Bolivian Buses

  La Paz, Bolivia
Wednesday, January 28, 2009

I had thought that simply buying a ticket for a bus journey in Bolivia was chaotic enough...
Sue and I had panted up the hill to the bus station in La Paz where I had asked for a ticket for the Potosi bus, two days hence, only to be told that tickets are only sold the day before, so I would have to return the next day.  After retracing our steps the next morning, the dude behind the counter said I should come back after 3 pm as it was still too early... sigh...  he didn't seem overkeen to be doing business!
 
But this was nothing compared to the mayhem at the station when I arrived to actually board the bus...
My ticket was with Copacabana, so all I had to do was locate the bus with 'Copacabana' on the side and 'Potosi' on the front, surely... but as I tried to wiggle through the heaving throng of people out on the narrow platform, without tripping over set-down bundles or knocking unconscious any babies on backs with my pack, I realised that there are three Copacabana companies: Flota Copacabana with its own logo (good idea!) and two Trans Copacabana companies, both with identical logos... and out of all of the assembled buses, belching fumes in my face, not one had a destination displayed!  After asking again and again, I finally made it on to what I hoped was the correct bus, though there was nobody checking tickets.  I waddled up the steps like one of the Paceņa women, with several layers of padding under my skirt and fleece, having been warned to expect no heating as we drove through the night across a freezing altiplano, arriving in Potosi, at an icy 4090m, at 5a.m.   I fell into my seat, at the front, and watched the comings and goings as the locals queried apparently double booked seats, until they realised they were with one of the other Copacabana buses... it was madness! 
 

Windscreen sellotaped together

As I looked around me, it struck me that Bolivian buses are definitely the poor relatives in South America.  I have yet to come across one of the old 'chicken buses' which I used to ride 15 years ago, but this was certainly a step in that direction: ill-fitting windows, torn seats, extra people sitting in the aisles... could be tricky climbing over them in the night en-route to the loo, I thought, and

dodgy windows

turned my head to locate the 'baņo' - HORROR!  I have become used to on-board 'servicios' in S.Am., but here I was on a 10 hour bus journey with no toilet!  I did have my shewee in my bag, though...  the lower window frame was level with my shoulder... what injuries might be sustained were I to crouch on the seat, jolting along a bumpy road in the dark, aiming shewee out of the window...?  I figured it could get tricky when it came to the insurance claim... "So, Madam, how exactly did you break your leg and dislocate your shoulder?"  "Well, I was on this bus..."    Hmmm... looked like I would have to just plait my legs and hope for the best...
 
We eventually pulled out of the terminal (and still nobody had checked tickets!) and drove through the streets of La Paz, with the city lights spread high above us on the canyon wall.  I closed my eyes and settled in to catch up on some zeds... but I hadn't accounted for the succession of street sellers jumping on and off the bus with their well-rehearsed presentations... 
First it was a a set of kitchen knives: great, that would go down a storm when I hit the thorough Argentine customs inspection in a few days - they may be on the lookout for tourists smuggling coca leaves, but a tourist with a  set of lethal weapons secreted in the folds of her down jacket?  I'm sure they'd have a ball with that...
"No, gracias," I stated, when the seller had done the rounds of the bus and returned to the front... and me.
"But they are excellent quality...," he countered.
"I'm travelling, I have no kitchen," I explained.
"Take them back to your country... you can use them there!" was his bright suggestion.
"I can use the ones I already have, back in my country" I replied, and was saved when his slot was usurped by seller number two.

Number two seemed very excited about his bags of noxious-smelling herbs, probably purchased at the Witches' Market earlier that day.  Had he promised me that the stinking contents might freeze my bladder for the duration of the journey, I might have been tempted... but his pitch was most definitely exclusively to the male passengers... from his gestures, I gathered that his magic potion would provide assistance to those men struggling to fill the elephant trunk thong mentioned in the previous entry!  But he didn't have many takers...

Next up was a young lad who announced in a high-pitched voice that he was going to give us a 'cancion', but then launched into an excruciating caterwauling, more akin to keening at a wake than to any kids' song I know.  I declined to drop a coin into his grubby palm when he came collecting.

I thought we were done but, no, number four appeared and he just knew we all wanted to buy  his bargain cd collection... we were now an hour into our journey and, though the tv hadn't been switched on, we had our very own shopping channel live right in front of us.
 

Woman leaving bus... don´t blame her!

I began to realise that Bolivian roads, as well as the buses, are far worse than in neighbouring countries.  Or maybe it was just this rickety bus, but either way, it was a bone-rattling ride and my usual capacity to sleep practically anywhere seemed to have deserted me.  As the night wore on, I seemed to feel every stone and pothole and I was relieved to arrive in pre-dawn Potosi, wrap myself in my down jacket, and stretch out on a wooden bench at the terminal for a couple of hours sleep until it was light.
 




After a brief look at the town, I decided to head straight on south to Tupiza, as I am getting short of time at this stage.  At least it was a calmer station and I was settled in another bus seat without too much hassle.  There was no fight over buses and seats here, but great entertainment was provided by the luggage loading: all bags were left in the upstairs sales office at ticket purchase, while the bus waited downstairs, and I watched from my window as two men stood on a balcony above me, tying a rope round two or three bags at a time... then I felt the impact as they came loose every time, bouncing off the bus roof and onto the ground, as they were lowered by a pulley.  I was relieved that my laptop was in my hand luggage!