Bolivia

A lot of people ask me “So… When you travel… What do you do? Do you have an itinerary? How much do you plan?”

This is a snap-shot of a 60 hour segment of my recent trip to S. America.

 

———————-

I hug Elena goodbye as she gets into her Uber and head to the Santiago airport. Traveling with someone for two weeks is a big deal for me. To not kill/grow bored of someone after that much constant time definitely doesn’t happen often.

Usually I travel alone where I get to be as selfish as I want. Eat what I want, wake up when I want. Go (location, bathroom, whatever) when and where I want. Traveling with someone else means you can’t do those things anymore as easily- you need to be accommodating and understanding of someone else’s needs… Basically, you need to be the exact OPPOSITE of selfish.

One would think that I would secretly be doing a jig now that Elena’s gone. Farting out lout without apology. Eating my dinner (salami and cheese) like a starved caveman. But, actually, I was sad that I wouldn’t have an adventure buddy. No more random disney songs that wake me up in the morning.

This moment passes in .02 seconds and I’m excited again about my new adventure. Today is a new day! I can do whatever I want!

And I want to go to Bolivia.

Country #65. Temperate climate, high altitude, cheap as hell, rice and bean dishes, meditation/ayahuasca ceremony this weekend! I find an Airbnb for 7$ a night that also has a yoga room and is within walking distance to hiking trails.

Hell yes! sign me up!

I pack. Get a bus ticket from Santiago to Iquique, Chile. (What I understood in my broken/piss poor spanish is that “Iquique is a great leaping off point to Bolivia”) GREAT!

26 hour bus ride… No problem.

I prepped as best as I could:
-1 kilo of cherries
-2 packs of oreos
-a zip-lock bag of home-made trail mix

• Hour 15, we are told the toilet doesn’t work anymore and we’ll be making more stops at bus stops.
• Hours 15-20 – the cherries had turned, apparently, and were making my stomach do back-flips. (not great when there isn’t a working toilet on the bus).
• Hour 17 – I realize I really REALLY want coffee. But I can’t- because I’m detoxing for Ayahuasca. I suck on coca leaves instead. The detox is trying to eliminate all fun things out of your life… No meat, caffeine, sex, drugs, rock and roll, spices, milk or sugar. No problem. *cry*
• Hours 24-27 were spent freezing because the AC finally went on, but was finicky.
• Hours 26-30, the child in a seat behind me wouldn’t stop screaming. It is an impressive Bb6, most of the time. Sometimes he goes flat (I have yet to meet a single Argentinean/Chilean that was ever in tune 100% of the time…)
• Hours 28+, LN thinks about how to kill people with rotten cherry pits.
• Hour 28.5 – LN practices meditation breathing exercises.
• Hour 29, cherries are seriously taking their revenge and my stomach and bowels are doing backflips that would rival any olympic gymnastic team. I try eating oreos to put something else/anything else in my stomach to distract the cherry’s revenge.
• Hour 31- LN notices that her lower limbs are completely swollen and the joints are frozen up- making walking difficult.
• Hour 32 – the mother of the Bb6 screaming spawn decides she’s in an Axe Body Spray commercial and sprayed herself down with something so rancid, I thought we ran over a family of dead skunks.

*Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold….*

(Side note – S. American bus trips are always entertaining. Here is another story)

 

We arrive, finally, to the sunny and beautiful beach town of Iquique at around 15:00. I’m told that the only place to buy international bus tickets is on the “Bolivian strip” about 10 blocks away.

I strap my backpack on and start hoofing it. It’s hot. I’m sweating through my clothes, which were crusty with sweat and travel anyway. I don’t have a lot of money. 2,000-3,000 pesos, maybe (5$USD). I find the bus place and ask in my Gringa spanish. Most places say “No Hay! Papa!”

I had no idea what they were saying. But I was getting more frustrated at people not giving me the time of day and selling me a goddamn ticket to Bolivia. I check my watch. I had 24 hours to get there. I THINK the bus only takes 12 hours? Guh. I’m cutting it thin.

I notice this one guy is staring at me. I stare back. His presence is electric, tanned skin from hours in the sun, raven black hair. He walks up to me, his eyes are slightly green. He stands next to me, his hand comes up and I feel like I’m suddenly transported to 1810, waiting for him to take my hand to kiss it.

No. He put a cigarette in his mouth and inhaled.

Exhaled.

I forgot to breathe… Time stopped. We stood there. Staring. The pain in my lungs tells me that I should and when I inhale I smell nicotine and musk. My favorite combination. He smiles. I have no idea what my face is doing- probably looking stupid.

He speaks first – “a donde vas?”.

“La Paz”

He looks disappointed. “Aca.” He tosses his cigarette and walks into a shop. I follow him like I’m in a trance.

“Nombre? Edad?”

He smiled at my name and then seemed surprised by my age. I’m feeling more confident and… awake now.

Usually, on Earth, in general, I have this cloud of negative energy swirling around my brain. Fear, doubt, depression. It’s kinda like “the nothing” from Never Ending Story. Most of the time it’s kept in check, but sometimes it takes over and I’m a shell of a human. I find if I allow a slow drip of fear and do risky things (like speaking a different language or flirting with strangers), along with constant sun, it’s kept more in check.

And right now, flirting with Juan (the suave chilean in front of me) has kicked fear and doubt totally to the curb and out of the game and good anxiety and adrenaline has taken over.

He asks for my passport. He goes through it and ohs/ahs in respect. Ask if I ate zebra and what I enjoyed most about Africa.

(Small talk is way more tolerable in Spanish than in English.)

He asks when I want to go to La Paz. I come crashing back to reality. The ayahuasca ceremony was on Saturday, and if I stayed, I most CERTAINLY wouldn’t stick to my diet. And the Jungle was calling me…

“Tonight” I said eventually.

“Claro. 21:30?”

“Si.”

There were a lot of pauses. (ok. maybe it was just in my head, but this is my story.)

He finishes writing out my ticket and says stuff about the trip in fast Spanish that I didn’t quite get. Ripped the ticket out of the book and reluctantly gave it to me.

I eat dinner in a Bolivian restaurant. Hop onto wifi for a few hours before, literally, head off into the sunset to catch my bus. The news in the restaurant showed that the Pope was visiting Santiago. Ah. Papa. It all makes sense now. Apparently he was going to be in Iquique tomorrow. “Good thing I’m leaving tonight!” I thought.

I get on my bus and a few hours later we’re at the boarder, where, apparently, we’re going to sleep. No electricity, no bathroom, no cell service, no lights. Nothing but a bus full of Bolivians snoring on the freezing bus in the middle of the Andean desert.

I couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, boredom, anxiety, withdraw from sleep aids, haunting thoughts from Juan… whatever. I couldn’t sleep. I try my go-tos:

1. sleep stories
2. “Shhhhhh. chillax” playlist on spotify
3. Sam Harris podcasts (something about his cadence and timbre of his voice usually makes me insta-sleep.)

Usually I can’t finish a single podcast because I pass out, much to my friend, Nick’s, dismay and disappointment. BUT NOT THIS NIGHT! I’m so proud (frustrated) that I finished not one, not two, but THREE(!!!) podcasts of Sam Harris…….

And I’m still awake…….

SRSLY?????

Somewhere I must have dozed off because I wake up at 8am to the bus starting up and lurching forward to claim it’s line in customs.

At 9:30am we disembark. I go to use the bathroom (200 pesos) and buy a pack of Oreos (800 pesos). I’m now completely broke. I walk back to the office building to officially get stamped out/in.

*Note: the electric at this boarder was by solar/generators. No ATMs, no Wifi. It was a super simple/basic boarder crossing.

At 11:30 I’m called to the window and my patience is being seriously challenged. The chilean immigration girls take my passport and start to mock it immediately. Laughing and carrying on in rapid accented Spanish so I’m missing almost every word. I’m sleep deprived and wondering what the hell is going on. The Bolivians on my bus are looking at me wondering why I’m taking this shit.

*Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.*

The girl stamps me out. Laughs and then motions for me to go to the next window. The guy there takes my passport and looks through it. and then again. And again. He looks at me, sleepily, and says “No Visa”.

“…..Como?”

“Donde es Visa?”

“Que?”

A fucking visa???! What?!? I haven’t needed a visa for all of South America- and now all of a sudden I need one? Not to sound like a fucking elitist/entitled American- but….. REALLY?!

“Es necissito por visa… <rapid spanish that translates to something like “you can get it in Iquique. Not today. Pope. But maybe next week?”>

……….

This is where I lose it. You know those ugly people who just bawl in public places? And you feel embarrassed and ashamed for them? That was me. A familiar hand of The Nothing wringing out my insides. Twisting and squeezing my torso so hard I couldn’t breathe. My entire face leaking like I was tear-gassed again. I tried to calm myself down, I couldn’t. I made a list instead…

• I smell. I need a shower.
• And a change of clothes.
• I have zero money.
• I couldn’t go to Bolivia.
• Because I’m a fucking idiot and didn’t check the MOST BASIC OF THINGS!
• I’m a failure.
• No ayahuasca for me.
• I’ll never get rid of The Nothing. I might as well let it consume me here.
• I’m going to die here.
• No one cares and no one will help me.
• Oh… Hi Cherries. You want more revenge?! FML.

I ran out of the customs office. My Bolivian bus mates looked at me. “Bien?”

“No…. No Visa.”

They all signed and looked sad. The women surrounded me and gave me hugs. I’m only noting this because it’s the single, most random acts of kindness that happened to me during me entire trip.

I walked back to the Chile side – no idea how/what is going to happen.

I sing Moana’s “How Far I’ll Go” which was stuck in my head since dawn. Trying to pump myself up with charisma and determination. Knowing that I’m going to have to sweet-talk my way onto some bus going back to Iquique.

I mentally take an inventory of my bag while standing in the customs line. Do I really have NO money? How much is my stuff worth? How much is a bus ticket worth? How do I say any/all of this in Spanish?

I am suddenly exhausted and words aren’t really words anymore.

I get stamped in (she was way nicer than the exiting girls!) and I see a line of buses.

Maybe I can hitch-hike?

*Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.*

I find comfort in making lists. So I make one of things that would bring me joy:

• puppies
• down comforters
• hot chocolate
• good books
• favorite songs playlist

The last one I can do. I pick my playlist on my phone and continue my mental list.

• Mango Lassis

I start to feel lighter.

• Stretching

OH! Something else I can do! I start to stretch.

• The color “Pooh’s Umbrella”

With each item, it gets easier to breathe and my vision seems to be getting wider. I force myself to smile.

• Terrible/Awful jokes and puns.
• Checking shit off a list.
• Coming up with ridiculous/hyperbole similes for how I feel or what is going on.

My mind drifts back to a memory… I used to have a fan club when I first started traveling. T-shirts and pins were talked about – but that’s as far as it got. I’ve always gotten strength from those people. The ones that would look at this moment and say “Yea, but what would make the best story, LN?”

These are the same friends that would ask stuff like “Who is LN?” (as opposed to “what do you do?” or bullshit questions like that.) That list is ever changing -but today? I’m good at haggling.

• Haggling successfully!

I have 28 Argentina Pesos (2$), half a pack of cigarettes, 3 packs of Oreos (not getting bartered unless totally dire!), 2 USA quarters, a bunch of bottle caps (those seem to only be valuable to me, for some reason), some gum, and 4 days worth of dirty clothes.

I put on my best smile and go to the first bus:

“Hola! Cuantos es biletos a Iquique?”

“Cinco Mil” (5,000 Pesos)

I go to the next bus.

(4 mil)

I keep going. Channeling my door-to-door sales days where I had to fake smile all day just to keep attempting to sell. The last bus was a piece of junk. The whole sequence from Han/Leia goes through my head (“will this heap of junk even move?”). I smile. I think about flirting.

“Bon Dia!” I say, over enthusiastically.

“Hola.”

“Como estas?”

“Bien”

“Yo quiero bileto a Iquique. Yo tengo trenta pesos de Argentina, cigarellos, chicolet, y sonrisa!” (I want a ticket to Iquique. I have 20 Argentian pesos, cigarettes, gum and a smile)

He looks at me… I hand him the money. More than I promised because of the US quarters. He keeps looking at me. I pass over the cigarettes and gum. He offers one to me, and I say “no. por tu.” He shakes his head and opens the door fully to allow me access.

I take in the details of the bus:

• sticky floor
• broken seats/no seat belts
• no AC
• broken windows

It was the most glorious heap of junk I’ve ever been on.

13:30 – we’re on our way back to Iquique. Traffic is a bitch because of the Pope.

16:30- I find an ATM! Withdraw way too much money, but I’m sick of being strapped/worried.

17:30 – I find the cutest Air BNB (accidentlly), take a really long over-due shower

18:30 – I buy a ticket to Jujuy, Argentina. A jungle, just a different kind.

19:00 – I try to find Juan. He’s not there. 🙁

19:30 – I eat dinner.

20:30 – I’m in a bed, finally, after 2.5 days of traveling.

 

I never did make it to Bolivia. Maybe eventually I’ll go- when the 160$ visa is worth it.

I still haven’t done ayahuasca but still want to.

Iquique has some really pretty beaches that I slept on for several days before going back to Argentina.

The moral of the story: www.travel.state.gov is your friend.