Villazon, Bolivia - The Border

Train Ride from Bolivia to Argentina

Southern Bolivia reminds me of frontier Wyoming: desolate and expansive.  We enjoyed the snail’s pace towards the border to Argentina seeing mud brick houses scattered, broke down rusty trucks, and (sadly) spewed garbage (plastic bottles and old tires) along the railway tracks.  A young boy waved at us from his front yard, surrounded by his chickens.  

The toilet on the train was but a seat with an open hole to the tracks below.  Looking through to the ground moving beneath me, I pondered: 1) it doesn’t seem very hygienic to poop on the tracks, 2) there is no other option, and 3) here goes nothing.

Trains may be the best way to travel.  Scratching along at 10 miles per hour we took in the country, a luxury for those who could afford to waste time.  I never took a train in the U.S., I was much too hurried to get to the next city, the next meeting, the next destination.  Always taking the direct flight, I was anxious for an on-time arrival.  Here, our train broke down twice: it didn’t bother me though, it was a relief.  When people ask us where we’re going, I now find pleasure in saying “I don’t know.”

We crossed the border into Argentina, hopping on a bus for the town of Salta.  After traveling for 21 hours, we arrived, smiling and pointing: look paved roads! wow, no dust storms!  we’re in a real city, let’s order a hamburgesa!