Leaving at 7am seemed like a good idea at the time. We set our alarm for 5:45am and departed Andaluz Hostel by 6:30am. We hoofed it, in the dark, to the Salta bus terminal and felt quite proud of ourselves for getting up so early. After all, we could sleep later on the 7 hour ride to Bolivia.
The ride to Bolivia was filled with orangey green Andean landscapes that stretched out past the horizon. There would be no sleeping on this bus... okay, it wasn't just the scenery that kept me awake. My legs were straddling my backpack in a cramped window seat. I snuggled up in my sleeping bag and enjoyed the piping hot, sweetened latte that Mark ordered from a lady near the door of the bus (I love majority world vending. Such service!). Then I noticed a sign on the bus wall: wifi. On a bus in the Andes? Fletcha bus! That $60 was money well spent. The internet worked, off and on, for about an hour or two, then quit, mid-way through a Kindle update... which meant that I lost my Lonely Planet guidebook- which I needed to prepare for Bolivia. Seriously, ipad. Seriously.
By 2:30pm, we reached Quiaca, the border town, la fronterra, for Bolivia. We picked up our packs and walked through the dry dust and wind, about 3/4 of a mile to the border crossing. I was ecstatic to see the women's wide-brimmed hats and knee-high rainbow striped skirts that people had told us about. What they hadn't mentioned was the flesh-toned old-lady stalkings and alpaca knit leg-warmers. I wish I had a picture of those- and the kids. I don't care what anyone says, Bolivian kids are some of the cutest in the world. Their cheeks are pink and round, and they're happy little things, bouncing on their mother's backs, or attempting to keep pace like little eskimos all bundled up in their knit sweaters. It's all too cute!
It took about an hour to cross the border because the guards wouldn't accept our American dollars with any blemishes, even slight tears. Mark had to run all over town to get a copy of our passports and Boliviano currency while I sat on our stack of bags, in the dust and sun. There were plenty of people around, so I felt completely safe, though the dust did a number on my sweater, jeans, and hair. I had heard that there were no hot showers in Bolivia, so I was a little worried about all of the dirt I was accumulating, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I resolved to give myself permission to be covered in dirt for the next two weeks.
Once in Bolivia, we hopped a taxi to the bustling bus station, made our way around the stacks of parcels, and bought our bus tickets north to Uyuni. We couldn't believe how cheap it was for the next 7 hour ride (50 Bolivianos, less than $10 USD). Good thing, too, because we only used a portion of it. We got off early in Tupiza based on a recommendation of some fellow travelers.
During the bus ride, I noticed a gentleman nursing a bottle that he kept "hidden" in his jacket. I also noticed he was chewing leaves from a bag. I pointed it out to Mark who immediately got excited, reached for change in his pocket and tapped the guy on the shoulder. The guy shared a handful of leaves and a piece of alkaline chalk looking substance. He refused to accept payment. Instead, I fished around in our bags for an orange to give him in return. Then, we tried chewing on some coca leaves to pass the time. It numbed our tongues and didn't seem to be as much of an appetite suppressant as I expected, but it was fun to have a local experience none-the-less. By the way, coca leaves are totally legal in Bolivia. Everyone chews them as a general cure-all. They're non-habit forming.
In Tupiza, we found a little hostel with private rooms for 60 bolivianos per night. They claimed to have wifi, but it was "out of service" the first day and slower than dial up the second. As I unpacked for bed, I realized I was missing my Tempurpedic pillow. I realized I must have left it on the bed in Argentina. It was dark, and I didn't see it. I'm grieved. To know Mark and I is to know that we take our pillows everywhere (camping, India, Africa, home visits), and now it's gone. I'm sad, but hey, at least I still have my sleeping bag, and this morning I got a hot shower and banana pancakes. So, welcome to Bolivia.
The ride to Bolivia was filled with orangey green Andean landscapes that stretched out past the horizon. There would be no sleeping on this bus... okay, it wasn't just the scenery that kept me awake. My legs were straddling my backpack in a cramped window seat. I snuggled up in my sleeping bag and enjoyed the piping hot, sweetened latte that Mark ordered from a lady near the door of the bus (I love majority world vending. Such service!). Then I noticed a sign on the bus wall: wifi. On a bus in the Andes? Fletcha bus! That $60 was money well spent. The internet worked, off and on, for about an hour or two, then quit, mid-way through a Kindle update... which meant that I lost my Lonely Planet guidebook- which I needed to prepare for Bolivia. Seriously, ipad. Seriously.
By 2:30pm, we reached Quiaca, the border town, la fronterra, for Bolivia. We picked up our packs and walked through the dry dust and wind, about 3/4 of a mile to the border crossing. I was ecstatic to see the women's wide-brimmed hats and knee-high rainbow striped skirts that people had told us about. What they hadn't mentioned was the flesh-toned old-lady stalkings and alpaca knit leg-warmers. I wish I had a picture of those- and the kids. I don't care what anyone says, Bolivian kids are some of the cutest in the world. Their cheeks are pink and round, and they're happy little things, bouncing on their mother's backs, or attempting to keep pace like little eskimos all bundled up in their knit sweaters. It's all too cute!
It took about an hour to cross the border because the guards wouldn't accept our American dollars with any blemishes, even slight tears. Mark had to run all over town to get a copy of our passports and Boliviano currency while I sat on our stack of bags, in the dust and sun. There were plenty of people around, so I felt completely safe, though the dust did a number on my sweater, jeans, and hair. I had heard that there were no hot showers in Bolivia, so I was a little worried about all of the dirt I was accumulating, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I resolved to give myself permission to be covered in dirt for the next two weeks.
Once in Bolivia, we hopped a taxi to the bustling bus station, made our way around the stacks of parcels, and bought our bus tickets north to Uyuni. We couldn't believe how cheap it was for the next 7 hour ride (50 Bolivianos, less than $10 USD). Good thing, too, because we only used a portion of it. We got off early in Tupiza based on a recommendation of some fellow travelers.
During the bus ride, I noticed a gentleman nursing a bottle that he kept "hidden" in his jacket. I also noticed he was chewing leaves from a bag. I pointed it out to Mark who immediately got excited, reached for change in his pocket and tapped the guy on the shoulder. The guy shared a handful of leaves and a piece of alkaline chalk looking substance. He refused to accept payment. Instead, I fished around in our bags for an orange to give him in return. Then, we tried chewing on some coca leaves to pass the time. It numbed our tongues and didn't seem to be as much of an appetite suppressant as I expected, but it was fun to have a local experience none-the-less. By the way, coca leaves are totally legal in Bolivia. Everyone chews them as a general cure-all. They're non-habit forming.
In Tupiza, we found a little hostel with private rooms for 60 bolivianos per night. They claimed to have wifi, but it was "out of service" the first day and slower than dial up the second. As I unpacked for bed, I realized I was missing my Tempurpedic pillow. I realized I must have left it on the bed in Argentina. It was dark, and I didn't see it. I'm grieved. To know Mark and I is to know that we take our pillows everywhere (camping, India, Africa, home visits), and now it's gone. I'm sad, but hey, at least I still have my sleeping bag, and this morning I got a hot shower and banana pancakes. So, welcome to Bolivia.
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