Day 18- Oruro, Bolivia - Arica, Chile

To preface this entry I would first like to say this is probably the worst day I've had this year. Second, I hope it doesn't get any worse. Third, it wasn't all that bad so I should consider myself lucky! Anyways, John and I were on the bus from Uyuni and we were dropped off at the small town of Oruro whose main attraction is its large bus station. We got off our bus at 3am, and started wandering around the very confusing and disorganized two-story bus station plaza. Our goal was to find someone who would sell us a ticket to our next destination Arica, Chile and to get on that bus as soon as possible. In retrospect, we should have just found a hostel, passed out, and come back later that day- but no.

I started asking workers and people in the station, and someone told me "oh there is a bus to Arica leaving at 4am!" I think "yes, perfect." Apparently this was a lie. No such departure existed. We learned that at 6am the rest of the kiosks opened for the other bus companies, so we decided, "we can wait 2 more hours... then get our ticket!" Those two hours of waiting seemed to last forever though. We were sitting on a hard, broken bench next to a window letting in the cold. People were all around us, and there were tons of locals sleeping on sacks of food they placed on the floor with blankets covering them. I deduced that the homeless women and children come to the bus station to sleep, or they are so used to the slow system they just come prepared. It was an interesting thing to witness though. At this romantic moment, John and I realized it was our one year of dating anniversary- sitting on a broken bench, angry, and smelly at a bus station in Bolivia. Wow. Despite that, I was still tired and mildly miserable. Also, because Bolivia always charges you to use the restroom, none were opening until 8am. So, I wandered around on a hunt, but to no avail. I had to get creative again, and determined that an abandoned hallway with a tiled floor would suffice.

Two hours later we started looking around for these companies that supposedly opened at 6, but few of the places inside the bus station had "Arica" listed as a destination. Only about three did, but none were open. No one around knew when they were opening either. I was, at this point, extremely cranky, gross (no shower in 4 days) and distraught that we'd be stuck in this godforsaken town. In my desperation I found a cop and asked him what we could do. He wasn't very friendly, or helpful. He said, "just wait a little longer because a bus leaves at 8". I was comforted, and I thought, "well we've been here for 4 hours already, we can handle 2 more". Then 8am came and went: no bus, no companies selling tickets. Mentirosa! At this point, I broke down and started crying (lack of sleep will do it to you). So, John and I gave up and went upstairs and sat on a bench near the few Arica ticket selling stands, and decided to just wait and stake them out until the workers finally came in for the day. The only entertainment or hope I saw was found in a video jukebox by our bench; kids were watching Michael Jackson music videos and Spanish rap intermittently.

Finally, a worker came in to one of the stands. I optimistically inquired about bus tickets to Arica, but they had sold out of them the day before. I felt mildly panicked, and was really upset we'd spent a miserable night wandering around a bus station when we should have just left when we arrived 5 hours ago. Then, a bit later, another woman came in. I tried to explain our situation to her in Spanish, and I said "I'll give you a tip if you call your friends and see if any companies go to Arica." She said there were maybe one or two, but that the workers would not come in for some time more. I know patience is a virtue, but it was to hard to keep in mind! I was convinced we were stranded. Maybe two hours later, a man arrived at a neighboring stand. I ran up to talk to him. His name was Hernán, and he is now my hero. Hernán chatted with me and, God bless his soul, he finally sold us a ticket to Arica after a horrible and uncomfortable 7 hours of uncertainty. There were only two seats left in the very back, and he made some calls to double check we would be on it. I asked him if he could tell them we were foreigners and to help give us instructions when we had to change buses, and he said he would. I was a little worried that it was not a direct route, and based on our last confusing bus changing experience, I was a bit hesitant. I couldn't afford to be so picky though.

Finally... food! The bus station was close to this nice hotel, so John and I wandered up there and discovered a buffet room offering all you can eat for a cheap price. It was like heaven! Resting, filling up on food, and knowing we had a ticket made me cheer up and feel instantly better. Since it was daylight we decided to leave the dreaded bus station and head out into the city of Oruro. It is a small, urban town so we just walked a big circle around the bus station and explored. There were several stands where young boys were selling fresh squeezed lemonade. They would smash and squeeze the juice out of the lemons right in front of you, and John was in love with it.

Finally, the time came for our bus to leave Arica. Hernán met us at his ticket stand and then personally escorted John and I out to our bus that was headed to a no-name town called Patacamaya. He told the driver we'd need help with the bus change to Arica, and so we thanked him and I gave him a couple bolivianos as una propina (a tip). Then, we waited patiently for the slow Bolivian bus system to finally depart Oruro. I was not sad to leave!

Two hours later, we reached Patacamaya-a small deserted town with no shade, and no people. It felt deserted. The bus driver decided to ignore Hernán's instructions to help us, and when we stopped in the middle of the road there he screamed at us to get off. He then literally chucked our backpacks out into the road, and said "wait here for the next bus. It will be soon." We didn't know where the new bus would pick us up, what time to expect it, etc. It was a bit scary and abrupt. John was mostly calm but I was slightly panicked. This would be a worse place to be stranded in than Oruro! So, John and I sat there in the shadeless heat in the middle of this concrete median, waiting. It started to get really hot and we hadn't seen any buses pass by, so we decided to cross the side street and wait in the shade. Every time a bus drove by we checked its name, and a few times I yelled to the driver asking where they were going, and if he knew when our bus was coming. I was convinced it never would.

About an hour later, the bus still hadn't come. I was freaking out a bit. Many had passed by, but few had even stopped. One bus did stop to let off a few people, and I asked them if they knew about Arica and they kept saying "ya viene," meaning it already came. This did not help calm me down. I was pessimistic about our prospects, and I did have reason to be based on past experience. I was worried why we were still stranded there. The company we left Oruro with was called Paraiso, and since there were two intersections John and I split up to stake out the roads for buses with that name on it. Another hour later, one came to the side street John was at. It said Paraiso, and a few locals were loading things onto it. I sprinted over there and frantically asked the driver if they went to Arica. He said "no the bus is full, the one to Arica already came". I was on the verge of tears, and as a last attempt I yelled to him as he was about to close the door. He then said, "this does stop at Arica. Hurry up!" We rapidly threw our bags on, and ran onto the bus. As we were walking down the aisle it was driving away. All the seats were full. Ugh. I'm not sure why the driver changed his mind, maybe he didn't fully understand me the first time, but thank God I asked him twice!

We showed our tickets to the two kids and woman sitting in our seats, and they got up and moved to let us sit. Then they sat in the narrow aisle on the floor next to the bathroom, and us. It was very cramped, and slightly awkward. The woman spoke Quechua, so that made things even more interesting! I felt bad making them sit on the floor, but they didn't buy a ticket and that was likely what they were used to. It was also extremely hot, and there was barely any breeze. As we drove on the attendant passed out immigration papers, and we filled those out. The woman next to me somehow helped me and we actually communicated successfully- not sure how though!

Over time we began to enter more mountainous areas with narrow roads. After a few hours we were randomly stopped and some intimidating looking policeman got onto the bus. I was a bit freaked out, but they simply handed us all brochures instructing us not to litter the highways once we entered Chile? Our next obstacle to overcome now was crossing the border from Bolivia to Chile. Tons of buses were already in line, so we pulled up and parked for a while. The surrounding views of the mountains were amazing! Finally we went through and got our passports stamped. Then, we had to go through the drug and bag screening building. We all threw our bags in a pile and a drug dog walked around sniffing them. Then the bags went through a scanner, and we were all questioned about our belongings. The scanner beeped when John's bag went through, and so the Chilean officer started asking him questions about what set it off. I translated into English for John, and explained to the man in Spanish that it was probably this ornament with seeds in it we bought in Lima. The machine likely thought it was drugs or illegal plants, haha. We dug through and found it, and were given the okay. The officer then randomly started speaking perfect English, and complimented me on my accent and proficiency. I was very flattered!

After several more hours on a bus ride winding down the mountains towards lower elevations and the coast, we had a brief dinner stop overlooking the Andes mountains at sunset. Then, after the 12 hour journey, we finally arrived in the darkness to our destination- Arica, Chile! Earlier, I had told the bus attendant to personally inform me when we stopped at Arica, because everyone else was headed to this other city Iquique and I didn't want him to forget about telling us. Luckily, he listened. We stepped off the bus, had our bags thrown out on the curb, and it drove away. John and I were instantly hounded by cab drivers begging us for business. This one very pushy man followed us around and wouldn't shut up. We couldn't figure out where to go, so we just gave up and let him drive us. We had the directions to our hostel, Arica Surf House, and he claimed he knew where it was. He drove into the city, and stopped at this hotel that was not at all what we told him. He got out and tried to make us get off and stay there. He then acted like he didn't know where the street was we had been telling him. It was a bit sketchy. I yelled at him and firmly said, "no, we need to go to our hostel. We have reservations." I knew he probably had a friend who owned the hotel we were at, and he was trying to trick us to stay there so he'd get some reward. So then he lied and was all "oh, I didn't know you had reservaions!" Then, after telling us he didn't know where our hostel was, he suddenly remembered and drove us there without any problems. Shady! He also overcharged us, but we didn't feel like dealing with him anymore. (Pink line on map shows our route)

Finally, we entered the long awaited paradise of Arica Surf House Hostel. It was a cool, breezy evening, and the hostel is mainly open air. It had a great atmosphere and was decorated with surfboards and canvases on the ceiling. The common area had a kitchen, computers, TV, couches, and ping-pong. It was a great place overall. The owner also spoke fluent English and was very friendly and helpful. We checked into our room and I almost cried from happiness when I saw a shower. It was the best thing ever. I have never loved a shower more in my life.