Getting around Bolivia

“Estamos real jodidos,” my new amiga from Barcelona says upon getting dumped in the middle of nowhere Bolivian Andes for a four day hike. Translation, “We are really f#$%ed” I lift my backpack filled with food and warm clothes, give a shrug, and laugh off the dramatic latin sense of humor that I am all too familiar with at this point. Once again it is time to embrace another Bolivian adventure.

The actual fun really begins with Bolivian modes of transportation. I have quickly grown accustomed to hitching a ride in the rear of camionetas (trucks) and cruising around the countryside while fighting for standing space with the cows and sheep that accompany me.

The train ride experience has not been a disappointment either. Presenting a ticket to travel with the peasant class, I shared a 15 hour ride with a group of Bolivian women sporting the typical fashion: braids down to the waist, long skirts, and multicolored sacks slung over their shoulders either containing goods to trade at the market, or small children. Nobody seemed perturbed when the train broke down for hours. Instead, they seized the opportunity to eat more choclo (corn dish).

Buses around the countryside mean throwing backpacks on the roof, praying with every twist turn and bump in the rocky mountain terrain, that it will still be there when the ride is finally over. It can be expected to honk at llamas to get off the road, and pick up various stragglers along the way.

Walking along the countryside of Potosi I even had the pleasure of being picked up by a bus. Bolivians leave no one behind. With my good fortune, it was a busload of elementary school children on their way home from a field trip. My new eight year old friend Michelle, gave me a rock as a present and wished me well on my trip when I hopped off.

In the bustling city of La Paz it would make no sense to have an orderly system of public transport. Instead, hundreds of vans jam the crowded streets while the person in the passenger seat sticks their head out the window and screams the destination of the vehicle. It is the perfect recipe for chaos. It can either be viewed as stress epicenter of the universe, or an exciting afternoon outing.

Camionetas, trains, buses, really it does not matter how you get there because each one is just as unpredictable as the next. Above all, wherever I land it seems to be the most precarious situation that I have ever experienced.

I have found myself setting off dynamite with local miners (first they lit it and chased me around with the explosive sticks… all in good fun), while relaxing by a lake I suddenly became a part of a local funeral where mourning means drinking more than the Irish at a wake, and they burn the clothes of the deceased. I have been dropped off in towns where electricity does not exist. In one instance the children came running out of the school house to say hello to the gringa and see how my digital camera worked (maybe the most surreal moment in South America).

Sleeping is on par with transport. One night in the Andes, my friends and I found shelter in a school house to escape the bitter cold. Other nights I have been welcomed in by Bolivian families in small villages.. The best family lived in a house that rivaled Swiss Family Robinson in the jungle territory of the mountains. I am really making none of this up.

Regardless of the situation, the outcome is always the same. Bolivians have proven to be some of the most inviting, hospitable people that I have encountered in this journey. Now it is time to pop some malaria pills because the Amazon Jungle is up next. Oh and, we lived to tell the tale of the hiking adventure…