Uncertain Transitions III: Is that my bus on that boat?

Its common knowledge that traveling around Bolivia is a lot more ardouos than most of South America, with the Lonely Plant making ominous comments like "In Bolivia, getting there is half the fun!"

So my trip to Lake Titicaca from La Paz, with two other Brits, wasn`t helped by Russel, who signed us up to the first van that had a guy screaming "Copacabana", when for 50p more we could of had had a luxury tourist bus.

Instead, we had a tiny minivan with zero leg room. We then had to wait for it to fill up, all the time being taunted by the shining tourist bus at the other end of the road.

When we finally left, Russel simply necked a few valiums to make it all bearable, leaving me and Sarah to suffer for his impulse buy. He didnt even notice when we swerved massively, and for the briefest second I saw a cow flash past within inches of the window.

We stopped at the shore of the lake, and we assumed it was a toilet break. I asked the driver where the toilet was, and he pointed.

Me and Sarah returned from the toilets a few minutes later.

"Wheres the bus gone?"

Erm...

We spotted Russel, coming back from a food stall.

"Wheres the bus gone Russel?"

"Its on a boat on the lake."

Ha ha, very funny. But of course, he`s not kidding: we can see our mini van on a rickety boat, our rucksacks visible on the roof, half way across this bay of the lake.

"Im so glad youre here," says Russel, in a spaced out Valium way: "I knew you were pissed off about the mini van, but I didnt think you`d leave me!"

Theres a second or two of stupid giggling, the kind you get from being completely dumbfounded by a turn of events.

We ask another Gringo:

"Have you got any idea why our bus is half way across the lake?"

Of course, he`s a fucking American, replying "so you missed the speech in Spanish about the lake, huh?"

No you twat, my Spanish is good enough to pick out words like "lake", or "other side."

And when I asked him where the toilet was, he just pointed, he didn't say "by the time you get back, your rucksacks will be halfway across the water."

So, we rushed to get our own passenger boat across to the other side. Its a strange feeling, waiting for your boat to fill up as you watch your bags sailing off into the distance.

When we got to the other side, our driver was waiting for us. Everyone on the bus seemed annoyed that we had delayed them. Well, If someone had made clear that THE BUS WAS GOING ON A BOAT ACROSS THE BAY there wouldnt have been a problem.

You migh think that given this experience, the return journey would hold no surprises.

Well, welcome to Bolivia!

Our return bus was overbooked.

Backpackers generally consider themselves to be in the same boat (which would prove even more apt in a few hours), but its amazing how the atmosphere changes when you realise not everyone is gonna fit on the bus.

And when we're finally on and there are still people arguing outside, and they keep coming back on the bus reading out surnames they can't pronounce, of people who apparently have tickets for a different bus, you`re dreading the word "Casey."

And the poor buggers who are evicted have to run around like crazy, finding their bus, asking it not to leave, getting their rucksacks off our bus, etc.

When we finally made it to the bay crossing, which was at least expalined this time, although the fact that the bus was a lot bigger made the sight of it lopsided on a wooden barge halfway across the bay worrying none the less.

The boat looked in a lot better condition than last time, and it was mainly fellow gringos, with a final contingent of Bolivians, including a man who must have been completely blind and barely able to walk, the way he was led to his seat.

The driver, who had about three teeth in his mouth, had to pull the cord for the engine about 30 times to get it started.Some might have taken this as a hint that more gas wss required, but not this dude. We were finally under way, and inevitably, the boat stops half way across.

A few of the Gringo Reggaton afficonados on the boat, including msyelf, couldnt help but break into the chorus of Gasolina: "Te gusta de Gasolina, Da me mas Gasolina (She likes Gasoline, Give me more Gasoline)", but no one can remember any of the rest of the words, so that ends pretty quick.

A woman helps the driver, working the gas tube to keep the dribble of fuel going into the engine, and the locals have their own song: a hymn, sung to the tune of something a bit like "she`ll be coming round the mountain when she comes"

Temos Gracias mi Senor mi Senor... (*3) (We give thanks, my Lord, my Lord)

Temos Gracias... Christo Salvador....

Everyone is clapping along, all the gringos in their gortex or local alpaca hats, and the locals themselves all wrapped up in their blanket like things, singing with reverence from mouths with only a few teeth left. The driver himself is getting into it as well.

Obviously, all that praying did the job, and we got to the other side without the engine dying again.

We all clapped and cheered each other like it was some mutual effort that saved us, and some of the local women gave thanks to the local saint.

So yes, on balance, I think Id agree that travel around Bolivia is more taxing than other countries.

Deja Vu: Santa Cruz, Bolivia...

So, I flew into Bolivia, Santa Cruz.
And in case youre wondering, I chickened out of the 30 hour bus journey followe dby 15 hours on the train, charmingly called the `train of death.`



The first thing I thought about Bolivia , after hearing my first Gracias, was `thank fuck to be in a Spanish speaking country!` My Spanish is far from great, but compared to my Portugese Im absolutely fluent. No longer is every comment and quesiton a complete mystery, now theyre just mildly confusing, jigsaw puzzles with odd pieces, waiting to be moulded into some kind of sense.


The second thing I noticed is that, for being the most mountainous country in South America, so far its incredibly flat. Gone are the consistent cotours of Brazil and Colombia that I had become accustomed to. I already miss it, and dont know hwo Im going to deal with the monotony of the English landscape again.

Nexst, I notice the people: much more indiginous looking than Brazil or Colombia, broader builds, flatter faces and noses. I havent stuck out this badly since Guatemala.

Theres more and more reasons for deja vu: after the westernization of Brazil and Colombia, decrepid buses and dirty streets had almost faded from my memory.

Another welcome return is cheaper prices: from nine quid for a bed in a 10 person dorm in Rio, Im paying four quid for a five person dorm here, and Santa Cruz is supposedly one of the pricisest places in Bolivia.
And although Id been told food in Bolivia wasnt great, and food in Brazil was awesome, there was no western breakfast. As good as it was, man cannot live on steak alone: sometimes bacon and eggs is a necessity. Of course, with that comes familar poor service.... Id forgotten that breakfast could sometimes take up half your day. And finally, good old reggaeton.... I dont particularly like reggaton, but after so many months of it incentral america, I find it strangely comforting.

Our hostel also has the Spanish style courtyard with plants and hammocks, and a pair of Tucans. At first I thought it was kinda cruel to have their wings clipped, but they seem happy enough, hopping around from floor to trees. They also like to give u a cheeky nibble, especially on your toes: when you open the door to the shower and that big beak is pointing at you, you do feel a bit vulnerable.

And when theyre hosing down the floors, they tel the birds to get out of the way: their nickname seems to be pookey tookey. ¨Hey, Pookey tookey... Pookey tookey!!!¨