So we prepped ourselves for another shortish trip to the border town that would permit us the salvation that is Argentina. We still knew there was to be some sort of hiccup, Bolivia hadn't thrown the kitchen sink at us yet. We waited for the train which of course was at the normal hour of 3am. While at the train station we located a quiet corner on the unfinished concrete second floor. We sat down and started the terrible movie called Australia (we got nothing against the country, just the crap-tastic movie). By the time we were perfectly comfortable and had warmed up our butt patches of concrete a pleasant security guard demanded that we vacate the area and head downstairs where all the comfortable chairs and lounge area was (detect any sarcasm there? To their credit, there may not have been bedbugs on the floor...congrats). We got to watch 20 more minutes of Australia before the computer crapped out, then we tried any sort of activity that would keep us entertained for the next three hours...sleep, read, people watch; but none of them worked at all and our tiny alpaca blanket could just barely keep us warm against the concrete floors and brick walls.
Finally our First Class Coach arrived and it was a stampede for the comforts of a seat. We didn't choose first class as much as first class chose us. This train ran three times a week, and there was no chance we were going to spend another two nights in Uyuyuni eating at the same pizza place (which was phenomenal) and walking around the 12 square block town. As there were no more 'middle class' seats and we dreaded what the 'third class' seat entailed, we sprung (for an extra US$6) for the top notch service. After sleeping for a bit, we were informed of a rail car in which breakfast was provided for us. (This was what we paid six dollars for, as the seats were nothing spectacular.) Upon our triumphant return, we looked up at the television monitors to notice they had so kindly put on 80's videos for our viewing pleasure. Hanna knew every word to every song. I knew pretty much every chorus.
We arrived in the border town so that we could run back over to Argentina. After a brief walk and some last minute shopping to get rid of our last Bolivianos, we approached the monstrous lines and herds of confused tourists looking for guidance. To leave a country, you have to get an exit stamp. There literally are two sides of the border, a little stream between and a smattering of border guards who would probably care less if you walked right on by, but wouldn't let Hanna cross to go to the bathroom. We waited in the Bolivian line for about 3 minutes before one of the guards picked up that we were not from South America. Did the huge backpacks give us away? He asked us for our passports and promptly disappeared. The whole Western world continually tells you to never let your passport out of your sight, but throughout this trip our passports had actually been out of our possession for entire bus trips. But, no foul play has occurred and we continually are returned our passports with a smile, just like the chunky Bolivian guard did.
We wandered across the border to wait in another line on the Argentine side, but this time there was a special line for us foreigners. They took all of our passports in one fell swoop and disappeared. We waited and waited, bought some candy from a crazy lady, saw trucks and bikes cruise through with little more than an acknowledgment. Finally, our dude emerged with his huge stack of precious passports and handed them to us and instructed us to wait in another line. We were watching the clock and knew that the last bus to Salta from the Argentine border town was leaving in a mere 30 minutes. The second line was 'customs' to check our bags. Some people they completely gutted and swabbed for any sort of residue (of course leaving clothes and other items strewn across the table for the traveler to furiously pack back), and others, like Hanna and me, they purely opened a couple zippers half-way and let us through.
We jogged to the bus terminal, as cabs are for pansies, and asked for directions from at least three locals who told us all different directions. When Hanna finally asked a 14 year-old girl, we were able to get some sensible direction. We frantically bought a bus ticket and bought some sort of sustenance (6 empanadas) and got ready for another 8 hours to complete almost a 24 hours period of hectic travel.
SALTA!!! The town that everybody recommends, but nobody actually goes to... We found a hostel willing to let us use their showers and ate a burger on the street at 1:30am. For all practical purposes, Salta was good.
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