We set off at eight, shaking out the salt of our sandals, and soon hit the vast white nothingness of the Salar de Uyuni.

We were driving towards the Isla del Pescado (or Isla Inca Huasi before the Spanish renamed it) but it didn't seem to get any closer. When we finally got there, it turned out to be a little hill in the middle of the salt flats, with loads of giant cardones (cactuses or cacti?) on it, who were in bloom as well.

We walked to the top and took in the view, which could only be described by that lovely American phrase: 'It's like, you know, awesome!' Otherworldly is another word often used, and it's very apt, it's such an alien landscape that does not compare to anything else I have ever seen. When it has rained, the flats reflect the sky above and it feels like you are driving through clouds, the LP says. Unfortunately I didn't see that, but it was pretty impressive as it was.

We made a quick stop at Hotel Playa Blanca, another salt hotel which is no longer in use because its bad baños were contaminating the town of Colchani nearby. The people in the town win salt from the flats, all by manual labour. They make heaps of salt to let the water leak out, then they dry it in an oven, pack it up and ship it out to the rest of Bolivia and Chile. This is there only means of living, the woman told us when we stopped in Colchani.

We had lunch, being eyed up by the kids of Colchani. Precocious Abigail, even though only four, was clearly the leader of the pack, and the other kids followed her around. She was the only one talking to the tourists, the others were too shy.

I had my first encounter with Bolivian plumbing (or lack of it). I am already thoroughly used not to throw paper into the bowl, and even to flush with a bucket of water, but in this case there was neither bowl nor water to flush with. Just a pre-shaped hole in the cement, and two places to put your feet. Just squat and aim! The experience was well worth the boliviano I had to pay for the toilet paper.

We moved jeeps and got into the jeep of Abigails mom and dad, after saying a quick goodbye to Criso and Maria, who were immediately off on another tour. We drove through Uyuni and I admit I felt a bit anxious, as there seemed to be nothing but potholed dirt streets and poor, small houses, all closed and seemingly deserted.

But first we went to the Train cemetery, where old trains are rusting. Abigail was taking photography lessons with Steve's digital camera and clinbed on every train there. One of them sported the graffiti: 'Necessitamos mecanico con experiencia - urgente' (needed: mechanic with experience - urgent) which gives you some indication of the Bolivian sense of humour...

Back in Uyuni I said goodbye to Steve, Alissa, Aaron and Sheema, who were all returning to Chile, and found the Hotel Avenida just around the corner, where I snapped up the last room for 20 bolivianos (2 €).

I went out to discover if Uyuni had any more to offer than dirt roads and now that lunchtime (between one and three) was over, it suddenly seemed a whole new town. The main pedestrian road, Arce, was remarkably pleasant and there were lots of street stalls.

I went into the Banco de Credito to change some money and was ushered into the right queue by a police officer with a big gun. You don't want to argue with that. Even though I am only 1.62 m tall, I was virtually the tallest woman there, attracting lots of sneaky looks in all my whiteness.

I booked a bus to Potosí with a lady who kept calling me 'amiga', and bought a bottle of omnipresent Coca Cola from a lady who was nearly asleep in front of her stall. I sat down at the nice square in front of Arce, and got to talking to two Dutch people, asking for recommendations to go to Chile.

After the initial shock, I decided I really liked Uyuni. It's not the most happening town, but it seems to move at a leisurely pace. The gringos are much in evidence but the locals, even though very friendly, usually leave you alone.
Well, apart from Roberto. A girl had come to sit next to me, she turned out to be Spanish, from Galicia, and was called Bea. We talked a bit in English, and she told me she initially only wanted to visit Brasil but ended up in northern Argentina and now in Uyuni, going to Chile. She was living in Sweden, but quit her job and didn't really want to go back to Europe.

Roberto plonked himself down between the two of us and started asking ten questions, about our countries, our names, our taste in music... He was obviously most interested in the pretty Bea, but gentlemanly made me join the conversation, which clued Bea in to the fact that I spoke a bit of Spanish...

Roberto turned out to be 21, and Bea and I agreed he would break a lot of Bolivian hearts in a few years time, being very handsome and already well-versed in the art of charming the pants off you. He told us he wanted to see the world, especially Africa and India and was learning to be a computer specialist and trying to learn languages with this dream in mind. He asked us to write a 'recuerdo' on a piece of paper, as he collects them.

Bea and I agreed to have dinner together and met up an hour later. We ran into Menno, the guy I met on the way to San Pedro de Atacama, and his new, West-Flemish friend Pedro (from Kortrijk), who were on their way to catch the long distance bus to La Paz.

Bea made me speak Spanish the entire time, and asked lots of questions. It was very easy to talk to her, and we turned out to have the same likes (not having to follow anyone else's schedule) and dislikes (eating alone) about travelling alone. We had lovely fruit juice at a place where service was incredibly slow, even by South American standards, and she had to take off on her tour, so I went back to the hotel, to read up a bit on Potosí.