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We were the first out of San Juan - possibly a novel experience for Roman. I rode shootgun and George got a taster of life at the back of the Land Cruiser, where he fashioned protective headgear from his gloves. After half an hour in the car we came upon another Bolivian military post, where the commander was sat next to a desk and his troop sat with rifles on the concrete steps next to him. We formed a queue and presented our passports for inspection - a task designed to impress his authority on us and his troop. Half an hour later we were flagged down by a man and his wife, whose car had broken down further on whilst on their way to Uyuni. The man was hoping that Roman could provide him and his wife with a lift to Uyuni - but Roman declined. After some exceptionally bumpy roads we desended on to the Salar de Uyuni - claimed to be the world's largest salt lake, ahead stretched a flat, blindingly white plain, as far as the eye could see. After three-quarters of an hour we asked Roman to stop the car and we got out onto the salt, amused and unbelieving that this huge plain was salt, plain ordinary rock salt. We tasted the salt, yep it tasted of salt and took photos of the view.
Our first official stop was at an island of volcanic rock, with towering cactii, rabbits with tails and llamas (in the tour itinerary this was supposed to be the Isla de Pescado, but it was another nearby island whose name escapes me). We explored the small island, admiring the views across the salt flats before eating lunch. After lunch Roman drove us to a hotel made entirely of salt, the floor was covered in salt, the bricks were salt bricks, the chairs, tablets and beds were made of salt tablets - quite unbelievable, this country just doesn't make sense: kids with guns, rabbits with tails and buildings and their contents fashioned out of salt. From the salt hotel Roman took us to a salt mine, where the top inch of the salt is scraped into a mound on the floor before being shipped off. From the salt mine we set off for Uyuni, everyone settled down for the hour or so drive, after fifty minutes the car glided to a stop, Roman's prognosis: we had run out of petrol, he had calculated to run out in Uyuni and didn't have any more with him!
So here we were in the desert, a ten minute drive - hour's walk from our destination. We'd been told to expect something to go wrong on the tour and I guess we had become complacent. Perhaps this was retirbution for not giving the man and his wife a lift to Uyuni, or maybe Roman should buy more petrol and get his fuel gauge fixed. Not to worry we'll wait for a passing vehicle, flag it down and buy enough petrol to get us to Uyuni. The first car turned up after 10 minutes, unfortunately they used diesel and our car uses petrol. The second car - another 4-wheel drive tour vehicle (they would stop for another tour vehicle in distress, wouldn't they?) sped past us with headlights flashing - in S. America this means get out of my way. At last a third car came by, Roman flagged them down and they agreed to sell him 2 liters of petrol - which Roman syphoned from their spare tank and into the Land Cruiser. Finally we made it into Uyuni, but Roman had blown his tip. We quickly found a hotel and settled in.
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