The magical bus. (and by magical, I mean stupid)

I have many things to write about regarding the weekend in La Paz, Bolivia, the highest city in the world (altitude-wise and tourist-robbery wise). But first, I have to go on a rant..

I hate Bolivian buses. After doing my research to find the safest bus line, I settled on Tours Copacabana to go from La Paz to Potosi, Bolivia, a town with the deepest and most dangerous mines in the world. I was excited to go underground and see the miserable working conditions the miners endure. Instead however, our bus broke down at 3AM and we didn't get a replacement bus until 11AM. If you're counting, that equates to 8 hours of freezing your ass off because you are not Bolivian and you don't know to bring a 4 inch thick wool blanket with you because the buses don't have heat and break down regularly. (Although, I have to admit, I did have a polyester spaulding jacket several milimeters thick).

To add insult to injury, I took a 1/4 of an ambien sleeping pill hoping I could fall asleep and put it all behind me. But alas (and once again), the ambien wreaked havoc on my stomach, as I was wavering between puking and turtle pooping my brains out. What was particularly annoying (while waiting for the other bus) was that the current bus had no bathroom and the driver locked the cabin door so no one could get out. This extra security was decisively counterproductive to my stomach situation.

On top of that, there was a fat 4-year old wearing ear muffs and snow pants in the seat behind me, kicking the back of my seat and the metal heater (none functional of course) most of the night. And when he wasn't doing that, he was either farting boisterously or staring at my bag of food hoping I didn't want to eat my Sour Cream and Onion Pringles.

We finally got a new bus and I made it to Potosi, but it was too late for the Mine tour, so I forged on to my final destination, Sucre, Bolivia. I would rather have 5 of the previously mentioned bus rides than the one from Potosi to Sucre. I was flanked on my port (left) side by a Bolivian woman who really knows how to fill a bus seat (or two) and her two young children sitting on her lap and crying at pretty consistent intervals. To the stern (behind me) was two 5-year old girls, who literally did not stop shouting the entire 3 hour trip. My seat was reclined, so their vocal instruments were approximately 10 inches away from my ear. When ever they saw a street vendor they would shout out "MANDARIN!!! QUIERO MANDARIN". They would typically shout this for the next 5-10 kilometers. The drivers, hearing this banter turned on the radio, and wouldn't you know it, they were playing the same bolivian tape that I had to listen to about 15 times on my Salt Flat Tour, and the same tape that made me want to pluck out my eye balls.

In the end, I put in my ear plugs and started eating my Pringles, which are rather crunchy when you plug your ears.


Chill with Me: Ear Muffs, Argentine Vendors laughing at my 'Benjamins', Olga, Shats, People giving me horn, Stray Dogs.

On Notice: Bolivian Buses, The two girls on the bus behind me, Hangovers, Not outsourcing my travel planning, Dish rags, dogs.

Dead to Me: Mandarin Oranges, The Secretary of the Treasury, Mamushka Chocolate Store, salami.