Return of the Chicken Bus

Day 43-45: Andean South West, Bolivia. “So what must the most dangerous road in the world be like?”, Karen said referring to Bolivia's infamous 'Death Road' near La Paz. “I can't image anything worse than that road from Tupiza”, she continued. Still trying to remove the last remnants of coca leaves from by teeth with a cocktail stick, I shrugged my shoulders in ignorance.

Arriving in the Bolivia, we had planned to take the overnight train northbound to the climatically challenged outpost of Uyuni in the country's remote south western corner. At the border town of Villazon, we were told that the twice weekly train hadn't run for some weeks due to the damage caused by the seasons rains. We were therefore left with no other choice – we had to make the 250 mile journey by bus – a prospect which initially left us a little disappointed but over the next few days, as we trundled our way northwards through all manner of terrain, was to prove to be an unforgettable experience.

For long gone were those comfortable tourist buses of Argentina and Brazil – in Bolivia the journey was to be undertaken by 'chicken bus'. Now chicken buses were not new to us; we had first been introduced to them three years previously during our travels around South East Asia and here in South America things were pretty much the same: Firstly, to be classified as a chicken bus, anyone is allowed to bring anything onto the bus – livestock, bags of rice, billy cans of petrol – nothing is considered taboo. Secondly, you have to get as many people on the bus as is physically possible – 5 to a seat is a good start, people standing or even hanging on to the outside of the bus is even better. Thirdly, forget about time-tables, these buses go when ever there are enough people on board (see rule 2) and they arrive whenever they do. And finally, rule 4, the bus must be totally clapped out. Ideally, you should be looking for a bus that is at least 30 years old, covered in battle scars and with the cord poking through a set of bald tyres. The only difference between the Bolivian chicken bus compared to its Asian namesake is that they drive these things over the second highest mountain range on the planet on whatever road conditions they may find!

Travelling through volcanic mountain passes, rocky escarpments, Andean desert, sand dunes, and barren plateau’s we encountered some of the most stunning (and scary!) scenery imaginable. At Tupiza, we ran out of what little tarmac there was and so the last 150 miles (which took us 8 hours!) was travelled along dirt roads, dried up river beds (some of which weren't so dry!!) and mud flats. The afternoon rains turned our 'road' into a raging torrent of thick red mud, the bus squirming and sliding along the mountain tracks as it's tread-less tyres scrambled for what little grip there was.

At one point, the rains had caused a mountain land slide, taking with it half of the road. With a 500ft drop to the left of us, I closed my eyes and prayed for deliverance to a benevolent God as the driver miraculously manoeuvred this aged vehicle with 70 passengers on board over a track that was now narrower that the bus! I would have openly shaken the hand of anyone who could have successfully navigated that road in the latest 4x4, but for someone to do it in a 7 ton bus in the condition as dictated by rule 4, then I salute them!

And it wasn't just the terrain that was challenging. These Andean mountain passes lie at an altitude of nearly 3 miles above sea level, punishing our bodies in the thin Bolivian air. Every so often, my lungs would perform an involuntary gasp as if my brain was concerned that the world was about to run out of it's supply of oxygen. The local's approach to handling the effects of altitude and cold is through the incessant chewing of coca leaves. Coca is so intertwined into the Bolivian culture that Karen and I also thought we should give it a try. Stuffing our mouths with a golf ball size wad of these locally grown leaves, we macerated for the best part of an hour until our faces went numb from the experience and our mouths turned the colour of the incredible hulk. And did it cure our altitude sickness? To be honest, I'm not sure. I was so preoccupied by the residual foul taste and the removal of all of the chewed up bits of leaves from my teeth that I had completely forgotten about my dizziness, nausea and breathlessness. So in a funny sort of way - maybe it did work after all?!