Crossing the line.

I am a multi mode traveling expert. I left Salta Argentina for the border with Bolivia. The towns bordering each other were La Quiaca, which I kept calling la cuca, la kika and generally stumbling on the name to many eye rolls from bus company employees and locals, and Villazon. One in Argentina and one in Bolivia respectively. I arrived at the bus station in La Quiaca in the early hours to a bitter cold outside. I had effectively died on the ride there and struggled to regain consciousness from a deep deep slumber. So if you can imagine sleeping so deeply that you wake up but not really wake up and you are completely unaware of who you are where you are and more importantly why is it so damn cold outside and why are people handing you heavy bags and why is the guy handing you the bag holding your other bag hostage until you give him a tip and oh my god I have to pee sooo bad and did I say it was cold? With not a dime to my name in physical currency to pay for the bathroom or maybe a cup of coffee to warm up because the atm in salta was conspiring to make this whirlwind of hellish situations happen, I wandered around aimlessly to at least release this pressure that threatened to make everything even worse. I found a tree, it was dark, it felt really good. 

Ok, got my bearings, and headed for the border. The sun rose as I was walking, the rays felt warm on my face and they revealed the people starting their busy days in a town with nothing obvious to offer except a few coffee and bread shops and hostels for the many travelers just passing through. Reached Bolivia. Or so I thought. See being an American citizen and traveling to Bolivia requires a few hoops to jump through. I had completed the forms online and printed the documents, I had my passport and my yellow fever vaccine certificate, the only thing I didn't have was dollars. As I said before the ATM in Salta wasn't working and the one in la Cuca didn't dispense dollars or have a currency exchange place. Why they require you to pay $160 in perfect condition American dollars is beyond me. Money is money I say. I got the sense that these were measures set to make it annoying if not difficult to enter as an American. 

I went up to the agent and gave all my documents, when he asked for the money I tried to explain the situation. He stopped me mid sentence and said "There are money exchange places across the border, go exchange and come back"

"Wait, over there?" I asked gesturing towards Bolivia. 

He nodded with an annoyed look on his face. 

For some odd reason I was under the impression that I needed to get permission to get into the country to get into the country. He was telling me to go get dollars in Bolivia, come back to the border and pay him so I could get into Bolivia. If this is confusing, you can imagine the stupid look on my face. Still confused I grabbed my things and did as the man said. After I returned he inspected every bill very carefully just to make sure I wasn't trying to trick him and then, I'm not kidding, slowly slid my stamped passport towards me through the little window all while maintaining eye contact in some sort of weird power move. I said thank you through my teeth and promptly left. I guess I have the US relations with Bolivia to thank for this headache. It didn't matter because I was in (cue majestic soundtrack) Bolivia! A very beautiful country, you know they have flamingos and most women wear hats? 

The trip isn't over I have to make it to La Paz which by my calculations was still exactly really far away. Thankfully Villazon has a train that would take me three quarters of the way there to a town called Oruro. I slowly made my way to the train station taking pictures of all the interesting faces and clothing, being the pinnacle of a tourist really. Once at the train station I bought my ticket. There I ran into Cristian and Flaco two travelers making their way to La Paz and beyond. We had a few hours to kill so we talked and shared stories, walked around the town and made a very protective four legged friend that hung out in the bus station with us barking at anyone that approached us. I had found two more traveling companions and a dog, but he had to stay. I feel like I have to mention that this isn't like your common Amtrak station with 5 or so scheduled trains scheduled in 1 hour increments, nope, if you missed the train here you were stuck for at least 24 hours and in a lot of cases more. 

The Wara Wara train arrives and we all board. I love trains, they are great pieces of machinery and their tracks usually go where it is otherwise inaccessible by car giving you a unique landscape. This train delivered on the landscapes, we passed through canyons and valleys where people had farms and were herding sheep in yellow grasslands surrounded by mountains, the people's colorful wardrobe made the stand out against the earth tones of the landscape. This train however had been acquired in the late 60s early 70s and it showed. As it moved it rocked side to side with a lot of creaking, and when I say it rocked I mean you had to be careful not to have your face too close to the window because you very well might smack your face on the glass. The dust, oh my god the dust, as it rolled through the dry landscape it filled with this fine dust cloud that didn't settle until we stopped, 20 hours later. It's amazing what you can sleep through. In honesty it was a fun ride, after traveling by bus for most of my trip a dusty creaky rocky train was a welcomed relief, at least I could walk from car to car to stretch my legs and when it was daylight the Bolivian landscape delivered on beauty. This included the lake near our destination that was peppered with hundreds if not thousands of flamingos. A truly stunning sight. 

Reaching Oruro, another passthrough town in Bolivia, Cristian, Flaco and I made our way to the bus terminal. We grabbed the bus to La Paz, a 3 and a half hour ride marking our trip at about 30 and a half hours, by far the longest trip I have ever been on. I would like a medal. Tired battered and hungry we made it to the city that rests at 3800 meters above sea level. Little did I know how much I would miss oxygen.