Bienvenidos a Bolivia

Buenas tardes chicos!

Sorry for my absence over the past few days, but I have been gallavanting around the Bolivian altiplano sin electricity and so have not had a chance to update the blog!

As you can gather I have said goodbye for now to the lovely Argentina, and crossed North into the less certain territory of Bolivia. Thankfully the border crossing was a relatively simple affair consisting of a 1km walk to the Argentinian side, where I enjoyed listening to Los Beatles as the sun rose and my passport was stamped, before crossing a bridge and entering a tiny little office to complete the Bolivian formalities. It was quite amusing being amongst about a dozen other foreigners and as many backpacks trying to squeeze into a 2 by 2 metre space and dance around the holes in the floor to fill out forms and get stamps!

The change between Bolivia and Argentina was instantaneous. The differences are everywhere- you can see it in the people, hear it in the language, and smell it in the air. Bolivians speak softly and slowly, making them seem gentle and maybe even a bit shy. The streets bustle with traders selling brightly coloured alpaca wool scarves, bags, beanies, gloves and the warmest looking socks I've ever seen! Women with long black plaits wearing bowler hats, bulky knee length skirts, tights and sandles )with or without leg warmers) march along carrying cloths on their backs like slings filled with goodness knows how heavy-a load, and men pass by with balls of coca leaves bulging from their cheeks. Peddlars selling fruit, humitas, smoothies and icecream call out their products over the trilling of flute-filled folk music echoing from the shops. Although the border town of Villazon is no picture, and despite the evident poverty, litter in the streets and my hesitation at travelling alone through a country with a bit of a security reputation shall we say, meeting this culture clash I was so glad I'd gone ahead with it.

And so began Bolivia, as I found myself squeezed into a smelly bus seat next to people jostling in the aisle for standing room, bumping along what was supposed to be a road )I'm pretty sure it was actually a river bed at one point) for several hours en route to Butch Cassidy territory and the 2900m high town of Tupiza, mourning the loss of the fantastically comfortable Argentinian buses with their wide and almost fully reclining seats, hot meals, blankets, pillows and movies.
Next post I will tell you all about the last few days in the Altiplano including my victory over altitude sickness, the biggest salt flats in the world and why one should be grateful that it 'is only'-3C.

All my love and chau for now!