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We were sad to leave Argentina, and even sadder when we arrived in Villazon, a Bolivian border town.
The ride up to La Quiaca on theArgie side was spectacular, winding through multi coloured mountains, followed by a smooth, quick border crossing.
Went to the first hotel we saw, opposite the bus station and got a room, which looked clean enough at a glance, but was without water, clean sheets and a seemingly endless loop of a brass band on the much publicised tv´s only channel.
Set my watch off the large clock straight after crossing, knew there was a one hour difference, the clock was exactly an hour ahead.
Walk around Villazon, relalise it´s a hell hole and we should just get the train first thing to Tupiza. Muy bien. Next day though Caroline felt a bit crap, travelling anywhere is difficult if you´re feeling like shite, so we decided we could manage another night. Tarija next morning instead, bus at 9, early night.
Except, of course, the whole town was throwing a massive fiesta and the main venue was directly below our bed.
Tits.
Got up about 8, after an excellent, dream filled, rem soaked sleep (!), pack and down
to bus station - which was pitch black due to a power cut - and waited for the chica to open the office. Half 8, said a bloke. It was already quarter to 9. Hmm.
A que hora matey?
6.45, gringo.
So Bolivia was an hour behind Argentina. Not ahead. Oops.
Back to bed.
Later that day, we´re walking through the streets of Tarija and it´s that damn nice we decide to look for an appt to rent for a month.
Got one sorted inside a couple of days, and we´ve been in a rooftop appt with a terrace overlooking the city and surrounding mountians for just shy of a month. Cheaper than the cheapest hostel, too.
In the tourist info place, we were collecting some fliers and I asked the guy if there was any football here. Yes, tonight he says. So we went to my first South American game, turns out to be a classico and our guy from the office is an ex player. Muy bien! Ciclon Tarija v Union Tairja and we now have a team to support (Ciclon). Considering the importance of the game and it´s derby status, there was a somewhat
disappointing crowd of 2,000. Had plenty of passion though, bless them. 2-1 Ciclon in the end.
We signed up for Spanish lessions with a lovely lady and have been studying every day for nearly a month, but you can probably tell by the way I´ve liberally sprinkled Spanish words and phrases throughout this entry. ¿Si?
They love their fireworks here. Don´t give a shit if it´s daylight and some of the explosive wonder is obscured, or if it´s 8 am for that matter. It´s going to desensitize me to the sound of Columbian gunshots.
Tarija is dripping in wealth, drunk on the profits of the vineyards and high on the gas subsidies, and it shows. The local car wankers love to decorate their ´biles in adverts and blue leds and drive endlessly around the squares, waving lazily to their subjects. It is though a very clean city and amazingly - this is going to sound unbelievable to Britain - your rubbish is collected 5 DAYS a week. Not twice a month. How civilized.
There´s other reasons besides prompt refuse removal that have enamoured us to Tarija. It´s winter, so dry. And 30Celsius. Another foreign concept to those
of you drowing in a cold, rubbish covered and all too typical English summer. The locals are very friendly too, crime seems to be practically none existent (remarkable in a city of 130,000) and the scenery is fantastic. We went out to a club the other sat night, which again was remarkable because I found myself quite enjoying a dance remix of U2, such is the dearth of good music here my standards have clearly lowered, but it was more the 18th birthday party for a local chick with her generous friends that made it. ´Have another Jagermeister after this beer, if you like´.
I was somewhat pissed, which was new.
We´re not looking forward to leaving our apt this weekend, it means having to eat out again all the time, which has been another feather to Tarijan cap in the form of it´s 2 (TWO) vegetarian restaurants although damaging to the budget. No hostels, it seems, have kitchens for guest use.
Next up in about 12 days, La Paz to meet a friend of Caroline´s and Lake Titcaca, Isla del Sol and 2 weeks of acting like tourists rather then pretending to be locals. Shame to
leave Tarija- we´re starting to tot up places we´re sad to leave behind, but much better than regretting every destination.
Our method of travelling has been pleasing too, we´re getting a feel of places rather than just passing through and casting a cursorary glance, getting to know locals rather than saying only "dos paqutes de cigarillos, par favor".
We´re considering flying to La Paz (50 mins vs 25 hours on the bus) even though it would be breaking my vow to fully avoid internal South American flights, but there´s an awful lot of bus crashes here - certainly more than planes!
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