Mark and I made it northbound across the Bolivia/Peru border last week on a hellishly uncomfortable train. If I have learned one thing about Bolivia, it is that they are on an entirely different schedule than the rest of the world. We have been lucky enough to stay in places that could be termed relaxed, where the pace of life is a bit tranquil. Cape Town comes to mind. We have even been to countries where I would call life languid, Mozambique being one. But nothing prepares you for the absolute insolence Bolivian society has for schedules and timeliness. In some ways, I detested it, and in others; well the absurdity of the situations and the non-chalance demeanor could always make me laugh. Besides, where the hell do I have to be on time these days?
So we boarded a train to cross the border that was scheduled to leave at 1:15 in the morning, we climbed aboard at 1:10. After 2 hours of sitting in the dark, with only the snores of Bolivian women in stereo to keep us company, the train finally left the station at 3:30 in the morning. A 2 hour delay, and not a word from the conductor or an employee. It is just a different world of scheduling and timing. I’m quite positive that even the average Bolivian pregnancy lasts 11 months.
You may not guess it off the top of your head, but the Bolivian desert does not quite hold up to its namesake come nightfall. This is when the sun droops and the ambient temperature meanders down to minus 15 degrees. The train, being non-heated, suddenly developed a slight chill. As in a -15 degree chill. It doesn’t take long sitting still to feel that freeze hit your core. Listed below are the entire contents of my backpack when I boarded said train.
7 t-shirts
2 Pants
1 pair shoes
3 pair socks
7 pair boxers
1 sweater
1 scarf
4 books
3 condoms
All of which were subsequently employed on my person. 7 t-shirts, 4 worn under and 3 worn over the sweater can lend an exaggerated stay-puff marshmallow man appearance. And that was as positive a visual I could muster that night. My feet resembled crumpled, slept-on pillows. The double pants look, while slightly warm, did hinder movement and made for some tricky gymnastics in the swaying bathroom. Especially since I had put the under pair on backwards. Thanks to the stretchy scarf, I was able to tie a book over each ear in a sort of poor-mans hockey helmet/ear muff vibe. And the rubbers, well lets just say that everything in the bag was put to use. I'm positive that whatever man coined the slang term ´gloves´ for condoms was a frequent passenger along the midnight zephyr to Peru. I may be the first man in history to wear three Trojans at once, and still not find it to be sufficient protection from the elements.