The Death Train

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The long and arduous journey into the Pantanal, I must say, was probably the most surreal in my life. Due to Bolivian bus strikes, getting a bus out of Sucre was tricky but we managed to find a very local, very busy and very smelly bus heading to Santa Cruz where we would catch a train to the Pantanal. With our bags safely strapped to the top of the bus, we settled in for the long ride ahead. Cue the annoying fat person to sit next to me.

What can only be described as the Bolivian Vicky Pollard sits down beside me. For 14 hours she leaned over me, trapping my arm. She strived to keep me awake by chewing gum and blowing bubbles in my ear all through the night. And when she leaned over me to look out the window I was nearly in tears. Harrowing. The burst tyre in the middle of the night was actually a relief as she left the bus for few minutes, returning with chocolate and coke, ofcourse, and proceeded to gobble them like an excited toddler.

It was pouring with rain when the torture ended in Santa Cruz. The train station was close so we went and booked our tickets for the ¨Death Train¨. It´s a long, slow train from Bolivia into Brazil and the Pantanal. We boarded in the early afternoon and again settled down for the long trip ahead. Cue the huge group of extremely weird mormons to fill our carriage. No fewer than 20 of them, dungerees and trucker hat wearing men, women with matching purple dresses. All very strange looking, talking a language we didn´t recognise. The guy next to me, a cross-eyed, ginger mormon - munched through a pack of nuts and spat the shells at my feet, never taking his lopsided gaze off one fixed point. You could not write this stuff.

The rest of the journey was very enjoyable; constant cheap refreshments were on offer from locals when ever we stopped, and the scenery was terrific.

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Comments

[Turner]

Quality
Boys, all looks quality, keep the stories coming!

[Luci]

your posts are useful, am about to do the that bit! email me anything useful... [e-mail] ta!