The Raft of the Medusa
May 2014. Leaving Copabana, on the banks of the Titicaca, where I had visited theSun `s Island, I take the bus for what I thought was a peaceful trip of about three and a half hours. It was very bad to know Bolivia ...
On board the bus, 42 seats ... and 45 people. Excluding the driver, who will be called José Luis for the sake of the story. This group of champions is made up equally of Bolivians and Peruvians, and travelers from all over the world.
Among all this beautiful wildlife, I bought the very last seated ticket. I am therefore in the row of five people, completely at the back of the bus.
Before we can leave, it looks like a certain Señor Lopez is missing. José Luis believes that the best way to be sure is to ask each of the 45 passengers the specific question “¿Señor Lopez? ". The 43rd to answer the question is Chris, a tall blond, in his early XNUMXs, from Vancouver, who clearly did not follow what was going on. So he responds, getting up with great enthusiasm Yes Yes, La Paz ! ¡Vamos! ¡Vamos! Her girlfriend, very impressed by her fiancé's linguistic talents, told her to sit down. We leave. It is 19:30 p.m.
Three half an hour later, the bus stops. José Luis explains that we have to get out of the bus with our luggage because the ferry is not stable enough for the weight of a full bus. Finding us all on the pavement, the police however tells us that eventually we have to get back on the bus. As improvising chief negotiator of the group, I return to announce two news to the group.
1- The bad one: Due to the storm raging outside, the waves are too big to be able to cross now. (This explains the twenty or so cars and buses stopped between us and the river.) Without being able to be precise, we may have to wait until 4 am to cross. It is 21 p.m.
2- The maid: An Australian woman traveling with a ukulele is in the bus and hands me her instrument. I announce in general euphoria an impromptu performance of my South American tour.
The "ferry".
Chasing pop hits, national anthems and songs a cappella group, our ukulele takes us until midnight, when the Bolivian national anthem sounds the last call a spectacle.
Barely an hour later, my four seatmates and I were awakened by the movement of the bus. Through my window, nothing but water. I'm confused.
A few moments later, I realize that we are on the "ferry", which I will take a picture of on the other side of the river.
The bus had therefore embarked via a wooden gangway on this raft, pushed by two guys holding poles. There were maybe six inches on each side of the bus, too little to even notice that we are now in this shack.
I have in mind the raft of the medusa.
The Raft of the Medusa, a famous painting by Géricault.
The storm is still raging and the waves are still 4 to 5 feet from what I can tell. Looking out the window, my sight alternates between the water and the sky with each pitch of the raft and the suspension. I try to open my window to create an emergency exit. She doesn't move a bit despite my brute strength. I see an open window in the middle of the bus. If we knock over, that's where I get out. I put my passport in my boxers.
The crossing lasts about ten minutes. Ten minutes during which we wonder in particular what happened with the instruction to get off the bus with our luggage. In my opinion, it's just less harmful for the driver to take the risk of losing the bus and 90% of the passengers at the same time than losing 2-3 ...
We finally arrive safe and sound on the other side, and the bus backs up from the raft to dry land. We are saved then we all say.
But not quite yet!
Then the driver, our charming José Luis, begins to count us, but very clumsily and very slowly. First of all, didn't you want to count us before we cross? Two, so, is he completely wiped out?
I decide that even a trained man shouldn't drive a night bus in the mountains after drinking a bottle of rum and coke not coke. We do a little survey to find out if one of the passengers might have some knowledge of bus driving. Chris, our savvy Vancouverite, proudly tells us I can drive standard! Thank you, man, but I still trust José Luis even more.
Considering that we have no idea where we are, how to get to La Paz, how to drive a bus, and also that we are quite tired, José Luis takes back control of the steering wheel ... accompanied by two guys with a mission to hit him in the face when he falls asleep.
Our route will continue, interspersed with the driver who stops the bus to urinate, shady people who seem to search our luggage under the bus, and an arrival around 4am in the middle of the city with José Luis who tells us to crown our camp.
With no reservations anywhere, I end this magical night in the worst room imaginable, located above a club, with mold covering all the walls, a guy throwing up his life in the adjacent toilet, and Chris in the bed. neighbor!
3 out of 5 stars on Trip Advisor.
