Quijarro - Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia

The train between Quijarro and Santa Cruz de la Sierra has a catchy nickname - El tren de la Muerte. Now you donīt have to be a Spanish professor to work out that it means "The Death Train" (cue evil cackling in the background). This is probably something the P.R. department of Bolivian Railways should be looking in to, but the locals all call it that. It apparently got the name because people are always falling of the top of the carriages. Either that or because it derails so often. How ever it got its name, it wasnīt one of those things I was writing home to tell mummy about. But then again, it was the only form of transport from Corumba to Santa Cruz.

So it was an early start in Corumba, motorcycle taxi (an event in itself) to the border, successfully tackle border control and a taxi from the border to Quijarro. At this stage I had hooked up with a German / Iraqi anthropology student and a Wilderness guide (yawn) from Tasmania. The travellers dice had been rolled and I got a double zero for travel partners. We still had 2 hours before the train so we settled into the nearest bar and got familiar with the local brew. Within a couple of minutes I was already a huge fan of Bolivia, just like Laos & Cambodia, it is poor, dusty and dirty but the people are amazingly friendly and always have a smile on their face.

The train left amazingly punctually at 1:30pm and we rattled off into the distance. I discussed the universe and everything with the anthropologist and by 9pm I was mercifully rattled to sleep. At 6am there was a rude awakening, we were already meant to be in Santa Cruz, but we weren't. Instead we were stuck in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Aeons later the guard tells us that there is something wrong with the track up ahead and that we will be staying put for at least another 3 hours. He recommends getting a taxi to Santa Cruz instead. So we dutifully disembark and look for some form of transport. A pick-up truck presents itself with about 20 people already jammed into it. We squeeze on and commence the next leg of the journey. This only lasts about 15 minutes as the driver brings us to the local bridge where he chucks us out and tells us to get a bus. Surprisingly, a bus pulls up right away. The bus is of course filled to absolute capacity and then some. We play twister and mould ourselves onto the bus. This goes well for another while and we actually make it to Santa Cruz, but not to where we want to go. So itīs arms in the air and we hail a cab.

Finally, 25 hours after leaving Corumba, after 1 motorbike, 1 train, 1 pick-up truck, 2 taxis and a bus ride I collapse into a heap in my bed in Santa Cruz. Travelling rocks.