On Travelling

So tomorrow it's off again! These couple of days in the city of  Sucre have been sunny, relaxing and tasty (nice restaurants here). Also my room has been the nicest one so far - a little eagles nest in the oldest part of town with quite a stunning view of the city.

Salta is the true heart of the country. It's where the declaration of independence was signed and whereas La Paz is the seat of government and treasury, Sucre is recognized in Bolivia's constitution as the nations capital. (This makes me wonder, which city should really be called the capital of Bolivia).

White and pristine and a Unesco World Heritage site for its unspoilt colonial centre this is a lovely place to chill for a few days. However all good things come to an end and a rolling stone gathers no moss.

Travelling as I do, a lot of time is spent in buses and trains and just getting from A to B. However it's never time wasted as the views are often spectacular. Going overland really gives one an idea about the nature and topography of the area.

So today I went to buy the ticket for my next destination. You could think that buying a ticket for the bus is an easy exercise. And indeed it often is so. But I'm falling off the map of places of national import and trying to get to a little town called Aiquile. And today was a prime example of just how fuzzy these interactions can sometimes be.

I was told by my guest house hosts where to go, or I would never have found the place. The ticket office itself was a kind of garage opening to the street. In front were several sacks of vegetables and an exercise bicycle. Right at the end there was a desk, but nobody was present and there was not one mention anywhere of tickets or buses or Aiquile.

I asked the lady who had a street kitchen next door if she knew where the ticket office guy was and she went to the inner courtyard, which could be glimpsed through the open back door of the "office" and started shouting for Jose. After a while a sleepy voice answered, but though I continued to wait there was no sign of Jose himself. Clearly one customer was not enough of an incentive to get out of bed. 

Presently a boy of around 12 years of age bicycled in from the street and promptly  started to sell me a ticket in a very professional manner. However, I wanted a ticket for tomorrow - Friday - and he was adament that no buses ran on Friday and the next bus was on Saturday. So off I went to the main bus station to see if anyone else had tickets to Aiquile. They didn't. So I had to accept a day's delay and went back to square one. 

This time there was a little boy of around 6 years of age alone in the ticket office. I asked him where his brother or father were and he went back to shout for Papi in the inner courtyard. This time Jose was awake enought to come down himself - and to my surprise it ensued that there WAS a bus tomorrow - unlike the previous information I had been given by his son. At this point you would think things would be simple enough. Yet it needed the participation of three more people before the deed was done: a younger man who rushed off to get blank tickets, a matronly woman who had lots of advice and, rather mysteriously, a car mechanic who had all appearances of having just crawled out from under a car. Where these people suddenly all appeared from is a mystery to me.

Anyway, I now hold a ticket in my hand and tomorrow it's pack and go again. The reason I am going to Aiquile is to ride a form of transport that I would dare to guess none of you has ridden before.