Bolivia Part III (Oruro)

Here's Part III of Bolivia... I was so happy to leave Uyuni. It was torture staying there an extra day and night. The train car was decent...of what I could see. Because it was 3:30am they couldn't turn on the lights becaue people were sleeping so I had to fumble my way through to find my seat. Found it. Crashed. Woke up at 10:30am or so to the tune of Beverly Hills Cop III on the tv. Kind of funny watching Eddie Murphy speak Spanish. Watched that as I chowed down on breakfast...two slices of bread and rubbery piece of mozzarella. Mmmm...goodie. First class all the way. Didn't really see much of the countryside but by this time mountains were old hat to me.

Arrive in Oruro. See Cap'n America. This is a guy who I met in Salta, AR briefly in a coffee shop on top of a mountain, when I was traveling with Andre and the others. He talked in a monotone voice, kind of like Buddy from Seinfeld..you know Elaine's boyfriend. He was also about 6ft 4" and 240lbs. The guy was built like a brick shithouse. He clearly stood out. His trademark were his sunglasses.....blueblockers...http://www.blublocker.com/gallery/countryduo.html. Actually, blueblockers are the rage in Argentina right now...along with spikey mullets. I guarantee the craze is going to hit North America soon...again...watch. Compton, good thing you held onto your blueblockers from 1986. He heard us speak English and asked us where we were from...after giving me his laundry list of all the countries that he had visited since June (he must have named 25) he asked where we were going next. I say Bolivia, blah, blah, blah. I'm thinking I will never see this creep again. Total conversation time 1 minute.

In Humahuaca, who do I see having a cup of espresso on some side street? Buddy. In Tupiza, who do I see getting into a jeep on the way to the salares with my friends? Buddy. And now in Oruro. So I talk to him. "Hey Cap'n". "Oh hey, Canadian guy right". "Right". "You going to La Paz"? "Yeah". "Too bad. There is a bus strike. All buses in Bolivia are on strike right now. I am checking into this hotel up the street. See you later". What the *#$%&*!!! Of all people to be the bearer of bad news...Buddy.

Make my way to the bus terminal. Look around as I walk through the street markets. I am the ONLY cracker around. 90% of Oruro's 200,000 inhabitants are pure Amerindian..they call themselves "armadillos". Don't ask me why. Anyway, Oruro is famous for being grungy (its surronded by mineral-rich hills and mountains), dangerous and the La Diablada (The Devil) parade. Even Bolivians only come here for the parade. Right. Reminded me of Villazon...not the prettiest town but not THAT bad.

Reach the terminal. Yep, no buses in the terminal and that entrance gates are closed. Good times. I am STARVING, tired (didn't get much sleep because the train was too dry), and smelling REALLY gooood. Decide to get a hotel room (60Bs) near the terminal and stay the night. Don't know how long the strike will last so the next day I will try to find a ride out of here.

Shower up and look for a place to eat. I need to splurge. Pick the "best" restaurant in town run by "celeb" chef Don Roberto a.k.a. Mr. Potato Head. I eat my meal, enough to feed me for a week. Check out the pic. It is called Colita del Cordero or Tail of Lamb (50Bs with drink or $6). The house specialty. I'm thinking I get a piece of the backside..which is really tender...not the WHOLE backside with the tail included. Upon seeing the tail, I cringe. Well, I've always said I will try anything once as long as it doesn't kill me or make me sick. I tore into it. It was actually really good except that feckin little tail kept on winking at me. Don, Mr. Potato Head, comes over, "You speak English". "Yeah". "Where you from"? "Canada". "Oh yeah, Vancouver"? "No, Toronto". "Oh, that's too bad. Vancouver is the best". "Oh yeah, do you know Canada"? "Of course, I have been all over, Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal...Toronto is ok but Vancouver and Montreal are the best". Oh yeah, well Oruro is a shithole and so is your restaurant a-hole.

Stuffed to my eyeballs, I head back. See Nadia and Benoit..they opted on the bus instead of the train to get to La Paz sooner...but were stuck as well. I'm feeling sick. Feckin, Mr. Potato Head. I go back and crash. Wake up to the tune of "Oooooo-yoooo-neeeeee" (Uyuni, BL) at 2am. This insanity is going on every 5 mintues. Because my window is right in front of the terminal, I can hear everything. I look outside. It's dark and people seem to be running everywhere. Huge traffic jams. Looks like chaos. I go back to sleep.

Wake up. Look out my window. Still chaos except it's daylight now. What to do, what to do. How do I get out of here? Run out. Ask first cabbie I see, "How much to La Paz". "US$100" or 800Bs. D'ohkay! The ride normally costs 15Bs. Fecker. Still hear that annoying woman chanting Uyuni every 5 minutes...grrrrr...I now hear "La Paz, La la la la Paz". It's a micro (tiny bus that all the locals use...the gringos like me use the big charter buses to get between towns). I ask how much. 20Bs. Money. Grab my monchilla and hop on.

Of course I'm the only cracker on the bus. Sit next to this old dude. 65 and has done it all, farming, construction, mining, running a business, etc. We're all jammed like sardines. It's a happy family. We have a guy selling Chinese Herbal Tea (supposed to cure everything because it's from China), a chola selling potato patties and another one selling fried bananas and drumsticks (sorry, they don't use Subway sandwich gloves here). I passed on everything but it did look good. Seriously. I have a chola beside me the entire way. One would get dropped off and another one would hop on. They always wanted to sit beside me. They seemed to think that I liked getting swatted by their musty shawls or having their big butts in my face. I smiled. What can you do? So I talk to the ol man. We have a good chat about everything...growing up in Oruro, living in La Paz, his family, my family, politics and economics in Bolivia, etc. He even gives me a remedy to cure my headache (some lemony smelling leaves called cedron which I end up clenching in my fist and whiffing away...it worked), a remedy for sore throat (warm coca cola...not boiled...and a shot of whiskey), and a remedy for altitude sickness (chew coca leaves or drink coffee with a few drops of lime).

Bus ride turns into 4 hours...supposed to be 3 except the chola musical chairs puts us over the top. We reach El Alto which is on the outskirts of La Paz. The place is one of the fastest growing cities in South America. Looks like more chaos to me. Bus stops. I say good-bye to my friend and look out the window to make sure my stuff isn't getting swiped. Onto La Paz... 

Bolivia Part II (Uyuni)

Tupiza was fun. I would have stayed there longer but I wanted to get to La Paz which is located in the midwest part of the country. It is about an 18 hour bus ride from Tupiza to La Paz, but we are talking Bolivia here. Add 48 hours of buffer time. I wanted to cut some time on the way so I went to Uyuni...why not...that's where everybody else goes. Uyuni, a tiny middle of nowhere town of 14,000, 3700m aboove sea level, is famous for the Salar of Uyuni - the largest salt plain in the world, covering 12,000 sq km. There is absolutely nothing to do in Uyuni other than go with the rest of the monkeys to see the salares and buy overpriced pizza and snickers bars.

Ok, here is Bolivia Part 2. At this rate I think there may be one more part...La Paz...so stay tuned. I know I don't have to tell every last detail of this trip, but don't tell that to my parents. They wanna know. As you can see, I have begun to add pictures. Going forward I will try to add four at a time but let's be honest...that ain't gonna happen. For now, enjoy. Here we go...

Had callus butt from the horseback riding. Could barely walk. Jumped on a bus to Uyuni for 50 Bs (US$6). Some Israeli was sitting in my seat. This was a good seat. I wanted to show him the tarmac but I said, "Shalom everybody"! After saying hello, they asked me how much I paid for my ticket. "50 Bs. You?" "We only paid 35Bs. In Bolivia you have to barter. That's how it works here". "You must be very proud. Thanks for the tip on saving 2 dollars". This was going to be a long ride. Had nothing to eat. Just baby cookies. Mmmm, baby cookies. Didn't want to risk pooping my pants along the way because you guessed it...no bathrooms. So me, the Bolivians, and the Israeli Brady bunch had 5 hours of bus riding to look forward to. Turned out to be 8. At least we had big foot on wheels though. I think the bus must have ripped off the tires from a semi because this thing was at least four feet off the ground. Came in handy when we crossed two rivers, and two mud pits. Saw three other buses get stuck. Yeeeee haaaaaaaw...

Other than that, the highlight of the trip was stopping in some nowhere mining town for a much needed pee break and popcorn. My window wouldn't open. It budged an inch. Covered in sweat for the first 2 hours. Started to get cold by the third hour. Window wouldn't close now. Froze to death the rest of the way. Yes. Good times. I think the Israelis thought that the louder they yelled when speaking Hebrew, that maybe I would understand. "Hada hada hada and hala hala hala" is what I heard...so, no, I did not understand. Maybe next time. They were actually quite nice. One can only take so much Hebrew over the course of 8 hours however.

We check into Uyuni at 6pm or so. Cold and rainy. Throw on my $30 wind/ raincoat purchase from Salta. Money. Walk around in the dark and pouring rain looking for a hotel...yes...find one...check in. Go next door and book a tour for the Salares the next day. $20 for a day trip with a tour company (4x4 jeep) to the Salares, including food and a visit to the Salt Hotel and the Isla de Pescados (Fish Island). 40 agencies in town so of course the Israelis want a deal. They ask me to go on a 3 day excursion with them to the salares and also check out some lakes and some geysers along the way....more bang for the buck. I say feck the geysers. No more geysers. Geysers were Chile.

Needed to buy a train ticket the next day to leave the same evening - Monday night (actually Tuesday morning at 1:45am but the sign said Monday night at the train station) for Oruro. Didn't want to take a 13 hour bus to La Paz, so I split my trip into 8 hours of train from Uyuni and 3 hours of bus to La Paz from Oruro. You dig? Of course nothing is open until 9:30am. I am waiting. 10am. Money exchanges and banks still closed. ATMs? You're kidding, right? No ATMs. My tour is leaving at 10:30am. I start running. Don't know where exactly. I see MONEY EXHANGE. Cha ching. Grab my stash and run to the train station. Buy a first class ticket to Oruro (86 Bs or US$11). Done. Jump in the jeep and we are off.

The jeep included me, the driver, two Dutch guys, who I thought were either friends or lovers...they turned out to be father and son (daft), an Italian and two Quebecois. After meeting Benoit and Nadia, I take back whatever I said about Quebecois traveling. Really great people. The Dutch were cool too (just couldn't get over the father-son combo) and the Italian looked like the Italian version of Napoleon Dynamite...you know...with that permanent crooked smile/ grin?

First stop...a little village where they process salt, 20km outside Uyuni. Not much to see. 300 people process all the salt in the plains. That's a lot of salt. 5000-6000 kilos a day. Each kilo is worth 30 cents so what's that...$1500 to $1800 a day. That's around a half a million bucks over the year for all the salt that gets processed in the salares. Something doesn't make sense. Buy some cool knick knacks and take my picture with a baby llama as my monetary contribution. Most tourists just stare and take pictures. Je no like that.

Drive about 20km to the salares. Unreal. You can see for miles and miles and miles and miles....Rained the night before so the plains were filled with a thin sheet of water, creating a reflection of the clouds and mountains. One of the most amazing things I have ever seen. We drove on the plains...this time we didn't get stuck. It seemed like were were flying amongst the clouds. Hard to explain so check out the photo. We stop at the Salt Hotel...made entirely out of salt. Bought a Red Bull and Snickers bar upon entering. Gotta have Snickers and Red Bull in the middle of nowhere right? Thought about staying for $20 a night. After checking out the bathrooms, that thought lasted all but a second.

We head about 100km to Isla del Pescadeo, where the Incas used to hang when they were crossing the salar. In the distance...mountains. They appear to be 20km away. Nope, try 200km away. We reach the island. Of course, we check into the tiny island, in the middle of nowhere, and pay the entrance fee at the tourist office, so afterward we can check out the full service restaurant and bathroom facilities. Bolivians are truly amazing....how they can live in some of the most desolate and rugged places in the world. I decide to stroll around the island. The sun is out now and really intense. Nowhere to hide. I take off my sunglasses and am blinded by the reflection of the light from the salares. Ok, enough of this. I take lots of snaps and grab an excellent lunch. We head back. Very long drive. Italian Napoleon Dynamite is still sporting the perma smile even though the rest of us are exhausted. We arrive in Uyuni, just in time to see a beautiful sunset in the train cemetery. Li li li li...I know gay...but it was beautiful.

Say thanks and head to the train station to catch my 1:45am train that evening/ morning. It's now 7:30pm. I'm all ready to go. I arrive. Hold on. What does that +1 mean? The +1 that is in extra small print next to the 1:45am under Monday night. It means that the train doesn't actually leave that night (Monday), it leaves Tuesday night. Right. Feck! I am stuck in Uyuni that night and the entire next day until 1:45am. So are the Quebecois as they are going to La Paz as well...except by bus. We grab some pizza and beer and call it a night.

Well, the next day I did a whole lot of this...NOTHING! I sat around and talked to the Nadia and Benoit for about five hours, posted my last blog (3 weeks ago but I'm getting better so chill), counted the number of square tiles in the plaza, ate two pizzas (feckin jamon y queso), and helped a group of about 10 school girls who must have seen me on the bench with a sign on my forehead, "gringo sucka with nothing to do" with their English homework. Actually that was the definitely the highlight. I don't do enough volunteering. I take my education for granted. I'd like to volunteer when I get back and help more children how to read. Not writing however...still working on that. To make it a pizza hat trick, Nadia, Benoit and I had pizza that night at the Minute Man Pizza. We ordered the potato and bbq llama meat pizza. Mmm, llama...and no feckin jamon y queso. The guy running the joint was from Massachutcess and had a nice little operation. Lots of Canadians and Americans doing that here. Made me wonder...hmm, what can I do? Said good-bye to Nadia and Benoit. Really great people.

Headed to the train station and waited for my 1:45am train to Oruro. Lucky me. The train was late. Slept, wrote in my journal and drank mate de coca, which is basically like tea except with coca leaves. Right. Used to kill hunger, cure altitude sickness and get rid of headaches. Right. It got rid of my headache. The train rolls in at 3:30am. Ok, now I am seeing a pattern here...I jump on the "Exec car" to go to Oruro... My first impressions of Bolivia? LOVED IT...wish I could have spent more time there...South America in its truest form...raw and full of character...and dont't forget cheap! 

Stayin Alive - Bolivia Part I (Villazon, Tupiza)

I'm in Hong Kong right now. The shopping mecca of the far east....perhaps of the world for that matter. Who knows. Je no care because I am not about to drop $800 for a Hermes belt. Got my $8 belt from Buenos Aires thank you very much. So let me explain how I got here...

Oad and I crossed the border from La Quiaca, Argentina to Villazon, Bolivia without a hitch. It was hot and dry and we were both exhausted. Didn't want to spend the night in the Tiajuana of South America (Villazon) so we kept on trucking to the train station...only another 17 blocks away (in total I think we walked 2km just to get to the train station). I always had a picture in my mind of what Bolivia may look like...upon arriving I wasn't too far off. We saw an amazing spectacle of worker ants carrying goods on their backs into Bolivia (think Les Voyageurs). It was a a never ending river of people. Hundreds. It just never stopped. Old, young, women and children. Didn't matter. We had reached Bolivia. Wish I took a picture but at this point I was being over precautious. My camera was stuffed down my pants along with my passport and credit card. I wasn't about to say hey amigo, me gringo...me wanna take a photo of you-o so I can show-o me other gringo friends-o breakin your back-o. You dig?

We exchanged our Pesos and Dollars for Bolivianos (8 Bolivanos = US$1, 2.55 Bolivianos = 1 AR Peso). I was starving. Oad was taking forever. This is a guy who was worried about getting mugged and he exchanges US$400. Me? US$25. He's checking each 100 note and holding it up to the light. Man, is this guy for real. Why don't you just hand your money over. It would be a lot easier. I gotz to eat. I spot a chola. Well, actually I spot a lot of cholas. There are all over the place. A chola is a staple of Bolivian culture. Not hard to miss. They are indian and mestizo women that still follow a dress code decreed by an 18th-century Spanish king. Cholas wear various layers of skirts and bowler hats on top of their braided hair. Whatever works, right? I mean, I can't really complain since my dress code is "backpacker"... decreed by the great Tree Hugging king from Vancouver??? Aaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooh Anyways, I flip the chola a Peso (they still call the currency Peso here although it changed to the Boliviano in 1987) for a bag of styrofoam-looking sugar crisps called pasankalla. Mmmm...can't get enough of that sugar crisp. It kills my hunger. We make it to the train station for a 3:30pm train to Tupiza. The train is late....three hours. Feck.

We walk back another kilometer to the bus station. Grab the menu del dia for lunch as we wait for the bus at the restaurant across the street. Lunch is great. The beer sucks (Huia which tastes like Heinekin which tastes like skunk pee...not that I have had skunk pee..). Had a fun time swatting away house flies during my meal. Mosquitos aren't a problem in Bolvia. It's house flies. Don't bring repellant. Bring a fly swatter. Comes in handy for annoying backpackers too. We grab the bus. Hmmm, that's funny. The bus doesn't look anything like its advertised. No washrooms either which is the norm.

Off we go...to Tupiza, a town of 25,000, 3000 metres above sea level. Surronded by rainbow coloured moutains, canyons and rivers. The ride to Tupiza was a bumpy and dusty one. Bolivia does not really have many paved roads. 35% of the country is made up of National Parks. I never ate so much dust. At one point I just started laughing. Felt like I was on a Disney ride. The mountains were really out of this world. I had paid $100 over 3 days in Argentina to see the same thing for $1.50 in Bolivia. Bumpity bump bump....look at the gringos go....bumpity bump bump bumpity bump bump...over the hills of dirt???

Check into Valle Hermoso Hostal or Little Israel. Israelis love to travel...they will tell you why. "So why do Israelis come to South America in droves...is it the language, the food, the culture"? "What do you think...it's cheap". More on Israelis later. We stay although Oad didn´t want to hang with his fellow Israelis. I guess it's kind of how I run away from Canadians although I am getting better. Holla! Checked out the town. It was pitch black. The town didn't really have much in the way of street lamps but I ventured out anyway. Lots of people just having fun. Drinking, eating, playing...there was even a parade at around 10pm that evening. Any problems? None. Bolivia hs a bad rap. The country is safe.

Went for a run the next day around the surronding area. Ran into some more goat and sheep herds...and dogs that wanted to hump my leg and/ or bite me. F*ckin dogs. I wanted to see where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were shot and buried but that would have put me behind 3 days. Check out the movie http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0064115/ if you are suffering from insomnia.

Went horseback riding instead for five hours ($10). Our guides were 13 and 8 years old. Dario, the elder (who I think was really 18) kept on harrassing me about the tip. Not even riding 10 minutes and he's mentioning how all the gringos flip him 20s etc. Riiiiiight. Well, if you call me gringo, I'll flip you the finger. His little buddy was affectionately known as Moco or booger. He had his own pony and was so short he had to get up on a rock and run and jump to mount his horse. I felt bad for these kids and I felt like a jackass for paying for the trip. I think it is wrong how these kids are exploited. I thought we would be joined by an older and more experienced guide at some point but it didn't happen. Two girls joined me...Deanna from Australia and Oozie from Switzerland. Not sure how to spell Oozie's name. Let's call her Pickie. You'll see why.

The ride was fun at the beginning but dragged on towards the end, because hello these kids weren't guides... "There's a mountain. Here is canyon. Here is a canyon called the Devil's mouth". K, thanks for the insight. Highlight was hearing Oozie scream every five minutes as we were galloping...aaaaaaaaahhhhhh...as she hung on for her life. I know I shouldn't have laughed but it was funny...

I tipped Dario and Moco although the girls didn't want to contribute. I think I could spare $3 (20 Bs). Ragged out the agency for using kids as guides. Freddy at the agency didn't get it. He wanted to fire the poor kids. I wanted to fire Freddy. This country needs more role models not hustlers.

That night, Oad joined us for dinner although I wanted to ditch Pickie Ickie. Nope the Gremlin wanted to come. Most of the items on the menu were of course not available. In Bolivia, when you order food, expect to wait a little longer or be disappointed because they cook what is ordered...not what they think will be ordered. No wasting here...which is good I guess. I had a steak with a fried egg on it and rice below it. French fries on the side. Mmmm, healthy. It was a tiny table and the Gremlin kept on getting in my zone. Number of words spoken between her and I...one..."hello". After dinner, the Gremlin started picking her feet at the table which is always a nice way to send off. Went back to the hostal to sleep and pack. Knock knock. Guess who? Oh yay! The Gremlin and the Aussie want to keep talking. I just want to go to sleep. And guess who decides to sit on my bed and pick her feet? And her arms, and her head...what was she looking for? But at least she did attempt to flick whatever she was pickig into the waste basket...she missed. Who does that??? Anyway, called it a night after two hours of more torture. I was heading for the salt plains in Uyuni the next day...

Argentina (Purmamaca, Tilcara, Humahuaco, La Quiaca)

So my feeble attempt at posting on Wednesday and Satuday lasted all but one week. I will try to keep my posts more current but hellooooooooo...I am in Bolivia now. Remember 10 years ago, circa 1994, when you went away to get a sandwich and the webpage you were trying to surf was still downloading when you came back? Ok, well, that´s what I am dealing with now. Here is the update...I am giving you Argentina first and then Bolivia to keep you all content...

Left Salta early Tuesday morning for our 2 day excursion to the Salares of Argentina. What are Saleres you ask? They are basically salt plains that were left over from dried up lakes and rivers...thousands of years ago...or maybe hundreds. Hmm. We also wanted to see the northern villages of Argentina (Purmamarca, Tilcara, and Humahuaca). Two Israelis, a German, a Swiss and a Canadian. The beginning of a bad joke??? Rented a Toyota 4x4 to get us through the rough road terrain. Most travelers rented a VW Gol (think Festiva) - a piece of crap that would definitely not survive the trip to the Salares - most took the easy paved (and longer) route to the Salt Plains.

Drove through the mountains, hugging the cliffsides. Very cool. Picked up an indigenous lady. Dropped her off and had lunch at her restaurant - in the middle of nowhere. Picked up two more indigenous hitchhikers that sold us hats and scarves. The German kept on picking them up. Feck, it was like we were providing a red carpet service for the hitchhikers of northwest Argentina. I really don`t know how these people manage. They end up hundreds of kilometers from their home and hope to hitch back. We found homes all along the countryside..by themselves with nothing around.

Anyway, arrived in San Antonio de Los Cobres, dropped off the hitchhikers and refueled. Felt like a Night of the Living Dead movie. People slowly creeped out of their houses and approachd the truck, like Zombies - asking for money and trying to sell us rocks. Just ordinary rocks that you or I may find on the street. Riiiight. We took off and wasted about an hour to look at one of the highest bridges in the world (4200 metres aboves sea level). The one that the Train de Los Nubes goes through. Yippie. Continued on to the Salares.

Reached the plains just before dusk. Amazing. Seemed like we were on another planet. Tried driving on the Salt Plains. Bad idea. Got stuck. Nobody around. Desolate. All you could see for miles was white salt and mountains about 200km away. Dug holes, put rocks under the tires, pushed and pushed. No budge. Oh oh. Not good. Was this the going to be the sequel to Alive? In the distance saw some black dots. Could it be a fellow earthling? Andre and I started running...and running...and running. Ran about 10k to the black dots. The black dots turned out to be workers, that were extracting raw salt (like blocks of ice) from the plains to be shipped and processed at local refineries (and later shipped throughout Argentina for commercial consumption). Carlos, with his Tonka looking dump truck, pulled us out in seconds. He followed the proper route, to get to our truck, using a buoy kind of system (similar to ship navigation). Sweet. Flipped Carlos 60 pesos or $20 for his help. This was probably what he made in a week. It`s brutal. He was so happy. I felt good.

Arrived in Purmamarca at dusk. Tired. Got into an argument with the Swiss guy over a few pesos. Daft. Needed sleep. Checked out the village the next day. Cool little village. Filled with dogs in heat, running around after each other...they made me witness things I did not want to see...made me nauseous. Continued on to Tilcara and then on to Humahuaca. Same deal here. Little villages with local economies supported by touristy markets...i.e., tourist traps. Said our good-byes to the Swiss, the German, the Swedes, and the Israeli who were going back to Salta. Oad (Israeli #2) and I stayed in Humahuaca to go onto Bolivia. I would live in Humahuaca. Tiny village with character (cobblestone streets, hanging street lanterns, tranquil, friendly people). This place is all about the simple life.

Ran around the back routes of the village. Srambled up a mountainside to take photos overlooking the village. Ran into a herd of goats. Cool. Came back down. Hungry. Walked into Freddy´s Restaurant. Turned out to be Freddy´s living room. Freddy and his buddies were watching the Boca/ Newell´s soccer match. Talked to Freddy´s buddies while Freddy fired up the grill and put on a couple of empanadas. Glass of wine and empanadas...$2. Long day but very relaxing. Came back to my rotten egg and ham smelling dorm. Must have beent the Germans. Wish I had orange Lysol on me.

Next day Oad and I took off for the border. Yes, for all those wishing to comment I will save you the trouble...I ran for the border. Took some bus (that looked nothing like its advertised photo) with no working washroom to the Argentinian/ Bolivian border (La Quiaca). We stopped at some small town where I jumped off the bus to take a much needed pee break. Bus starts leaving. I am still peeing and I have a lady yelling at me, ¨40 centavos, 40 centavos¨! Flip her a 50 centavo and I start running after the bus. Bus stops at an intersection. I jump on. Freakin buses. We arrive in La Quiaca 3 hours later. Time to go to Bolivia.