We said goodbye to Swills in Sucre, and from there it was on to Argentina. After the awful journey from La Paz to Uyuni we contemplated sparing ourselves the anguish and getting a flight, but the prospect of 4 connecting flights and spending $500 USD didn't really appeal. So there was nothing for it but to travel the old fashioned way:

Stage 1: 11 hour overnight bus ride from Sucre to Tupiza

We left Sucre at about 5.30pm. About 20 mins later, the in-journey 'entertainment' started. Usually this consists of a film, or music videos, or sometimes documentaries about the area you're heading to. But in this instance, it was the Bolivian favourite: pan pipe music. And the speaker was directly above my head. Now I don't know whether James and I have a particularly low tolerance for pan pipes, but after half an hour we were both considering either ripping the speaker out or ripping our ears off. Nothing drowned it out. In the end I settled for the noise reduction offered by my ear plugs and tried to sleep, only to be jolted awake every time the singers shouted “Boli-via” at the top of their voices. It happened a lot.

The bus was mostly filled with locals, who I'd noticed had all got on clutching their alpaca blankets (de riguer in these parts), in anticipation of the cold Andean night ahead. We had one North Face jacket between us, James having packed his in his rucksack in the mistaken assumption that 'it can't get that cold.' Oh how wrong we were. The combination of the overnight temperature drop and the fact that the windows rattled open every 20 minutes or so meant it was bloody freezing. At about midnight his shivering got too much for both of us and we compromised with one layer of the jacket each and huddled together for warmth.

And it got worse. Bolivian roads have left a fair amount to be desired thus far: this trip was no exception. We thought we'd got away with it, but about 12.30am we left the paved road behind and endured another 3 hours of bone-shaking as the bus was driven over loose rocks at high speed. Not fun. Finally we arrived at Tupiza....at 3.30 in the morning, far earlier than we'd expected, and were cursorily dumped in the middle of town. We shared a taxi with another English girl to our hostel, and then stood outside for 20 mins whilst we rang the doorbell and tried to wake the night porter. With the help of some friendly Italians who happened to be smoking out of their window, we eventually roused him. Stupidly we'd only booked a hostel for the following evening, and unfortunately that night it was full. But the kindly night porter took pity on us and let us sleep on the sofa in the living room. He even gave us an alpaca blanket.

Stage 2: 3 hour bus ride from Tupiza to Villazon

We spent a day in Tupiza resting and recovering. The countryside around Tupiza is allegedly where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid came to a sticky end, and so there were all manner of tours offering horseback riding and adventure trekking. But we just didn't have the energy (plus, as I'd learnt in KL, horses move rather a lot when you're riding them). Instead we enjoyed hot showers, naps and lots of pizza, accompanied by more pan pipe music.

The next morning we wandered down to the bus station to pick up one of the many buses our hostel owners had assured us would be passing through from 9am, en route to Villazón, the Bolivian border town. They were wrong. Instead we had to wait almost 2 hours for the only bus heading in that direction to show up. The bus was rusty and falling apart: every time James moved, his chair did, and so did mine, and bits of the bus above our heads appeared to be held together with sellotape. As a result, we were pretty dubious about whether it would make it to its destination at all. Astoundingly, we got there with no breakdowns or flat tyres, just a few more bruises from the rocky road.

Stage 3: 4 ½ hour bus ride from La Quiaca to Tilcara

At first glance, northern Argentina was identical to southern Bolivia. The sleepy border town of La Quiaca used to be a railroad hub but now exists largely to serve the needs of passing tourists. We were just pleased because it gave us opportunity to withdraw some Argentinian pesos and enjoy the biggest meal ever (I ate the equivalent of at least 2 large chickens in escalope form), wincing all the while at the difference in currency. Bolivia really was cheap!

And then it was time to catch our bus. We'd been reassured by travellers coming the other way that Argentinian buses were fantastic, but there was not much evidence of that at La Quiaca. Another rickety old bus conveyed us the 4 ½ hours from there to Tilcara, but not before stopping in every tinpot village and at every random roadside bus stop in between. We were also stopped about half an hour across the border by the Argentinian police, who got everyone and everything off the bus, made us stand in lines and searched every bag, one by one. Except ours – clearly whatever they were looking for (Cocaine? Counterfeit pesos? Illegal pan pipe music?), foreigners are not under suspicion. A cursory glance at our passports and we were waved through.

At 8.30pm we arrived in Tilcara, in the heart of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, an enormous canyon which we drove through as the sun was setting – it was pretty spectacular, especially driving through as the sun was setting. We were astounded to find the town overrun with wealthy tourists, boutique hotels, and 4x4s. We had picked it because it was halfway between the border and Salta, but clearly someone, somewhere is touting it as a must-see tourist destination. I'm still not sure why.

The numbers of people (and our lack of a reservation) meant that we had to trudge between hostels looking for somewhere to lay our weary heads for the night. We tried everywhere from standard hostels to boutique hotels to cabañas, without success, but it was 5th time lucky. I am not sure whether it was tiredness, desperation, or both, but we found ourselves checking into what was effectively a hippie commune run by two brothers offering daily yoga, meditation and music therapy. They were nice enough, but the bongo music which continued into the early hours wasn't. Once again, it was time for the earplugs.

Stage 4: 5 hour bus ride from Tilcara to Salta (and civilisation!)

The next morning we made a sharp exit and headed straight for the bus station, in the hope there'd be an early morning bus for us to make our escape. Oh no. Not only was there no bus until midday, but the computer system was down, meaning there could be no bookings. We'd simply have to hang around and hope there was space on the bus in a few hours time.

I made an attempt to head to the local pre-Inca ruins, but the combination of hot weather and lack of inclination meant I soon turned back. James, much more sensibly, sat in the sunshine and read. We grabbed an early lunch of empañadas (mini Cornish pasties filled with mince and spices or chicken) and then headed to the bus station for the imminent arrival of our transportation. Fortunately the computer system was up and running again so we at least knew we'd be getting on it.

And we waited. And we waited. Finally about an hour late the bus showed up. But it was new. It had reclining seats. And air conditioning. And an in-journey film. And free super-sweet coffee. We were in heaven, especially when we stopped halfway and a guy got on selling fresh sandwiches. In fact, we were both almost a little disappointed when the bus arrived in Salta, a mere 5 hours later.