More Authentic Bolivian Travel

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Everything about the bus system in Bolivia that you've ever heard is true. No what am I saying, its worse.

Turns out that our seven hour bus ride is on a bus with no bathroom, and dodgy everything else. This and coffee and coca tea don´t mix well. The road from Uyuni to Potosi consists of dirt and rock tracks up and down the Andes with no guard rails, no rules, no speed limits, and cliffs off either side of the 'road'.

The first 3 minutes of the bus ride passed quietly enough. It was a sunny day and the scenery makes the window seat a good option. However, on minute 4 our busdriver nearly hit a toyota truck careening down the mountain, at about the same ridiculous speed our bus driver was going, and decided he would swerve to the cliff side. Our back tire briefly went over the side, and the dirt track was crumbling over the edge. The driver didn´t slow down a bit. I considered that I might die in a horrible flipping over 100 times accident down a mountainside because I had entrusted my life to a bolivian driver. I had to close my eyes and not look out the window: for the next 7 hours.

Back to the bus itself. Real life Bolivians have to take these things back and forth to their little mud brick huts every night. This might be a good time to mention that Bolivians have it very hard. It is a very very poor country, with a lot of political upheaval, that has most people just scraping by. The average Bolivian does not have a shower, flush toilet, reasonable mattress, potable water, or more broadly, an education. Don´t get me wrong, its a lovely country but it is what it is. Anyhow, just thought you should know. This means child labor is a real thing down here, working in mines, farms, street stalls, everywhere. Lets hope the new administration down here avoids corruption and does some good by these people.

Approximately 3.5 hours into our busride, the driver finally FINALLY stops. The entire female portion, and most of the male portion of the passengers flew out of the bus looking for a suitable potty spot. This is always much easier for men, of course. grrrr.

We were at a roadside mudbrick house surrounded by pigs. Heck, but who cares, I was no longer turning yellow. Back at the bus, 3 minutes later, I found that the busdriver, and some other guy were under the bus, which was now jacked up, doing something suspicious to the front left tire. He was probably putting some duct tape around the front axle. Anyhow, all the men were now standing around nodding their heads like they had any idea what was going on. Hannah noted that all men do this in all countries.

Fortunately, the duct tape must have worked, because 45 minutes later we were back on the bus continuing on our way to Potosi.

It was a long trip. And I was in no mood. Ipod died. Nearly fell of cliff, Aaron and Mark were making fun of me for worrying about bus death, had to pee with pigs, and didn´t drink a sip of liquid, as judging by my first 3 hours, there is nothing more miserable on a nonpaved mountain road then having to go. Oh wait, except flipping down a cliff in a bus to our deaths.

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