Forced Time-Out

Our first impressions of Bolivia were not particularly positive…

As we stood in the baking afternoon sun at the Bolivian “Aduana” or “Customs”, attempting to cross from La Quiaca in Argentina to Villazon in Bolivia, we had that slightly strange feeling in your stomach when you know that something is not right, and there’s a high probability that it is about to negatively affect you.

A couple of months previously, while crossing from Argentina to Uruguay, we noticed that a letter of our licence plate was incorrectly written on our original “Poder” or Power of Attorney document. This document allows us to travel and cross borders with our French registered campervan in South America. Having spotted the error, we arranged for a new document to be written by lawyers back in Europe. While we immediately received a photocopy of this new document, we held off sending the original as;

1) We live in a campervan with no fixed address, and
2) My parents were due to meet us in Bolivia so they could bring the document directly to us there.

The stern looking lady in the Bolivian Aduana greeted us with an unblinking glare at the border, seemingly instantly aware that we were documentally defective. After a short back and forth, and a consultation with her colleague, it was unilaterally agreed that we would not be allowed to enter Bolivia without the original version of the new “Poder” document. To say this was disappointing news would be a considerable understatement. The consequences of this delay were initially unclear to us, standing there with a combination of sun and panic induced sweat. What we did know was that we would need to find a solution, quickly, otherwise multiple travel plans would be in jeopardy.

Our first task was to explain the situation to the kids, in a manner that masked our significant disappointment. As is usually the case when we take the time to explain things to our children, they took the news well and focused on the positives. The most obvious for them being that we would now get to go back to the amusements, park and football pitch that we had not had time to play at in La Quiaca Argentina. Every cloud and all that…

Having driven back to our parking/sleeping spot close to the main plaza in La Quiaca, we frantically began to brainstorm our options. Ideas flew from one end of the campervan to the other. Sending the document to Argentina was ruled out, given the extensive postal delays and uncertainty associated with foreign deliveries actually arriving there. We then thought about doubling back to Chile (where we had no issue crossing the border on multiple occasions), driving up to Peru, and then taking a bus down to La Paz in Bolivia to meet my arriving parents. This was ruled out as we had no guarantee that we would not have the same issue trying to enter Peru. We finally settled on having the document sent to the Bolivian border town of Villazon. We would be able to enter to collect it whenever we liked, just not with the actual vehicle.

The main stumbling block to this plan was where and to whom this would be sent. Being a qualified accountant myself, and having a sister as a lawyer, I immediately proposed contacting one of these highly respected professionals in Villazon, in the hope that they would safely receive the document for us. After several unsuccessful hours and conversations with said professionals and many more liters of sweat lost (all panic induced this time), we abandoned the accountant/lawyer idea in favour of a more human approach.

After reading very positive reviews of a locally owned hostal in Villazon, we cold-called them with cap in hand, asking for them to help total strangers. The response we got was beyond our wildest hopes. Freddy and Ivone from the Casa Grande Hostal immediately offered to help us in any way we needed. They agreed to receive the package for us, they agreed that it be addressed to them (to speed us the delivery process) and even sent us details of their national identification cards, so that their ID could be verified by the delivery person.

As I sat listening to this enormous act of generosity and trust, I had to ask myself whether this is something that I would do, if the roles we reversed. If I was being truthful, the answer would have almost certainly been been a negative. Maybe it is just me, or perhaps it is the environment in which most of us live in Europe, whereby we are slow to lend a hand to a stranger in need. Either way, I learned a huge amount from Freddy and Ivone during this call and hope that I can replicate this generosity when my opportunity comes to assist.

With Freddy and Ivone’s help secured, we leaned on our wonderful friend John in Dublin, to send us what now seemed like the Holy Grail. This was done with his usual lack of fanfare or drama, simply a genuine friend eager to help in any way he could. Then all we could do was wait…

11 days passed before we received a wonderful message from our new friends at the Casa Grande Hostal, confirming that our document had arrived. However, these days waiting turned out to be some of the most enjoyable days we have had throughout our entire trip. Having nowhere to drive to, or no specific tourist sites to visit, we spent the entire time focused on our kids, reading stories, playing sports, enjoying amusements, trying delicious local street-food, watching Harry Potter movies, eating too many Easter eggs, and generally just being present with the most important people in our lives. What we initially thought would be an enormous waste of time, instead proved invaluable, helping us all recharge batteries and connect with each other.

Instead of cursing the previous campervan owners for not giving us the correct documentation, or ourselves for not fully reviewing said documentation, we thanked our lucky stars that we were put in this situation. I certainly believe that everything happens for a reason, and it was very clear as we (finally) crossed into Bolivia with our campervan, why the incorrect letter had been written on the first Poder document many months previously.

Click here to read the “A Country Stuck In The Past” blog post