We freely abandon the creature comforts of our soft daily lives. “Really, there are no showers? We have to walk 20 minutes to find water?” No problem. We return to a beautiful simplicity: drinking directly from the source. We visit unprecedented carnage upon the appetizing chickens of the markets of Uyuni, our canines rediscovering their primary function: to tear meat. One week, eight days, 10 days? I don’t know anymore. The days flow into one another, and time evaporates. The boulders crystallize into wind-hewn diamonds.
Then, our 4x4 driver returns, and disappointment darkens our wild faces — after establishing more than 100 problems up to V12, and with thousands left to do, we have to return home. The bus at Uyuni is jam-packed. We wedge our way on board and prepare to endure the 14-hour ride back to La Paz. Poor Tony struggles with claustrophobia. Ziza tosses and turns, and tries to make herself smile. Steph is stoic, getting knocked by the errant elbows and feet of people jockeying for space.