Crossing the Frontier

Santa Cruz is usually thought of as the eastern capital of Bolivia, but look on a map and you´ll see it´s more central than oriental. I figured that out after suffering through a 15-hour ride east on the "Death Train" from Santa Cruz to Quijarro, a dilapidated town on the border with Brazil. A couple hours into the trip I was talking with my seatmate, Hector, a Brazilian who has spent the last decade working in Venezuela and Bolivia. He was headed to Sao Paulo and I asked why he was going through Quijarro. "I usually fly, but I wanted to know the countryside."

There was a full moon out, but all we could see of the countryside was a thin strip of shrubbery near the side of our carriage. The railcar in front of us looked like it was bouncing on a trampoline, the temperature was dropping, and we were being forced to watch a Hilary Duff movie in Spanish. "I´m definitely taking the plane back," Hector said.

The next morning I said farewell to Hector in Quijarro, pushed past the crowd of taxi drivers waiting to take travelers over the border, and wound my way down the town´s muddy streets to the Hotel Oasis, which my guidebook describes as "three stars" with "pleasant rooms."

The manager of the Oasis looked surprised to see someone coming in, but he took me upstairs and showed me a room that was modeled on Leonardo DiCaprio´s hostel in "The Beach." With stained sheets, stained walls, and a broken window, it didn´t take much to imagine the flock of mosquitos and cockroaches that would arrive at sundown. He then took me to a slightly more expensive room - let´s call it the penthouse - with similar decor, but a bathroom as well. I dropped my bags and promised to sign in later. I then went into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and watched a puddle of water spread across the floor. It was time to come up with Plan B...