Uyuni, Bolivia

Uyuni is a dusty, grey, windwept town on the Bolivian altiplano. In the town itself, a colourful market sells toiletries, pots and pans, tools, shoes and clothing. Small bowler hats sit on the heads of elder ladies, although the younger generation wears more modern clothing. A couple of kilometers south along the railway line is Uyuni's principle (only?) tourist attraction, a cemetery for trains. Rubbish and plastic bags adorn the few shrubs of the surrounding landscape, mangy dogs run around in packs, fighting in the dirt nearby. Many rusty shells of engines and carriages are strewn around between twisted bits of metal, rails and wheels.

I had decided against staying a night in Uyuni, instead opting to catch a train at 0230 to Villazón on the border with Argentina, en route to Salta and Buenos Aires where I had to organize my journey home. In the morning, we came across an unforseen obstacle, several large rocks had fallen off a nearby mound and landed on the rails, breaking these in two and obstructing the way of passing trains. Luckily by this time it was day, otherwise we could have ended up in the cemetery ourselves.

Much to my surprise, instead of rolling back to the last village (10 minutes back up the line), the driver opted to wait, while heavy lifting gear was brought from who knows where, and many men appeared with picks, shovels and sledgehammers. Six hours later we were on the move again, and I made it to the Argentinian border with an hour to spare before the Bolivian immigration office closed.