Into Bolivia - the long way round

Five days of drinking cocktails and wine under the desert sun was followed by the inevitable 'what next' moment. The destination for everyone seemed to be Bolivia, although each of us had very different ideas of how to get there. The quickest way would be directly across from Chile. I, however, had to return the car to Salta, the equivalent of driving from Inverness back to London to pick up a bus ticket to Norway.

I´d be lying if I said there wasn´t a tiny bit of self-interest behind inviting them back to Salta with me. Bolivia wasn´t the sort of place I felt comfortable entering alone with my limited Espanol, and here I was with three Spanish speakers of varying ability, from fluent to reasonably proficient. The main reason, however, was that we made a good group, were having a lot of fun, and i thought it would be a shame to break it up after only five days. As the senior citizen/sage of the group, I proposed the idea and was delighted to find that everyone felt the same way, particularly since Noah and Rahel had never been to northern Argentina. One final, glorious sunset on the roof of Hostal Neuvo Amanacer, and we set off the next morning on the road back to Argentina.

Adios San Pedro, the Milky Way and more comets than I have ever seen.

 It was interesting to finally catch what I had missed that night driving all alone in the dark.When you can actually see something, the experience is very different.

The high pass. Almost level with volcano top.

On the drivers´ blogs, this road is talked about with both affection and awe.

Nearing Argentina, one of the salt lagoons.

Made it to Pasa de Jama. 3 more hours of flat nothing to go...

...before this outrageous descent into Purmamarca.

Could have gone straight back to Salta from here, but a unanimous decision was made to hike around the UNESCO protected Rock of Seven Colours and stay for two nights at the excellent Malka Hostel in a small, nearby town called Tilcara.

There was talk of spending a few more nights here but the car rental company, laundry and all manners of errands demanded a swift return to Salta. It was a good thing the sheer ghastliness of the city hostel took away any sentimentality I might have had about leaving Argentina because when the 6-hour coach finally rolled into the border town of Villazon, having anticipated Bolivia for so long, I was finally ready for it.