I escaped from Bolivia the day after the Embassy authorized the departure of non-essential personnel and families. Despite this, I never felt in real danger, just hassled. In the end, I had avoided protests and blockades by one or two days everywhere I went. Sucre was isolated just after I left there, Santa Cruz one day later, and Trinidad was locked down between any major cities when I made the decision to get out of there as well. As it turned out, the road I took out of Bolivia was likely the last land route still open. En route, we learned that this wasn´t a certainty either, but all worked out in the end.

I set out from Trinidad the day after the President resigned his position amid month-long riots and protests. The ride was meant to take at least 30 hours from Trinidad stretching west across the country before turning north to the Brazilian border. Apparently, in wet weather the trip can take upwards of 6 days and involve a good deal of pushing and digging on the part of passengers. Luckily for me, I had purchased provisions for an 8 day boat trip, so should rain block our way, I was ready for battle. The bus we were assigned for this marathon trip was something short of comfortable. I was paired with a reasonably overweight young lady which relieved me from having to worry about any excess space in which to move or breath. As we set out, I had one knee wedged between the seats in front of me and the other between the wall and seat. For anyone blessed with short legs, you will likely never be faced with this rather unfortunate situation. I have to admit a certain level of jealousy.

As we got going, I was confronted by the unwelcome realization that what wuold become a 36 hour bus trip was over the road from hell. We were bounced and thrown about for the duration of the trip, day and night. By the end, I was bruised on both knees, my ribs (from the arm of my chair), my shins (from the seat front), and my head (window/wall). Hooray!

Under the circumstances, it wasn´t a great trip, but at least I was getting out...I thought. On the first night (about one-third of the way) we repeatedly pulled into gas stations and repeatedly were confronted by signs declaring "No Diesel". The major focus of the country-crippling protests focused around the use of Bolivia´s substantial gas reserves, and foreign petrol tanks had been prohibited entry into the country for quite a while. Thus, these far inner reaches had begun to run dry and my escape appeared in real jeopardy. Late on the second day, we flagged down a passing truck with some heavy machinery on the back. We managed to siphon out just enough to get us through.

The final impediment we faced was the rumored initiation of new blockades a couple of hours from the border. As it turned out, though, we snuck through in the late evening without any problem. I arrived in Guayaramerin around 11PM and pulled out my backpack which was covered in an unbelievable amount of dust. I´m relatively certain that my shirt will carry remnants of wearing the pack that night until the day it is retired. I met up with a German fellow named Stephan on the bus (who spoke a bit of Portugese) and we grabbed a hotel near the station. I did set a new record in terms of cheap accomodation, as the bed cost me $1.25 for the night. The following morning, we made our way into Brazil.