The border crossing from La Quiaca, Argentina to Villazón, Bolivia marked our first miserable experience of the trip. We took a night bus and got to the border at 8 am. The customs line stretched 300 meters from the small building where one man stamped passports for the hundreds of people waiting to cross the border. We sat in line for several hours, getting up every ten minutes to move our bags five feet ahead. At one point the line didn’t move for almost an hour and when I went to investigate I was informed that the power went out so the customs desk was closed until it came back on. I’m not sure why you need electricity to stamp passports…
We finally got our Argentina exit stamps at around noon, but the short bridge to Bolivia was completely blocked by a local protest and police officers. So we had to walk a couple hundred yards to a spot where we could crawl through a hole in the barbed wire fence. A shallow river separated the two countries and a line of people fumbled across the stepping stones, half locals, half backpackers. This brings me to an issue that has been the biggest point of contention between me and TK this entire trip. I overpacked. Not only did I pack too much, but I used a big roller bag instead of buying a good backpacking backpack. Roller bags are of course ill-suited for travelling around South America, where flat, clean surfaces hardly exist. I’m barely strong enough to lift the bag, much less carry it upstairs or across small rivers, so TK ends up carrying it a lot. And he’s got a pretty heavy load himself, because even though he’s the world’s lightest packer and only owns about five shirts, he’s coming straight from Paraguay so anything he wanted to keep had to come with him on this trip.
Anyway, we luckily met a friendly Michigander in line, who helped me get my things across the river. Then I wheeled it through a trash-filled field, up some cobblestone streets, and to the end of the line for the Bolivian customs desk. And the same process repeated, inching along the sidewalk for hours. One pleasant surprise was our discovery that Bolivia has delicious street food. Ladies were selling tucumanes (like spherical tamales) for about 20 cents a pop, so we ate well.
When we were within ten minutes of reaching the front of the line, a customs guy brought us the forms we needed and asked if we had Bolivian visas. Nope. But we brought enough Bolivianos to pay for it. The guy informed us, however, that we had to pay in American dollars. So I ran down the street, asking store owners where the closest ATM was. This led me to a less pleasant discovery about Bolivia: Bolivians give directions just like Paraguayans do – they say “two blocks that way” even if it’s actually ten blocks, or if they have no idea where it is. Half the people I asked told me there was no ATM in Villazón and half said, “two blocks that way.” So I jogged two blocks, and another two blocks, and another and another, until I reached a little bank about 15 blocks from where TK stood in line with our bags. The teller said there was no ATM but I could take out money with a credit card if I had my passport and got in line. My passport was with TK! So I got to know that 15 block stretch of stores quite well, jogging back down to get my passport, up to get the money, and back down just in time to reach the front of the line. We eagerly handed over our passports, our forms, and our 300 US dollars. After looking everything over for ten minutes, they told us they can’t make change in dollars – they needed exactly 270. We said, “no problem, give us the change in Bolivianos.” But of course that wasn’t allowed. So Tk ran out to find a money changer to break the $300. Then more waiting. How long does it take to glue two visas and stamp two entry stamps? Forty-five minutes.
At 4 pm we officially entered Bolivia, after spending eight hours moving a distance that could otherwise be walked in ten minutes. Thank you, South American bureaucracy, for ruining our first day in Bolivia.
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