Tupiza isn't particularly easy to reach, especially from the opposite side of the country. From Rurrenabaque, we flew back to La Paz and connected to a flight to Tarija—$100 but the time saved was well worth it.

In Tarija we became very familiar with the bus station. The Footprint-recommended bus company, Juarez, had only one seat left for the 8:30PM overnight trip. Diamante was 10Bs cheaper (which it turned out, was a significant amount to most of the locals who chose it over Juarez) and was scheduled to leave an hour earlier. However, compared to the Juarez office, Diamante was out of control. Sack after sack of rice was loaded from the office into a waiting dolly while various hopeful passengers waved money in the clerks' faces and were ignored. Eventually one clerk deigned to make eye contact and sell us tickets.

When 7:30 passed and no bus appeared, Hemmy went to investigate. Turned out the rather dilapidated bus was waiting behind the station, dark and sin driver. The unsympathetic clerks assured us the bus would pull up to the front of the station in 5 minutes. We heard "5 minutes" for the next hour. We entertained ourselves by chatting with other disgruntled passengers and weighing the chances of the large group of well-scrubbed young white boys with skinny ties being a group of Mormon missionaries. We would later see young Mormons all over Tupiza, sticking out like sore thumbs.

At 8:30 on the dot, the beautiful Juarez bus appeared. The entire group of Mormons piled on. Shivering in the cold, I couldn't help thinking how unfair it was that some missionary kid got my seat on that bus. Juarez efficiently loaded its passengers and left, while we continued pacing.

After many more grievances aired to the staff, we were told we could sit on the bus while it was being repaired. Danger! Danger! Turned out the few of us complaining in the front were the only clueless ones...the bus was full of elderly indigenas who'd already taken their seats.

We gladly took our seats in the front, which provided extra legroom plus the benefits of sitting behind a driver who smoked, talked loudly, and frequently hacked up phlegm. For about 20 more minutes, we stared vacantly out the front windows as a man with an open fly loaded sack after sack of rice onto the bus. It began to seem like the Juarez bus carried rich passengers while Diamante was the cargo mule.

Adding insult to injury, the bus never stopped at the front of the station. If we hadn't complained for the 14th time, we might still be stranded in Tarija today.

There was one high point however, and only one: as we blearily pulled our bags from the overflowing cargo hold in Tupiza at 6AM, the beautiful Juarez bus pulled up. We had miraculously beat it after all.

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