It´s Always An Adventure

(no photos due to slow internet and lack of patience)

I have arrived in Bolivia, and am finally tucked into my bed, my poor body begging for sleep. Today was one of those hard days on the road. Too bad it was the first. But now that I have reached my destination, I can laugh about the journey.

I spent my last day in BA with Pati. We went shopping, ate McDonalds burgers, went to the movies, went for coffee and dulce de leche stuffed medias lunas. Friday night we snuggled into her bed as we have done so many times for some Law & Order. We ordered sushi to celebrate our last night together, and of course, finished off with huge bowls of ice cream. Saturday morning we got up early and had coffee before I gathered my things and we sobbed muffled in each other's shoulders, tears streaming down our faces. One of the hardest goodbyes of my life.

Salvador helped me down to the cab, and just like that I was on the road again. I met Emily at Retiro, and we climbed onto the bus for our 26-hour journey. We had much to catch up on, so the first few hours flew. It was pretty uneventful for the most part. A few stops to fill up on hot water for mate and pick up more passengers, the usual. We lamented at how we payed for semi-cama seating, but that we must have been given the bus for semi-cama seating for midgets. Because that was not semi-cama. I didn't even have enough room to cross my legs! But we know that from what we've heard that compared to Bolivian buses this is maximum comfort. So we dealt.

The excitement started at about 4am this morning when we were jolted awake by what sounded like a huge rock hitting one of the bus windows, followed by what seemed like the breaking of one of the windows. The bus stopped, the driver got out to inspect the damage. We kept going. About 20 minutes later, we were awoken by the glass from the window shattering into the bus. The driver again stopped to check it out, but we kept going. This happened two more times before he finally broke all the glass out, pushing it into the road,  covered the window, and we kept going. NBD.

Emily got off the bus at 10am, and I kept going, knowing I only had 2 more hours before my arrival at the border in La Quiaca. Not. Though our bus was supposed to arrive at 12, we rolled into the station at 4:30. Still no big deal. I had plenty of time to cross to Bolivia and catch a bus to Tupiza before it got dark.

So I started the walk toward immigration to cross the border by foot. My bags are a little heavier than before due to my tent/sleeping bag addition, and the fact that I've lost my packing mo-jo. Because I'm sometimes clumsy, I tripped and faceplanted on top of my bag with my computer and camera, with the weight of my backpack on top of me. Literally, laid out. And yes, it's ok to laugh about it now. This nice man we had noticed on the bus (because he was a nice older man concerned for the environment who was wearing a shirt that said "save water, shower with a friend") helped me out. Super embarassing. And I couldn´t stand up on my own because of the weight of my bags. This poor man had to use all his strength to help me to my feet. Oh, I wish I could have seen it from outside of myself.

I kept on, and every person I asked about how to get to the border was nicer than the next, all so eager to help! Once on the Argentine side, I waited for 2 hours before I was ushered to the bridge between the two countries. There I waited another hour when I was pulled out of line by one of the guards because I'm from the US and had to fill out the paperwork for the visa to enter Bolivia. I finished that paperwork, and was all set to go with my crisp US$100 and US$50 bills ready to pay the visa fee. I had been warned about how they could be picky about that, so I took extra care.

After waiting another 30 minutes for the man who was trying to help me, he came back with the 100 dollar bill and told me he couldn't accept it because it had a tear in it. If only you could have seen this reported "tear". I do not exaggerate that you needed a microscope to see it. He said he couldn't accept said bill, and that I would have to give him another one. Isn't that convenient? I didn't have another one. I tried to change money in BA on Friday at 3 different places. Impossible. It was a miracle that I came by these US dollars in the first place.

So I got panicky. Plus I'd been on a bus for 30.5 hours, so I was sort of tired. We went back and forth about the possibilities. He needed a new bill. I didn't have one. I was stuck IN BETWEEN two countries and knew the ATM wouldn't give me US money either. He just kept asking me what we should do. Like he was calling my bluff. He told me the bank wouldn't accept a perfectly acceptable bill. I thought that was stupid.

He told me the next option would be to go change the dollars for bolivianos then back to dollars. I explained that I would lose money. He said he couldn't accept the 100. So I got huffy. And I let him know it, but along with huffy came tears. I picked up my massively heavy belongings and huffed over to that casa de cambio. You know what? They don't even have dollars. So the guy told me I could sell him my US$100 then buy THE SAME ONE back with bolivianos, losing money on both transactions. He sent me to the other casa de cambio where I was told the same.

I went back to my friend at Immigration and explained. He stood firm that he couldn't accept the bill. And then the tears really came. And he told me to calm down, but I couldn't, I was in too deep. He then went to the casa de cambio and by golly, they let him change those dollars. Or something. I don't know. So he eventually accepted the money and gave me my change in bolivianos. Change that I just realized now is the equivalent to US$2 when I needed 15. Ya fue.

I finally walk out of Immigration at 8:45, which means it took me 4 hours to cross that border. But I crossed that border, hobbled up to the bus station, and took a mini-bus, reminiscent to those of Guatemala, to Tupiza. As we piled into the mini-van, the driver asked for everyone`s names. No better way to stick out as a Gringa when everyone else is Juan, María, Martín, and then I holler out Kelly. Everyone in the van started repeating the name trying to pronounce it. It was cute.

As we rolled out of town the driver cranked up the country/cumbia music and we jammed the whole way to Tupiza while the little woman next to me yammered in a high pitched voice on her cell phone telling the whole town she was on her way.