and had a protracted conversation. I listened to the Spanish and Maria seemed to be mentioned a lot. She eventually handed me the phone and in his broken English explained that the tour company had misread Mark for Maria. Sigh. He offered me the same tour the next day but I had accommodation booked. So he offered to try and get me another tour if he could get them in time. I asked him to try as a visit to Atacama without seeing anything wasn't ideal. He phoned me back to say he had managed to get a minibus that had just set off to return to pick me up. I hadn't got a clue where this one was going, Blackpool Illuminations perhaps?! It turned up and I got on and the first thing the tour guide said was where is your coat and something about volcanoes.

I needn't have worried as the tour was great and the weather was like a good English summer's day. And to my delight we saw two lots of flamingos, a lake, some little lama things and lots of rock formations. I enjoyed the company of English, French, Italians, Spanish and a Korean who got mild altitude sickness.

We were dropped back in town and I repeated my peaceful couple of hours alone on the warm evening veranda watching the dragonflies hovering and the swallows darting feet above the field catching flies.

The train graveyard.

I woke up and despite applying loads of nivea and chap stick I was peeling like a King Edward. I will spend the next week peeling dead skin from my body. Breakfast, pack, taxi, bus, check-in, security, wait for boarding. It has become routine. A short flight later and I land in the desert. I got my taxi to drop me at the bus station. It's Saturday, no seats until Monday so I am holed up for the weekend. Got some beer, English prices, in one of the cheapest countries in South America, hmmm.

Uyuni was founded in 1890 as a trading post, the town has a population of 10,460 and sits at an elevation of 3,700 m (12,139 ft) above sea level. Now famous as a tourist base for the salt flats, we will hopefully return to this in a later post. It also has an antique train cemetery which I decided to visit. It took about 45 minutes to walk through the dust. In the past the town served as a distribution hub for trains carrying minerals on their way to the Pacific Ocean ports. The train lines were built by British engineers at the end of the 19th century for Antofagasta (1888-1892). It was constantly sabotaged by the local people who saw it as an unwelcome intrusion into their lives.

The trains were mostly used by the mining companies. In the 1940s, the mining industry collapsed, partly due to the mineral depletion. Many trains were abandoned thereby producing the train cemetery. There are talks to build a museum out of the cemetery, I think they should, it would stop the budding banksys desecrating them (info thanks to wikipedia!).

Walking walk back through the heat there were many dogs around, some resting in the shade and some scavenging for food. Some dogs just don't realise how well off they are. Got to my hotel room and found the historic first ever Ireland win over the New Zealand All Blacks on the internet. Decided to watch that instead of the Wales match...