Not Our Best Border Crossing
So far, we’ve been doing quite well for border crossings. Granted, Zambia was shut, and the lady on the Namibian border broke my gin, but it’s all been relatively pain-free. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that this is not the proper traveller experience. Luckily, the people at the Peruvian-Bolivian border, whilst they are many things, are not idiots.
We were settled down on another of our overnight buses, of which we are so fond, expecting a mere twelve hour journey. It was cold, yes, but I had my sleeping bag with me as we trundled (or, for a large part of our time, simply sat around for no discernible reason) over the mountain passes towards the border with Bolivia.
At 6:00 am, we stopped. At about 6:15, we moved a few metres. Then we stopped. This continued for a full five and a half hours, until the bus finally forced its way up to the border archway. The reason for the delay soon became clear; anyone crossing the border had to have an injection against H1N1. Thankfully we are too foreign for anyone to worry about, so were let through without being jabbed in the arm. Our other bus companions were not so lucky.
The border was a nightmare. There were stalls everywhere, cars and buses crammed into every space and policemen shouting things. We got waved along with a stream of people, inspected by the men in white face masks and coats, then saw a great big queue going into an official-looking building. However, this was not the building with ‘immigration’ written on it, so we went to that instead.
It took a long time to get forms, but we’re now expert at filling them in. Granted, I did misunderstand a question and listed the country I would visit after leaving Bolivia as ‘Bolivia’, but that’s not too great a worry. The man at the desk had other ideas, though. We hadn’t succeeded in signing out of Peru.
This often doesn’t matter (see our America-Mexico border crossing), but the man was quite insistent. It seemed that the police had pushed us straight past the Leaving Peru office (which wasn’t the one with the big queue!). We forced our way back across the border, having to push past the police who really did think the stupid gringas were going the wrong way, and found an office. We filled in lots of forms. Then we had to go to another office, where we got a stamp. I bought some confetti.
Back in the first office, a new man was very baffled as to why his desk already had my immigration form on it, and why it had been half completed by his colleague. We explained that we were idiots, he looked dubious…and gave me a stamp!
We got outside just in time to be told that our bus, having spent 5h30 getting to the border, could not spare 20 minutes at it to wait for its patrons, and had left, taking our rucksacks and whatnots with it. We looked at the empty road. A person offered to chase the bus for us in their combi van, so we got in.
We were left in Copacabana, our final destination, by a random little car park and told that the bus would be there soon. The man who was helping us then disappeared. We waited. Forty minutes later (we still don’t know where it had gone since leaving us and arriving in Copacabana) it rocked on up, and we got hold of our stuff! We didn’t leave a tip.
We’re now debating which country to enter from Bolivia; the one with the guards who confiscate all the “fake” dollars you carry, or the one where the entrance/exit points are 60km from the actual border in either direction.
Saf - Copacabana, Bolivia
North America, South America | saf | 
August 7, 2009 8:46 pm
2 Comments
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By Rich, August 7, 2009 @ 11:51 pm
I would have been crapping myself. If nothing else, you seem to have learned how to take most things in your stride.
By mum, August 8, 2009 @ 4:53 am
omg
bloody hell sarah !!!
i would have broken down and cried that all my stuff had gone
you are some very brave very determined wonderful ladies
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