We arrived here in La Paz Saturday night. It was not an easy bus ride from Puno, Peru.
After spending Friday waiting out the aforementioned protests/roadblocks, we were able to book passage on a bus leaving Saturday morning for the six-hour journey across the Bolivian border and into La Paz.
After crossing over into Bolivia, however, we neared a bridge and came to a stop behind a column of motionless cars. It was a roadblock.
We waited for 20 or 30 minutes, during which time our bus driver tried to arrange for a police transport through the hot spot. As we were milling about near the bus, everyone at the front of the line–also out of their cars and walking around–began yelling and sprinting back toward their cars. We followed suit and boarded our bus; there was a mad dash of cars and people as everyone hastily sped back in the opposite direction.
Turns out, we heard, that a farmer was walking along a nearby hill and waving a shot gun in the direction of the waiting cars. Apparently he was a protester and was trying to clear the area of cars.
After driving for a few minutes, our bus turned down a second, much more rocky road, with the intention of skirting the road block. But after about a quarter of a mile, a loud “pop” and “whoosh” signaled that we’d blown a tire.
Again, everyone got off the bus. And it took all of two hours for the Bolivian bus driver, his assistant, and the operators of a second bus, one with which we were caravaning and which also suffered a flat right behind us, to change the tire. Particularly troubling was a lug nut which, it turned out, had to be removed with a hack saw.
During this time, cars could be seen flowing around the road block on the main road, so when we were ready to go again we doubled back toward the original highway. But not before the bus was momemtarily stuck in a mud field while attempting to turn around. At long last, though, we made it back to the bottleneck, which was still strewn with large rocks and broken glass.
Several protesters stood on a hill next to the roadside, one of whom was swinging a slingshot and threatening to pelt our bus with a rock. But our driver’s assistant approached the group, paid them enough Bolivianos so that they allowed us to pass, and we made it through. It was quite nerve-wracking.
We arrived in downtown La Paz, changed some money, and took a cab to my brother’s apartment. What should’ve been a six-hour ride took more like ten; we slept well that night.
And in happier news, yesterday we were lucky enough to attend an excellent soccer match between La Paz’s two rival clubs, Bolivar and the interestingly-named The Strongest. The squads played to a 2-2 draw.
Great to see my brother and great to great to finally be in La Paz.