13th January 2013

A month into my trip seems like a very tardy effort as far as starting my journal goes, but their is a reason… I decided I didn't want to start until I'd got my initial stay in La Paz out of the way. My stay there feels quite distinct from the rest of the trip, mainly because I was solely focused on learning Spanish. Although that does a bit of a disservice to both La Paz and the fun I've had there. No doubt I'll slip a few reminiscences in as I make futher entires.

I'm finally in Argentina after a border crossing that took more than 4 hours! I'm safely seated on the lower deck of a full cama bus once more cruzing across a vast expanse of plains. As I look to my left the sky is a leaden grey, the mountains that mark the plain's edge are partially obscured by cumulonimbus as the view is occasionally punctuated by broad bolts of forked lightening carrying a vast curent back to earth. To my right the plains stretch in similar fashion towards mountains in the distance, although the sky is bright and clear. The landscape if so different to the Bolivian one I leave behind for the moment. Its easy to see why Argentina was a more inviting place for european settlers. 

Although much of the Bolivian landscape I moved through on my way first to Sucre and then to Villazon was cloaked in darkness, the geography of the place was still apparent… Take for example my journey from Sucre to Villazon last night. I embarked on a semi-cama bus, having enjoyed the most comfortable journey I've known via bus the previous night on my way from La Paz to Sucre on a full cama bus I braved the semi-cama (this was the only way to make progress towards Buenos Aires as there was only one bus service in the Sucre terminal to Argentina). Alas semi-cama is not much in comparison to its upmarket bed-fellow. To make matters worse the seat I was allocated was right at the front of the bus up against a window so leg room was virtually non-existant. Despite my discomfort the seat did offer a clear view of the road ahead, this revealed the narrow winding roads in Bolivia and cleared up the question mark in my mind about how such seemingly direct and relatively short distances  took so long (I don't think the journey from Sucre to Villazon is any greater than Newcastle to London, yet it takes 10 + hours) as the bus rarely exceeded in 50 kph. Yet the most astonishing aspect was the heights we ascended and descended from. About an hour after we'd left Sucre which is at a relatively low level in comparison to much of Bolivia we started to climb, and climb, and climb. For more than 1 hour we continued our ascent, I couldn't see much outside of the field of the bus' headlights but I suspect we were on the edge of some precipitous drops and having looked at the map the following day I believe we climbed back into the Andes to god only knows what altitude, no doubt it trumped the Tomintoul road!

My stay in Sucre despite is brevitous nature left a marked impression. I arrived pretty well rested thanks to the full cama bus which provide seats that are on a similar theme ot the old Pullmans I can just about remember in the Odeon or was it the Dominion? Anyway, I arrived at a rather ramshackle bus terminal (so far this is a consistent trait of all the bus stations I've known in South America), and felt like it a might be a long day killing time. After circling the terminal a couple of times trying to find a toilet I managed to interpret the instructions of the third of fourth person I asked ( I think my Spanish is pretty functional but sometimes missing one key word is enough to throw a rather large spanner in the works (this time it was underneath or below?)). I decided a taxi was the best bet to get into the heart of things and spotted a picture for a particularly inviting casa de tourisma in the station that looked as though it was in the old colonial part of town. The taxi seemed even cheaper than the ones in La Paz, a 15 minute journey into the centre only cost 8Bs (16s in old money).

As soon as I got out the taxi I was struck simultaneously with a familiar feeling and that excitement I get when I arrive somewhere completely new. The familiar feeling was one of my favourites… The sense of pleasant hot but not to hot heat in a Mediterranean town or city with shaded streets and locals gently perambulating through the morning light. The sense of the new was the beautiful architecture of Sucre. I can see why its a UNESCO heritage sight. The grand but elegant whitewashed buildings that radiate out in blocks from the central square, Plaza viente cinco a Mayo I think? After strolling through the streets (the ambiance and perhaps my front and back rucksack configuration meant even I found myself strolling at a gentle pace!) I took up residence on a bench in said plaza, watching the world go by, reading my book and declining the occasional offer from a passing Cholita to buy something I don't need (at least they try to sell you something as opposed to the more ardent Cholitas who simply beg in La Paz), and finally a very pleasant snooze in the sun for an hour.

I had lunch in a rather lovely Italian restaurant just off the Plaza as I couldn't find anything more traditional to eat in the vicinity. Very nice it was too; Cezar salad followed by spag Bol. Still not up to the standards of the tucumana Carlos my spanish instructor had treated me to the day before. Afterwards I took myself to a little bar and charged up all my technology and enjoyed a couple of cervesas. Sadly that was all I had time for in Sucre but I have a feeling I'll be back someday. Its probably best to make note at this juncture about how I happened to end up here…

The original plan was to go from La Paz to Santa Cruz which is further west of Sucre and appeared to be the only route via bus to Asuncion in Paraguay and onward to Ignazu falls. Sadly (well not really as Sucre was awesome) it seems either my bad accent, the general lackadaisical nature of the cashier in the bus terminal or most likely a combination of both, my Santa Cruz ticket turned out to be for Sucre. I only discovered this as I was about to board the bus, where I pretty much decided on the spot to roll with it as the main objective was getting to Buenos Aires and I figure I can always go and see Ignazu falls on my way back up. So Sucre it was.

I made reference earlier to my rather less satisfying bus trip on the semi cama last night from Sucre to Villazon. After a fairly sleepless 10 hours or so I arrived in Villazon, feeling a little crinkled and tired but in good spirits with the prospect of the full cama for the final leg to Buenos Aires that included the added inducements of meals and a toilet that we're actually allowed to use! All sounds too good to be true, and as it turns out it was. I had a feeling as we arrived in Villazon with the sun starting its painfully slow ascent things were not going to be straight forward. Dawn revealed Villazon to be everything you could imagine if you were to paint a mental picture of a a frontier town in the wild west with a Latino twist and a few more mod cons (tarmac wasn't one of them).

I walked over to the depot for my next bus only to be informed by stout and distinctly unhelpful Bolivian lady that the full cama  but I'd paid for would in fact be semi cama. The prospect of another semi cama experience (bear in mind the final leg to Buenos Aires is by far the longest at 30ish hours) filled me with dread and I was forced to really dig deep in my Spanish vocabulary to explain my grievance with her, alas to little discernible effect. At times like these there is little that can ease my tension than a step into the fresh air a few breaths and a ciggie. While outside gathering myself and facing the prospect of a journey straight from hell I heard a hombre from another company shout cama a Buenos Aires! I walked over and talked with him and found out that there was a bus that would take me in my preferred mode but there were a couple of snags… My initial plan to say to hell with the cost and buy a ticket was scuppered as I had no cash in my wallet, the two atms in Villazon didn't work with my cards and the bus guy only accepted cash so I was quickly back at square one. Thankfully the bus guy got me to talk with his colleague a young lady who showed more patience with my broken Spanish than most. Who despite having no english whatsoever helped persuade me that this was a job for the Bolivian Transport police as I was clearly entitled to a refund from the other bus company as I'd been assured of full cama.

I was rather reluctant to take this course of action never being a great fan of spending time in the company of police so I returned to the original bus depot and pleaded my case once more. There was now in attendance a man who seemed a little more senior and a least a little more willing to field my complaint. After much remonstration, a call back to the woman in Sucre who sold me the ticket (not sure how I pulled that off, although I did just learn the verb to lie (mentir) which came in handily) I secured a partial refund of 200Bs. This small injection of funds alongside my emergency stash of $60US was enough to get my ticket. It doesn’t end there though… The friendly girl who'd suggested I get the police involved wasn't satisfied that I'd secured a good enough deal so went to the Police on my behalf! A few minutes later I was asked to come to the nearby station with a friendly Bolivian retiree (Jose) who turned out to be seated on the bus next to me decided it would be a good idea to offer me some moral support (again no one is speaking any English in this equation). At the station the cops dragged, well escorted the guy I'd negotiated my partial settlement with. And after another schpiel in broken Spanish from yours truly I got another 300 Argentian peso back.

Drama behind me it was on to the full cama which I'm delighted to report is comfortable and all together more suitable for a 30 + hour journey. Though full or semi cama one problem on the journey was intractable… Crossing the boarder to Argentina took 4 hours! Still it was sunny I was able to practice Spanish with a jovial Peruvian passenger and the Jose. Hopefully its all plain sailing from here to Buenos Aires but its never wise to count too many pollos in South America before they've hatched.

Update… I've just looked up from my keyboard and seen the most enormous, vivid and complete rainbow, these plains sure do pack some meteorological punch!