The World's Worst Bus Journey

Every traveller in South America it seems, has a Bolivian bus horror story. Here's ours:

The story begins in La Paz, before the whole "World's Most Dangerous Road" experience (see below). We were asking in the La Paz tourist office where we could buy tickets from Coroico (the town at the end of The Death Road) to Rurrenabaque. "No need to buy tickets here in La Paz," they said. "It's much easier to get them when you get to Coroico."

Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking our Death Road tour operator backed up these claims. They said our best bet was to buy the tickets at La Sende Verde, the animal sanctuary at the end of the bike ride. So, ignoring the myriad of signs proclaiming "Buy tickets to Rurrenabaque here!" we went and did "The World's Most Dangerous Road" ticketless.

We arrived at La Sende Verde exhausted, exhilarated and extremely happy that we were still alive. We spent a happy hour or so playing with (and occasionally being urinated on by) the animals before inquiring once more about the tickets.

Unfortunately, the man we asked - despite working in a wonderful and charitable place - turned out to be a terrible terrible person. He spoke in an angry German/Danish accent that made him sound like a slightly scandinavian Hitler at a recruitment rally: "No! I have tickets, but you cannot have zem as you are not guests here!" Apparently you have to stay the night in order to qualify for bus ticket purchasing privileges. He went on to tell us that we could get tickets easily in Coroico where we actually were going to stay.

We got a taxi to Coroico and were dropped off outside the ticket office at 5.35pm. It was shut. The old lady who ran the shop next door told us that it had just closed. Great. She then told us it opened at 7 in the next morning, but not to get our hopes up as you need to book the bus a day in advance. Even better. We checked into a slightly-better-than-the-usual-cheapo-hostal to cheer ourselves up.

As we had limited time in Bolivia, I thought I'd get up early the next morning and "sprint" the 2 miles to the ticket office just in case. I got there at 7.10am. It was shut. An old man walking past informed me that it opened at 8.30. "No it opens at 9!" shouted a woman selling oranges across the street. A straw pole of the local residents provided a range of opening times from "I thought it was open now," to "It's closed all day." I decided to go back to bed and return at a safe 9.30.

9.30 came and miraculously it was open. Even more miraculously there were tickets available on a bus that afternoon. We were given seat numbers 48 and 49, plus a detailed description of the bus that was to take us including vehicle type, registration, colour and even the driver's name. We were told to return at 1pm to take a take to a place called Yolosita where the bus would pick us up at around 2.

We dutifully got the taxi and arrived at Yolosita - a dusty road junction with the following features:
- 3 shacks selling very good cheap empanadas, and very bad cheap oranges
- A huge number of biting insects
- The worst public toilets known to man (they weren't even free, you had to pay for them)

2 o'clock came and went with no sign of any kind of bus. We were then joined by a few other travelers also looking to get to Rurrenabaque (they had been told the bus would arrive at 2.30 or 3). We all waited together at the side of the road occasionally getting covered in dust by enormous passing trucks.

After another hour buses started to arrive. As each bus passed one of our group would jump up, flag the bus down, and wave a ticket at it. Time after time they wouldn't take us - even if the bus company was the same as that quoted on the ticket and the bus was going to Rurrenabaque, as it often was.

Eventually, after nearly 3 hours, a bus arrived that reluctantly decided to take us. We all lined up to show our tickets. They took everyone except the two of us. Apparently the bus didn't have seats 48 and 49 on it so we couldn't get on. I produced my trump card - the description of the bus we were supposed to get. This backfired - it definitely wasn't our bus, and even though they had spaces, we had to wait for the next one. "It'll be here in 30 minutes," we were assured.

An hour later a bus turned up claiming to be the last one going to Rurrenabaque that day. We produced our tickets. They wouldn't take us - we had tickets with a different company. However, the kind driver said we could get this bus, so long as we paid the fare again in full. We declined his generous offer and decided to return to Coroico. We flagged down the first available transport on the road back and clambered inside.

"Hi guys, I zought you vere going to Rurre ..." Oh god - it was the German/Danish man, "What's ze problem?" We explained what the problem was. "Oh don't vorry, ve passed a bus on ze way. It'll be here. 30 minutes." We explained that we'd rather cut our losses and return to Coroico. "No, no. It'll be here. Just vait." He then instructed the driver to stop for us to get out. We had no choice. We unloaded our bags. "Hey don't vorry. I'm just a nice guy, trying to help as much as I can."

An hour later it was dark and no bus had come. Fortunately we hitched a lift on the back of a pickup and managed to get back to Coroico. The bus ticket office was of course closed by then so we couldn't get tickets for the next day. We upgraded our room in the hostal.

The next morning I went back to the ticket office at 9.30. Apparently what happened to us the previous day had never happened before in the whole history of that ticket office. This did not make me feel any better. They did however agree to change our tickets for no extra charge. We were initially given seats 32 and 33, but after a quick call to the office in La Paz, they changed them to seats 48 and 49 again.

We returned to Yolosita to sit by the side of the road once more and get covered in dust. Once again other tourists arrived after an hour or so hoping to get on the same bus. 3 hours passed full of buses that wouldn't take us. Then - joy of joys - a bus accepted us. We had a anxious few minutes walking down the aisle wondering if the seat numbers would go high enough. They did - just. We had the last two seats, right at the back, on the left hand side. As we were later to discover, these were the worst seats on the bus.


I think that now a road has been built that bypasses the "World's Most Dangerous Road", this road can claim the title. Think very narrow road, very steep cliff off to one side, and lots of traffic. We were on the left so had a prime view of how close the bus' wheels were to the side. In a word - very. There were numerous long delays as Mexican standoffs between vehicles formed and grew snake-like along the road. We could see the cars and trucks backed up for miles along the bends of the mountain.

Although terrifying, these delays were actually afforded some welcome respite for us. This was because the road was incredibly bumpy. I mean incredibly bumpy. The bus had no suspension whatsoever, and we were at the back so felt the full force of every tiny pothole. We were quite literally lifted clean out of our seats by a bump every 60 seconds. The bus ride lasted 16 hours. A calculator tells me that this means we were lifted clean (and painfully) out of our seats a total of 960 times over the course of the journey. Sleep was impossible. Annoying as most of the journey took place during the night.

Liz had the worst of it. Having taken a sleeping pill, she both couldn't sleep and was desperately tired. Occasionally she would pass out, only have her head thrown sickeningly against the window (or sometimes my head) by a jolt from the bus. She also developed a fever over the course of the journey, which reached its peak with 7 hours of the bus ride left to go, and lasted for the next 3 days. We were even considering getting off the bus at one point, but with no major conurbations between Coroico and Rurrenabaque, we would literally have been getting off a bus in the midst of dense jungle in the middle of the night.

A disaster at every point in its conception and execution, this was indeed the worst bus journey ever. And we've had some seriously bad ones on this trip. It did however end eventually, thank the Lord. Once in Rurre, we checked into a room with a private bathroom (a hitherto unheard of luxury) and spent the next 3 days recovering - and in my case eating lots of pizza. We decided to get a flight back.