The Bus trip to hell, ahem, Sucre

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So, having been tricked by fate and the swarky ladies at the bus station, we were now holding two very expensive tickets on the last bus out of Cochabamba, eagerly awaiting departure.

And waiting.


And waiting.


Finally we set off. Only stop for a meal break 25 minutes down the road. Then everyone piled back on, complete with chicken, gravy and god knows what else, as we bumped our way along. Caitlin and I were sooo lucky. We had the middle seats in the back row. Our seats weren´t even level. My ass was numb before we left the bus station. Caitlin was lucky. Her seat neighbour was a 13 year old who had a wee crush. He spent the night staring, giggling and cuddling up to my curly haired friend. Oh how we love bus travel.

I was luckier. My neighbour got through several kgs of coca leaves during the night. And several litres of what appeared to be homemade rum. But it smelt worse. I couldn´t tell if he smelt better before or after the liquor. He was a very loving and sharing kind of man. He loved to share my seat. He also loved to share his opinion. Loudly. From Around 1am - just past 4am (when I think he passed out, thank god) he ranted. And ranted. A bit in spanish, a bit in his local language, a lot in the universal language of drunk old men. I won´t repeat what I understood him to say, my mother wouldn´t like it. And, like most men who´ve had too much (and women aren´t immune either), he gestured rather a lot. In my face. In Caitlin´s face. And that´s when the slapping and elbowing started. And that didn´t stop for a while either.

Eventually, over 12 hours later, we arrived in Sucre. I have never been so glad to get off a bus in my life. I only hope our next transportation adventure is somewhat more pleasant.....

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