The Bolivan Death Bus

Awaiting our overnight bus to the south of Bolivia, we became increasingly alarmed as the rest of the bus awaitees seemed to had come equipped for north pole temperatures. Huge rugs, big hats and heavy jumpers alike. As the bus approached, a fellow traveller's comment of 'It looks like something from the first world war', wasn't particularly far from the truth. Also, we had just heard that there had been a bus crash further up north in Bolivia, where 22 people had died, so survival was our main aim for the night.

The windows on the rather dated bus didn't close properly and we soon realised why the savvy bolivians came equipped for sub zero temperatures. My Bolivian socks, which didn't cover my toes so I could wear them with flip flops, seemed like the biggest disaster. Not entirely sure what i thought the point of socks which didn't cover my feet properly would be. Alas, as we got underway, the only comparison I can draw is that it felt like we were in a mobile washing machine with the rather excessive noisy rattling to match. You see, there was no road, it was a mud track. The route is normally only completed by the 'death train', but earlier in the day we had been informed the bridge had collapsed on the railtrack so there were no trains.

As i was being jumbled about with the cold nighttime wind, I remembered I had poddy (my ipod) to help me through the survival test. Now, poddy has always been there for me - when i was an au pair in France, he was my refuge. When i was sharing a room with a crazy girl in Asia, he was there for me. And when i go to the gym, he keeps me going. However, this time, newly charged poddy let me down. He simply refused to switch on. I really did do my upmost best to resucitate poddy, but there was no hope.

I could have cried. It was just me in the cold being thrown about in a bus version of a washing machine and the faint sound of my friend's electro music beating for 11 hours. Plus, I couldn't drink any water, as the smell of the toilet would be enough for me to upheave the day's food.

Not being able to see through the night's sky might have been a godsend, as at times the bus was at a rather concerning angle but even me who sleeps through ANYTHING, including an altitude change of 5000metres (which is unusual i am told), sat there counting the seconds. Not to mention clinging onto my bag after just witnessing someone get robbed.

When we arrived after a long, extremely cold, rollercoaster of an eleven hour ride, the chaotic immigration from Bolivia to Argentina took 3 hours. One man must check everyone's bag manually for drugs, whereas the illegal immigrants smuggle in by walking in the river nearby. Somewhat easier and quicker it seems.