Unboliavable

The third world, whilst incredibly interesting can be tough at times. South American countries for the most part are a bit of mixed bag. Peru certainly doesn’t pretend to be a first world country but it has the odd hint of technological advancement such as traffic lights where the green pedestrian man is actually animated and walks! Chile pretends to be a first would country but their lack of dog neutering technology would testify otherwise. Bolivia has La Paz, which looks like any other modern city, the only give away, that it is indeed a third world country, is the size of the queue outside the banks on Monday mornings. No word of a lie every bank in south America has 200 people lined up outside it every Monday morning. I guess they don’t have telephone or internet banking.

Anyway this blog is about a third world experience and is a warning to all travellers heading to counties where you assume things to be a certain way because of what you are used to. Of course not a bad thing, in fact most of the time a very healthy thing; to experience life the way other people do. However there are some experiences that, even though they build character are simple not worth it and some are so bad you would not wish upon your nemesis. And so it was, the fateful bus journey from Orunu to Uyuni. A trip that I would not even wish on the ‘utty nutty peanut butter cruncher’ from Sanitarium.

The day started with the disappointment of missing the train. Which was supposed to be a spectacular 6 hour scenic meander south from Oruna. We missed the train due to the fact that we did not have any tickets. It seemed impossible to pre book them but somehow everyone else had. We along with two couples waited on stand by. Sure enough both of the other couples got seats at the last minute with us out of luck. If only we had made it fractionally earlier to be the 1st pair waiting for tickets instead of the 2^nd ; if only the lonely planet map scale had not been completely useless, indicating a 700 m walk from the bus stop to the train station instead of the 5km it actually was, if only trains ran more often than twice a week, if only Darren was blond with breasts then the train pass might have come our way instead of to the French couple two had actually arrived after us. ‘If onlys’ are never a productive way of thinking and we realised the quicker we made friends with the disappointment the better. Morale rallied somewhat, we headed to the bus terminal to book the a bus that for that evening over night to Uyuni. Booking the bus was the next problem in this day of insurmountable shambles. Entering the station we were accosted by several different people all representing different bus companies, yelling, waving and promising. After a consultation we decided on a bus company called St Martin or was it St Shaft you, I can't remember. Having chosen our seats we headed to town to kill the 5 hours till the bus left, confident that the extra money we had spent would at least ensure us the most comfortable ride possible.

We boarded the bus, which turned out of course to be not even remotely like the one pictured. Our seats did not recline that much, they were not air-conditioned, nor were they near the TV that didn’t actually exist. Morale was beginning to decrease. There were however a few little unmentioned surprises thrown in for us in the form of the other passengers. In font of us on the floor in the aisle sat a lady resting up against our neighbouring passengers knees. On the row in font a middle-aged couple called Mr and Mrs Huskvanna shared a single seat and there were two teenage boys wedged between the back seat and the back wall of the bus. Along with an infant on the back row the last two rows on the bus that normally seated 9 had 14 passengers.

Completely over crowded, with a steadily dwindling supply of oxygen and a wide of array of equally hideous odours making their way into the roof of our brains the bus headed out of town. Morale was now at the lowest point it had been on the entire trip.

We headed off the tar sealed road and into the desert. I have to add at this point that it is a little known fact that before he fell and became the father of lies, Satan had a short stint as a civil engineer working as a road consultant for the Bolivian government. I have never used the word evil to describe a road before but it is a fitting description. I am sure that if I was a little bit calcium deficient I would have broken every bone in my pelvis over 7 hour journey. Shortly after we hit the road an elderly gentleman stood up and appeared to preach the gospel in Spanish, at which point Darren said “that’s it I’m out” as he delved into his back pack for the sanctity of his Ipod. I did the same but not before Darren tapped me on the shoulder to point out the women on the floor was starting to eat cold friend chicken and was wiping her hands on the seat next to us. We then noticed the two rows ahead a lady had bought her dog on to the bus who was sniffing ferociously at the aroma of the chicken. The bus rolled on and the road somehow managed to get even bumpier. At this point my pubis bone was smacking on the base of my rib cage. Mr Huskvanna then began to chop wood, decreasing even further the already slim possibility of getting an ounce sleep. The two boys behind had no problem however, managing to perform the standing up sleep, which resulted in them draping forward all over us. At this point there was not even a scale that could rate our combined morale. Adding to the discomfort was the fact that I was about 2 hours overdue to empty my bladder.

The experience, whilst it had given a whole new meaning to sleeping in a bed without smelly ladies, dogs, lumberjacks and mysterious heads dangling next to you would have to go down as one of the most uncomfortable experiences I have ever had.

The morals of the story are:

1) Pre-book the train where possible in Bolivia

2) Never trust a Bolivian, especially when he or she is trying to sell you something. Just say to the guy “I’m sorry I don’t “bo-liv-ia”*

3) When needing special favours from train officials; be female

4) Never trust a lonely planet map, the are all drawn by Bolivians

5) Book the bus that has the least number of people booked on it

6) Charge your Ipod battery

* back of ETA chippie packet (1987)