Unpredictable bus ride in Bolivia

La Paz to Cochabamba – April 2019

The day’s odyssey starts in La Paz. After a couple of fun days in the humongous city, I leave for Cochabamba. I am not even sure what I want to do there, but someone at the hostel I stayed at told me about the town in the heart of the country. I locate the bus terminal on the top of the hill and with plenty of spare time start the ascent by foot. Once at the station, I try to find the cheapest ticket for my journey. After asking around for a bit, I find a bus leaving in 30 minutes. This allows me to buy some snacks for the journey before heading to the departure platform. I’m not surprised to be the first person there, as the bus will probably be late anyway.

After some time a bolivian lady arrives at the platform in a taxi. The driver and her start to unpack huge white bags which grow in size as soon as they’re released from the small car. The lady instructs the driver where to put the bags, which I can now tell contain coca leaves. She pays him and he leaves. A bit later another bolivian lady arrives with a porter carrying identical white bags on a pushcart. It’s obvious that she’s going to Cochabamba as well and I wonder how all of the bags are going to fit in the bus’s luggage compartment.

Just then the huffing and puffing coach arrives. We all get in line and after all of the backpacks, suitcases and coca leaves are packed up we find our seats. Of course it takes about another 20 minutes until we finally take off. We stop again in El Alto to pick up more passengers before leaving La Paz with a delay of 90 minutes. I don’t think too much of it and look forward to a relaxing 7 hours ride listening to music and audiobooks. I watch the mountainous scenery pass by outside and feel completely content.

About 30 km before arriving at our destination the bus suddenly stops. Nobody seems to be suprised by that and I only quickly look out the window to see a long line of vehicles in front of us. After 15 minutes of not moving, the bus driver decides to take over the standing cars, even though he can’t see what awaits us behind the next corner. We drive past other waiting cars for about 5 kms on the oncoming lane until we can’t go any further there either. The two lane street is now completely blocked with vehicles trying to get to Cochabamba.

I try to stay calm and analyse what’s going on around us. There are little kids walking barefoot on the side of the street, a lady carrying her goods on her back and two men with briefcases. A taxi is trying to get to where we came from, but has to drive on the grass next to the paved road because there is no coming through. After a while the first passengers begin to descend and I wonder if they live within walking distance from here. I see that the bus driver is chatting to other drivers before getting back into his seat.

The sun is now starting to set and I realize that we’ve been on the road for 8 hours already. I hear that the bolivian couple sitting across the aisle from me is thinking about getting off the bus and finding a taxi to take them to Cochabamba. As I can’t think of anything else to do and certainly don’t want to head out into the dark on my own, I ask if I can join them. They say yes and we step outside to pick up our luggage from the trunk.

While we walk down the road to Cochabamba, Rosa and Jorge tell me that they are heading to Santa Cruz. Then we finally reach the end of the standing cars and see that roadblocks prevent them from continuing on. The owners of the first cars in line seem to have accepted their fate, as they’ve reclined their seats to take a nap. We continue walking and enter what could very well be a war zone. There are burning tires, rocks and trash covering the highway. While telling Rosa and Jorge about my travels and where I’m from, I also catch a glimpse of a dead stray dog laying in the middle of street.

By now it’s pitch black and we realize that we have to find a solution to continue on soon. We see cabs passing by here and there, but they’re either full or want to take advantage of our misery and charge way too much. About a kilometer later we finally find a Colectivo with space for the 3 of us. Taking us on a detour on countryside streets and through a river, we make it to Quillacollo, where we catch a local bus to Cochabamba.

When I finally arrive at my hostel, the receptionist is surprised that I even made it at all. He tells me that these roadblocks are a common tool of the locals to show their displeasure to the government. I just hope that Rosa and Jorge make it out of the city on the other side and exhausted go to bed.

Read about more mishaps with transportation in Bolivia here.