The Amazing Race

where was Phil Keogan when we needed him...

7 days, 4 countries, almost 10,000 kilometres; all in buses and for less than NZ$300 per person. It sounded impossible, many believe it was a crazy proposition - more trouble then it would be worth. But we did it, and what an experience it proved to be.

It all started on the Sunday I arrived back in Mar del Plata with Dad. Ryan gave me some great news: the following week we were to have off as the security imposed for the Summit of the Americas was going to make work and home life impossible. The idea of touring the North of Argentina was floated over the following days and we got out the tourist map once to find the lay of the land. Our good mate Roberto joked about Lake Titicaca, everyone thought he'd just had a bit too much vino tinto. I left with Dad for Buenos Aires on the Tuesday morning, leaving Kerbs to sort out a bus ticket to somewhere in the North for Friday night. I figured I'd find time to do some internet research about places to see before we left.

I arrived home from Buenos Aires at 3.30am Friday morning. Ryan woke me up at 7am - what are we doing about travelling? I was feeling a bit drowsy but explained my ideas and asked if he'd bought the tickets. "Ahh, I think they only run on Saturdays and I wasn't sure where you wanted to go..." I wasn't all that surprised, got up at 11am and went down to the bus station with a wad of cash to do business. The buses did run to the North on Fridays, but they left at 1am so I got two tickets for the next one which was 8am the following day.

Seeing as I had a bit of time up my sleeve (I decided going back to work the afternoon was off the cards) I had a quick look at an internet cafe for some more info. I got a bit sidetracked dreaming about taking a cruise in the Galapagos but tracked down a few leads before my time ran out; basicall a few hostels and tourism websites. Bus tickets bought, links saved to gmail, TRIP OFFICIALLY PLANNED.

The voyage didn't start well. We hadn't even left the city limits before the bus broke down. We were both reading our books so we take much notice, but after an hour of not moving we figured something really was up. Another bus pulled up, things were transferred and we were back on our way within 2 hours.

We got to BsAs, made the transfer to the bus to Tucuman and finally felt like we were making progress. We were a little concerned that we couldn't take our assigned seats. When we got on an old woman had set up camp in Ryan's seat so thinking that the buses are never full we just found a few free seats near the front. About two hours later a couple got on and approached our seats with argentine protest mania burning in their eyes. We retired peacefully and kindly asked the woman in our places to pack up and ship on back to the seat next to her husband.

The rest of this leg was fairly commonplace, reading, eating chocolate and trying to sleep. We arrived in Tucuman more or less on schedule. The weather was rainy and grey, hardly the diaphonous forty degree heat we had been told to expect. My first response was 'lets try and keep moving north, it's a lazy Sunday and there'll be nothing to do.' We asked all the bus companies if they had anything that ran to Bolivia, not exactly sure exactly the city or town we were shooting for. They all said no, or that their buses had already gone. After a minimum of procrastination we bought the only ticket available to the border with Bolivia that left at five the following morning.

Tucuman turned out to be about as exciting as trying to get a drivers licence in Buenos Aires. The streets were home to more dogs than humans and even they were sleeping. All the tours from the hostel had already gone so we were left to enjoy the city for the next twelve hours. Highlights were a bird that had a plastic bag attached to its legs like a sail and the Kerby sing-along to a BeeGees live DVD in the local pub. Admittedly the beer went down a treat and after finding twenty pesos in the pool hall (actually more like a rundown Time Zone with two small, uneven pool tables) we were able to splash out on some icecream and two entries to the town's most exciting attraction - the room where the independence from Spain was signed.

That night during the two hours when the power went out at the hostel we asked one of the staff about the best route to Lake Titicaca. He gave us a rundown from the little he knew of the trip then casually enquired how long we were planning to do it in. After recommending three weeks minimum, better two months, he was shocked that we put aside four days! It was even questionable considering the state the the roads and politics whether we could make it. Unphased I persuaded Kerbs it was worth a crack and we made it to bed by midnight to get four hours kip before the next leg.

Walking to the bus at 4am through the backstreets was a little concerning. Despite the fact that it was a Sunday night - Monday morning there was a remarkable number of people pouring out of nightclubs. We arrived at the bus stop without being mugged and waited. And waited. Nervously. The bus arrived half an hour late but how relieved we were to get on it. Passing Salta, Jujuy, the houses were getting smaller, more sparse and the traffic disappearing. The scenery for the whole morning was typical of the Argentine interior. Flat, brown and covered in soy - YAWN. As we approached Bolivia though things began to change. It was as if Argentina ended and a great Bolivian wilderness began as the hills ascended into a blank misty sky.

Mid-afternoon and we arrived in Salvador Massa - la frontera. Everyone seemed to be saying that we just walk towards the forest and cross the border on foot. Definitely a new experience. With no 'Welcome to Bolivia' signs, main roads or barbed wire in sight we jumped in a cab and told us just to get us there. The border crossing turned out to be quite a way, and despite our light luggage and relative abundance of time we were happy to pay a few pesos instead of trying to weave through the dirty streets. At the border, the Argentine officials looked long and hard at my passport which had recently been stamped in Ezeiza by the official I paid the overstaying fine to. Eventually they decided I wasn't any trouble and moved us on. While waiting in line we watched Bolivian after Bolivian turn up without the correct documentation and plead to be allowed to pass back in their own country.

The biggest surprise came when we actually crossed the border. We looked left, right, ahead, behind - no immigration office, no military police, no lines. Just hoardes of people selling pirated goods. Feeling a little uneasy about not having a stamp, we asked the Argentine officials what we were supposed to do. The response 'no pasa nada, just go!' The prospect of searching for more bureaucracy didn't exactly excite us so we just took off towards the bus station. The buses companies were seeking us rather than the other way round and we happily parted with a bit of our tinny aluminium Bolivian currency in return for the next ticket. Thirteen Argentine pesos (seven NZ dollars) for an overnight passage - we're thinking Bolivia's going to be fun. We took a seat and ordered a hamburger with plenty of vegetables and some juices to eat during the wait. When we heard the price the hamburger turned into two, plus a pack of cream crackers, a bottle of watter, more batteries, Coca-Cola playing cards, a luggage padlock and some new headphones. Unaware of the time difference we jumped on the bus at the assigned time. Thankfully we were comfortable as it was we waited almost an hour and a half until we disembarked.