January 19, 2018
Border Planning
As I detailed when crossing Mexico / Belize / Guatemala in December, land border crossings are always a bit interesting. I think it’s partly due to the fact that the borders are usually quite undesirable places to live, and so the immigration / customs agents who work there got the short end of the stick. It’s also probably a lot easier to smuggle things across a land border than through an airport, so things are always a little more dicey. Plus, there’s the “no man’s land” that you usually have to cross on foot, where you’re not technically in any country at all. It’s a weird experience to be sure.
Bolivia was no different.
After exiting Chile, we all boarded the bus again, and drove about a mile to the Bolivian border. I was grateful to not have had to walk this, as it was a completely desolate, Wild West-looking place, which at 5am (or 6am depending on which time zone you’re using – oddly, Bolivia is further east than Chile, but an hour behind it. Time zones, amirite?), is not the most welcoming landscape.
To enter Bolivia, we had to get off the bus with all of our baggage and queue outside the office, which hadn’t yet opened. We waited for a while in the cold, and at this point I could already feel the sniffles coming on, which the Spanish girl had gifted me. The main reason for this being a tough border crossing is that Bolivia and the US don’t have a very friendly history, including in 2008 when President Morales expelled USAID, the DEA, and our ambassador (probably for good reason). As with most of the world, the US and its companies have been pretty awful actors when it comes to Bolivia, and so the fee for a tourist visa was $160 USD for just 30 days. Considering that an average meal costs $3, or a night at a hostel being less than $10, this was an obscene amount. Especially since most of world trade is tariff-free at this point, it always frustrates me when these issues spill over to tourism. I’m sure it’s much harder for Bolivians to enter the US, but just the whole system bothers me, both ways. I could possibly be spending about $160 in total for my 10 days in Bolivia, so I wasn’t thrilled about this.
Thankfully, this wasn’t a surprise, and I had an opportunity to use my (not-so) “secret weapon” – my German passport. This is a pretty neat story in its own right. Basically, about 15 years ago, the German government began a program whereby if you could prove that you were exiled from Germany during the Holocaust, then you, and all of your blood descendants could then (re)claim citizenship and get a passport. About 10 years ago, back when the EU was still a strong economy (wink! wink!), this seemed like a really good idea. So, being the German that she is, my grandma had all of her and my grandfather’s’ documents – birth certificates, marriage certificate, naturalization, etc. Then, my mom was able to get her citizenship and passport, and then my sister and I at last. To this point, I still had never used the German passport, because most countries I’ve traveled to have similar relationships with the US and the EU, and when entering the EU, it’s even pretty easy with an American passport. But, I knew that some countries (Bolivia, Brazil, and Vietnam for starters) have a pretty big differential, and so I had brought it with me on this trip. The risk is always that you’re not entering the country as an American, so my only source of assistance would be the German embassy, but it’s pretty low-risk as far as I saw it.
The key that I had learned in researching this topic was twofold: 1) always enter and exit the same country with the same passport, and 2) always re-enter the US with your US passport. If you ever present your non-US passport at immigration at home, they will presume you are renouncing your citizenship, and raise a big stink. It’s technically something that governments turn a blind eye to, so if you rub it in their face, they don’t appreciate it, understandably.
Back to Bolivia
I had entered and exited Chile with my American passport, so when it was my turn to present to the immigration officer at his booth (there were only two for the 100 or so passengers on the couple buses that had arrived), I gave him my German passport along with the entry form filled out with those details. Thankfully, my Spanish had been improving, and this wasn’t my first border crossing, so I felt pretty comfortable about where this conversation could go.
The officer, who looked pretty unhappy, which I don’t blame considering the location and time of day, started flipping through my German passport. He noted that it was empty – I had just renewed it before I left in 2017 – and demanded to know where my exit stamp from Chile was. I calmly explained that it was in my American passport, which I dug out, flipped to the right page and showed him.
He was furious.
“No! If you don’t have the exit stamp from Chile in your German passport, you are not allowed to use it to enter Bolivia, and you must pay the fee for Americans of $160”
I tried to explain the situation, how it was totally legal to do, and what he was saying didn’t make sense (in so many words). He didn’t relent, and told me that if I wanted to avoid the fee (which I take issue with since it was a fully legitimate thing that I was doing, not avoiding, per se), I would have to go back to the Chilean border, re-enter and exit on my German passport, and then come back. He then dismissed me with a huff.
I walked back outside to chat with the bus helper about my situation. I asked if I could go back to Chile to execute this maneuver. He calmly explained that, sure, I could go back, but that the bus wouldn’t wait for me, and I’d have to rely on there being extra space on the next bus, which might not come for a few hours.
I was pretty flustered at this point, largely because I didn’t even have $160 on me to pay. I always carry some USD on me for emergencies, like this case, but not that much, and there were no ATMs around (a strange thing, if you ask me). At that moment, as my mind was swirling trying to figure out a solution to this, a German backpacker came over to me, having overheard my conversation with the bus helper, and started speaking to me in German.
I chuckled a bit and explained that I actually didn’t speak any German, that my citizenship was through my grandparents, and what the immigration officer had said. He said that was BS, since he hadn’t been forced to pay anything, which was standard for EU passports. I knew this, but explained the double passport situation and what my options were. He agreed to try to help, and we went back in together.
La Coima
By this point, everybody else had cleared through, and there was nobody left in line behind me. We approached the same guard again, and the German guy basically re-explained the situation to the guard (also in Spanish), and asked to let me through. I explained that I didn’t even have that amount of money and that there weren’t any ATMs to withdraw more.
He looked furtively around the room, and then a bit more quietly said to me:
“For Germans, it will cost $30 USD to enter Bolivia.”
I exhaled, and then internally started laughing, knowing that it should be free, but hey, I wasn’t going to complain about saving $130 USD, and potentially a worse outcome if I were to walk back to Chile. I looked at the German guy, who was about to protest that he hadn’t paid anything, and I smiled at him and shrugged.
I took out two crisp $20 USD bills and handed it to him with my German passport. He looked at the money, looked up and gave me the most Latin American reply of all time:
“No tengo cambio.”
This means “I don’t have any change”, which is an incredibly common refrain everywhere from markets to taxis to hostels, where people hate to break bills. This is one of my biggest pet peeves in Latin America. If you don’t want to accept credit cards because they cost more and are susceptible to taxation, fine, I understand. But then make sure you have some small change. I especially knew this was nonsense because he had just been collecting entrance fees from 100 other people, and was just being a jerk.
Well, a bribe is a bribe, so I wasn’t going to make anything of it. I just smirked.
He then proceeded to stamp my passport, but before handing it back to me, gave me a full dressing-down about how I should never show my US passport in Bolivia, and if he finds out that I have, he will find me and put me in prison.
Of course, sir.
No problem, sir.
Have a wonderful day, sir.
The remaining couple hours of driving into Uyuni were simple and we arrived around 8am. Uyuni, an old train maintenance depot town and transport hub for silver and coal mining, is now the jump-off point for tours to the Salar de Uyuni, the salt flats of Bolivia, which are the largest in the world. It’s also among the flattest and driest places on earth.
A Gray Welcome
The town of Uyuni, which is home to ~10,000 people and sits at 3,700m above sea level, takes time to adjust to, and it’s recommended to spend a day or so here before embarking on the multi-day tour which takes you to heights of 5,000m. I could already feel a bit of a cold coming on, courtesy of the Spanish girl from the bus, so I wasn’t upset to spend a day getting acclimated in town. I found a cheap place, Marjor Hostal, and checked-in, but they told me that their dorm was actually full. I waited for them to explain what their solution was, and the guy at reception talked with his boss and offered me a private room. I was pretty stoked about this, and went up to take a nap before exploring the town a bit.
As I was checking in, I noticed two girls who had actually been staying at Llama Loka and had taken the shuttle into town, and must have been on my bus as well. It was funny to explain to them what had just happened at the border, and at 18 and 19 years old, these German girls were totally shocked. I was just impressed that they had been traveling for a few months after graduating and were handling it so well. As I’ve met more Germans, I’m a bit amazed and confused by the way they view the gap year idea. It’s definitely seen in a similar way to a Amish rumspringa whereby they get to travel the world for a year, unfettered by responsibility, but then are expected to return, attend university and then work at a single profession for the rest of their life. It’s this strange combination of freedom and restriction that I find fascinating. Often speaking with people in this situation, they are so stressed out about what’s coming up for them, that it seems to taint a bit of their experience. But, then again, to have the ability to do this kind of travel at such a young age is an absolute gift, and can’t help but impact the rest of your life. I wonder how many end up doing a second trip after university or after they’ve been working.
After a nap, I took a little walk around town. It was really gritty and seemed to not have much soul to it, honestly. All over the streets were the 20-year old Toyota Land Cruisers and Land Rovers, preparing themselves or returning from the salt flat tours. The whole economy centers around this, and all the store names are puns on salt, sand, and the like. The buildings are seemingly from the 80s and most have highly-reflective window tinting, as the sun is extremely strong at this altitude. Overall, the feeling was very strange. I went into a restaurant for a set lunch, but wasn’t really feeling well, half from the cold, half from the altitude, and settled for a basic soup and then picked up a bolon, which is a fried ball of potato with a hard boiled egg inside. Pretty tasty, and for less than $! USD, absolutely worthwhile.
After lunch, I went around to a couple of the different tour agencies I had researched to try to get a feel for their operation and pricing. There are dozens of these companies in Uyuni, and many people actually do the trip from San Pedro de Atacama in Chile and then get dropped off in Uyuni at the end. In retrospect, I think this would have been easier and a bit less expensive. Regardless, I had spent a couple hours reading TripAdvisor, company websites and reviews, and came to a realization that there wasn’t a ton of difference between the few top-rated agencies, and to just go on feel.
I ended up booking with Salty Desert Aventours (clever, right?) and planned to depart the following morning at 9:30am from the agency for a 3-day / 2-night tour. I had read that they provide pretty tasty food, so my only concerns were having a drunk driver (I found this strange to hear at the outset, but once you see what the drive is like, it can be incredibly boring), and having enough water. I could only control one of those, so I bought myself a 10L jug, which would give me about 3L per day, plus whatever was served at meals. Even so, this ended up making me feel like I needed to ration my water, which didn’t really help with my cold and with the ensuing high-altitude.
All in though, I was really excited for this tour, which cost about $130 USD for the 3-day / 2-night tour, including all meals and accommodation. This included a Spanish-speaking guide, but I had read that the information isn’t really difficult to understand, and if you have a decent grasp, it would be fine. Thankfully, this hostel provided breakfast, so I only bought a couple rolls to accompany my peanut butter, and some cookies as snacks for the coming days.
I went to sleep in my private room excited, and also hopeful that my cold would subside if I got a long night’s sleep. I decided to treat myself to a couple hours of TV watching – which, with my goal of reading 52 books this year, I had tried to avoid – and then passed out before 10pm.