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Published: January 11th 2007
Uyuni
This is the town where it all began.117 1/2 hours. That's roughly the amount of time I have spent on a bus over the last few weeks (starting from December 18th and not counting day trips). Just in case you think it's a typo, I'll throw the number out there again: 117 1/2.
By now, I'm perfectly happy on any bus, with or without roaches, bus cama or semi cama seats or broken ones, on time or not. It's just something you get used to after the first 60 hours or so. But I am dedicating this blog entry to a very interesting day of bus travel through southwestern Bolivia and into Argentina. And I can say DAY because my travel experience lasted for 23 hours total.
Let's begin in Uyuni, a dusty town with one main street and its only sighting of green in a somewhat appealing plaza. I arrived with a thunderstorm to Uyuni on Friday evening at around 6pm, after 3 days out on the Salt Flats. My plan was to take a train to Tupiza that evening, because the train is supposed to be a nice experience, and it fit in nicely with my itinerary. But it wasn't meant to be: when
Generous People
The Dutch girls and me, imitating the 'condor' rock you see in the background. In this valley of rocks, you can believe you see all kinds of creatures. Whales, turtles... I poked my head into the travel agency door (they promised to get me the ticket while I was gone), I got an insecure smile and a sorry - the tickets were sold out. My options were to go to the train station at 10pm and hope that someone who had bought a ticket from an earlier stop had missed the train. Or, I could take an early morning bus that arrived the following afternoon. Because of the unlikelihood of getting a train seat, I opted for the latter. Luckily, the two Dutch girls from my Salar trip offered me a spot in their hotel room, which was very generous of them. So instead of getting on the train, I went to dinner with them, then packed up my stuff and went to sleep.
Now begins the actual travel day. My alarm woke me up at 3.45 AM and gave me just enough time to shuffle over to the bus station by 4.30. I almost didn't make it because the hotel doors were locked and no one was around. I had to yell 'Hola' up the stairs a half dozen times before a sleepy employee helped me out. IOt's
Atocha
Adobe homes climbing up the hill from the railroad tracks. fine because, since Uyuni is so small, the bus station was close to the hotel. Bus station is a poor choice of words. I mean: street corner where buses pull up and nearby which the companies have tiny rooms with tiny tables as offices. At 5.00 the bus left, full of people.
We arrived in Atocha around 7.30. It's a cute little town, which seems to have lots of self pride. The colorful facades of almost all the buildings in the downtown are well-kept (it's not toooo difficult when your downtown is a street and a half) and even the squat, adobe homes climbing the hillside have some character. There's a nice plaza and a small market and that's about it. In this market area, when we pulled into the station, everyone got off. I was left sitting alone on the bus wondering why, until the driver told me we have a break until 10am. Okay, 2 and a half hours in this town....I took a walk around and was finished in about 10 minutes. Sadly, the edges of the town are filthy, filled with thin streams of water carrying garbage and the stench of urine, stretching out to
The Unfortunate Outskirts of Atocha
Things to Notice:
1. Beautiful mountains in the background.
2. Man saddling up donkeys.
3. Woman dressed in traditional Aymara style, including wide skirt (or wide hips)
4. Trash everywhere. Imagine also, the smell of urine.
5. Pigs in the background.
6. Irony: The sign reads - It is prohibited to throw garbage or defecate. the mining areas in the hills. To make it perfectly cliched, there are even pigs wallowing in the mud. I really felt some disappointment that this cute little town with beautiful views and pride in its image could allow this filth right next to their homes. I think this is one of the things Bolivia doesn't quite have down yet. But I liked Atocha. It's the kind of town where people walk along the railroad tracks, and where they saddle up their donkeys before heading off for the day.
So I settled down in a sunny spot on the plaza to plan the next few days of my trip. Slowly, around me, Atocha was waking up. Dogs chased each other through the plaza and fought over the one female dog (poor girl). Cumbia music floated from a window nearby, and a medley of Bolivian songs flooded the air while the music shop owner tried to decide which song would be best to start the day. Little boys raced on their bicycles. Market stalls started to fill up. At one moment, I looked up to see my bus - the one I had arrived on, which was supposedly resting until
Tupiza Bus Station
A pretty typical small town Bolivian bus terminal. 10.00 - driving away, out of town!! I jumped up, waved at it, and the guy stopped. He told me that now there would be another bus, leaving at 10.30, for Tupiza. My backpack was on that other bus and I had to get a seat with the woman in the company's office. Thank goodness he saw me!! Well, my wait was extended but I lasted until 10.30. After checking that my backpack was, in fact, on the bus, I settled in my seat with a snack and watched the activity around me. The driver pulled out a toolbox and unscrewed some compartment on the dash. He stuck his finger inside, then pulled it out and shook his head uncertainly. (I'm not sure but I think he was checking the oil....usually I do this under the hood of my car, with the metal rod that's there.) After pouring in a half gallon or so of water (!!!), he seemed satisfied.
Outside, there's a commotion among the buses. They're tightly packed into a small space but in between, an old woman is walking around selling empanadas, two teenagers are juggling a soccer ball, and several people are trying desperately to
Por fin! Argentina!
I finally made it back to my beloved Argentina...full of meat (yuck) and dulce de leche (yum). sell last-minute bus tickets (Tupiza! Tupiza!). The other passengers start to pile on, with bundles and packages and small children in tow. A whole family squeezes into two seats, mom and dad with their butts actually touching seats and their three children stuffed in between, wherever there is space. My seatmate comes onto the bus. It's a large woman dressed in traditional Aymara clothing, which means several layers of sweaters and shawls topped with a blue and white gingham smock, complementing a wide-hipped (I can't tell if all Aymara women have large hips or if the skirt style just accentuates that region) colorful skirt. A navy blue ski hat covers her two very long braids. She drags a box and a large bundle and places them by her feet. We're squished. I have no space in my seat because she takes up half of it, but soon I forget that because this woman starts to talk to me. I, the only gringo on the bus, stick out to everyone. Kids are staring at me when they walk by, the driver knew me instantly before I said a word, and everyone is obviously a bit curious.
My seatmate is so sweet. She asks with wondering eyes (you know, eyebrows raised, head tilted a bit) why I am here, how I ended up here, and how long the flight from the United States is. Her daughter is studying in Costa Rica currently, and they keep in touch through the Internet. Don't I miss my family? Isn't my family worried about me? Do we use the Internet to talk, too?
We arrive in Tupiza at 2:45....I am instantly sad that I changed my plans to skip over this place. I mentally note that I MUST return to spend some time in this green valley. With some magical luck, when I get off the bus and start asking around for buses to Villazon (the border town before entering Argentina), a woman points to one and says, that one's going there (the next bus to Villazon was 3 am!). I pay the driver, he loads my backpack, and I hop on. No ticket, nothing. Except the slip of paper I get for paying the 1.50 bolivianos (less than 20 cents US) 'terminal use fee' to the girl standing by the door. This is something I have seen all over Bolivia. You buy your bus ticket but to actually get on the bus you need to show this terminal use ticket. Nobody tells you about it, you just have to know. Anyway, on the bus, three different people came on to sell pre-scooped ice cream cones, so I had to buy one. It wasn't very good, but I liked the novelty of it. Our trip to Villazon took us through a green section of Bolivia and through a heavy storm. The driver handled it well, though. These guys are experienced. Here I saw a perfect example of Latin machismo. Several times, mud flying everywhere and the engine screaming, we bolted uphill across a flowing stream! Just straight through. All the male passengers half stood up in their seats each time to check if he was going to make it. The driver couldn't let his pride be hurt, so we made it, every time. One time we literally drove up the stream, about a kilometer. We were like a boat but not a boat. Gotta love that machismo.
Villazon is nothing special and it was even gloomier due to the rain. I was welcomed to the town by a half dozen people elbowing each other to poke their heads into our bus door and yell 'Salta!'. How nice (please note sarcasm here), everyone is worried about the passengers, they want to help with our bags and make sure we have our next leg of the journey settled. I ended up in an office buying a ticket for San Salvador de Jujuy, the capital of Argentina's Jujuy province, in the northwest of the country.
An hour before my bus departure, the company gathered its foreign travelers and piled our bags on a cart, to be pushed by a withering little old man whose language was illegible (either because of lack of teeth or lack of education, or both). He persevered undeterred down the street while we sloshed through puddles trying to keep up. My feet were instantly soaked (keep this in mind for later when I end up on a freezing bus with wet shoes) but in five minutes we arrived at the Argentina migrations office. Just as we were about to join the line (following instructions from the bag pusher....bad idea, especially when we all sensed something was weird), a man from the bus company came running, yelling at the bag pusher. He hadn't told us to stop at the Bolivian side! We would have been in trouble trying to check in with Argentine officials without the Bolivian exit stamp (duh...) So we backtracked 50 yards to the Bolivian exit office. I was given a bit of a hard time for my documents but nothing major. Then we waited forever on the Argentine side. So long that, by the time I finally made it through, it was 8.00 PM (Argentina time). The problem? My bus was leaving at 8. We hailed a cab to the La Quiaca bus station (La Quiaca is the Argentine equivalent of Villazon) and when we pulled into the station, I saw my bus...inching away....while the driver carefully counted the change...inching, then turning...no that's not right, one peso more....then speeding away. I had missed my bus. You know it's the worst when you miss it by SO close! I even ran, waving my arms, looking like an idiot because I am certain not a single person on that bus was looking in my direction.
La Quiaca's station was packed with every passenger waiting for a bus that night, because the pouring rain kept them all cramped into the one narrow hallway. For 2 and a half hours I stood, leaning on my backpack, miserable because of my wet feet, waiting for the next bus. People watching was nice entertainment but I have to admit, also, that I was in a cranky mood, enough to make tears well up in my eyes a little. I had gotten up at 3:45 that day, only to sit on buses or wait for them, and all I wanted was to take a hot shower and get into a horizontal position. The closest I came was to a damp, cold bus ride with two seats to myself. On the bus, I took off my shoes and wrapped my feet in my fleece. I slept with my hat, gloves, and sweater on.
At 2 something AM, we arrived in Jujuy. I practically ran off the bus to grab my bag but had to wait while all the Argentines and Bolivians pushed ahead of me. So ironic. I am polite and wait in what is very obviously a line but everyone else (except the people in line in front of me) just pretends you are invisible and, just as you stretch your arm out with the baggage claim ticket, they jump in front. It really makes no sense.
I had staked out some residenciales near the bus station so I could just find a bed as quickly as possible, but of the four I walked to, all were full! By now it was almost 3 so I settled for defeat and hailed a cab. He took me to a nice hotel in the center of the city and, let me tell you, I slept well.
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Elvira
non-member comment
Miss your car?
You have become a seasoned bus rider. Just imagine how strange (but wonderful) it would feel while driving your own car in about 3 weeks.