Greetings from the third world

I'm writing this because I went online to kill time while waiting for the train here in Tupiza, Bolivia*, a small and pleasant little town surrounded by all sorts of Utah-like rock formations and many goats. It's been quite an experience and I've only been in this country for two days. The border crossing at Villazón is intense- there is a constant stream of human mules smuggling unknown goods across the border into both countries. The border is just like any other, with the Argentine customs on one side of a short bridge, and the Bolivian on the other, but there is a separate customs check on the side of both, which allows the smugglers to stop only briefly before running across the border, as opposed to filling out declarations forms and such, which they most likely coudn't do anyway, being peasants and thus probably illiterate. When you arrive, then, you see what appears to be a calm border crossing surrounded by utter chaos, with short, dark, native-dressed people carrying bags that are often nearly as big as they are running around (everyone is literally running, yes).

Anyway. That was just crossing the border. We caught a bus in the afternoon, and that was an experience after the luxurious Argentine buses. Those in Bolivia look like normal buses, but they are mounted on what look like 4x4 platforms, so they are high-clearance enough to drive on Bolivian roads, which are a bit of a disaster. Anyway, it was once again mass chaos, with waaaaaaay more tickets sold than actual seats, and much shoving and such just to board. Nonetheless everone seemed in okay, if not good, spirits.

That was just the bus, and probably a better one at that. Like I said, right now I'm waiting for the train to take me to Uyuni. The ticket office opens at 8.30, so we got up this morning and went to buy seats before breakfast, and we stood in line for fifteen minutes and calmly returned to the hostel, right? No, of course not. We got numbers when we arrived-ours was 95- and waited for twenty more minutes for tickets to be sold, and finally the number, which had been 42 since we arrived, changed to 43. We waited another ten minutes and when it still hadn't moved, we went for breakfast, and sat and drank Nescafé** and ate bread for quite a while, and walked lesiurely back, and the number was...53.

Anyway. eventually we got some tickets, and we are off to serious llama country (more goats around here in the border regions, but we have seen a few, and I ate a llama empanada a while back, which ranked high on the tastiness).

Also: when I was in Argentina (Salta), I picked up the local paper and read the following:

VIOLARON DOS GALLINAS
Ambos Animales Murieron; Denunció su dueña

If you don't know, ask.

*I said I wouldn't, but I did. Really it's not bad at all. The being-a-totally-obvious-gringo-foreigner thing is kind of a shock, but eh.

**I understand that coffee isn't big here, but the Chileans are just as bad with the Nescafé instead of café thing, and that I can neither understand nor forgive.