Crossing the border

Well it came time to leave Salta and finally enter Bolivia. This turned into the most stressful part of the whole journey actually. We were very grateful to Martin Rattray who booked our transport and subsequently got us out of a hole when things turned a bit awry. The first problem was finding the office of the transport company "Dragon Rojo". It was a small office which we finally found, and of course they didn't speak English. Up until now we had been able to get by with marginal Spanish, but here we faced a problem with our booking which we didn't have the language skills to cope with.
   Apparently the company normally has taxis ferry you to the border, a four hour drive, and then over the border you transfer to a bus. As there were 8 of us from NZ all with truckloads of luggage, the company agreed to bring the bus right to Salta. The problem was that when we went to verify our booking the day before, they conveniently knew nothing about the bus coming to Salta! Enter Martin on a galloping white horse! We ended up having to book 2 extra taxis which cost us more, but at least we were on our way again. If not for Martin we would have been stuck trying to get 8 people and 24 suitcases into 2 taxis!
   The trip happens at night, so here we were waiting outside our hotel in the dark with all our luggage for the taxis to turn up. Nevada and his group were doing the same at their hotel across town. We had just about given up hope of them turning up, when 35 mins late they trundle around the corner. Syntyche and Drew managed to pile there luggage in, but we had a taxi with an LPG tank in the boot. After about 10 mins of karate kicking suitcases we managed to slam the boot, and ensconce ourselves in the back seat with half our luggage. Now I am not a fussy person at all really, and I have had some horrendous trips in my life, but this can only be described as the trip from hell. It was extremely hot, probably well over 30 degrees, we were jammed in the back like sardines hardly able to move our feet let alone get comfortable to sleep, and both our windows and door handles were broken. Not only that but we had not a clue how far we were going, so couldn't even psyche ourselves up for it. Then the driver stopped to but coca leaves and cigarettes, oh joy! As the trip progressed the drivers cheeks bulged more and more until we couldn't see how he could get any more coca leaves in, we felt like banging his cheeks together to see what would happen.
   About an hour into the trip we came across a group of people walking along the road in the complete darkness. Keep in mind that we are miles from anywhere, and it is dark. Well for the next hour and a half there were masses of people walking along in the pitch dark with kids in tow holding flowers. Most of the way the taxi driver was driving on the wrong side of the road to avoid hitting them. This too was part of the celebration of the day of the dead, where they walk through the night to place flowers at cemeteries, a wee bit odd I thought.
   Finally we arrive at an immigration office where the taxi driver herds us in to get our passports stamped. No dramas getting that done, but we come outside and he is gone! After a while we notice his car up ahead several hundred meters. We had been warned that this was the only place to use the toilets before getting to Tarija 3 hours later, so we went off to find them. For the life of me I couldn't find a men's toilet, so I gave up and waited for Lois. She came out rather shell shocked, indicating that the toilet hadn't been flushed in rather a while, and she had to walk over piles of used paper thrown on the floor. Oh well better than nothing I guess.
   Off we go to load our luggage back in to the taxi, squeeze ourselves in and set off again - for 100 meters. Then out we get and all our luggage gets taken out for inspection by officials. Meanwhile we see the taxi driver roaring off into the wild blue yonder back to Salta. An old man loads our luggage onto a trolley and takes off down the road. we weren't sure whether it was being stolen, or we were supposed to follow or what, so we ran after him. He crossed a bridge, went a 100meters or so further and we came to another office where apparently we had to fill in some documents. This office, and the officials put you in mind of some tin pot border control in the middle of nowhere where tourists go missing regularly and are never heard from again. Here is a flattering photograph of the outside of the office:

After being manhandled, ordered around, confused and abused, we finally got to fill in an application for an entry visa and were on our way. By the way the mosquitos here are in plague proportions, and fly around in huge swarms. Fortunately I don't ever seem to get bitten and they didn't bother me. Lois had insect repellent with her, but before leaving NZ she started taking vitamin B1 tablets as they are supposed to stop insects biting. It must work because she didn't get bitten either even without insect repellent.
   We met one young man here who we gave our first witness to. Lois gave him a tract and we asked him to study. He said he had in the past and would love to again.
   The rest of the trip went without too many dramas, we got on the bus which had a TV at the front. The three stooges was playing in Spanish on DVD. After 20 minutes it finished, and we had to endure the one minute preview over and over for two and a half hours. At least I got to see my first toucan fly past the bus! The scenery was nice but not dramatic. Here is a link to a short video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_oSATeLqqA
   Well we get almost to Tarija, and the bus runs out of diesel! About 45 mins later we get going again, and to cut a long story short we arrive at Martin and Louise Rattray's house. What a relief to be able to converse properly again. Louise had an awesome breakfast prepared for us and we could finally savour the thought that we had arrived at our destination.
Next post I will talk about first impressions of Tarija, and also a little about vaccinations!
Until then...