I took a 12-hour trip from the Incan capital of Cusco, Peru to reach Copacabana, Bolivia, and the voyage seemed to gradually increase in absurdity as the hours painfully ticked by. First, hopping on a Peruvian bus seriously closely rivals trying to navigate security-mad US airports, I assume due to historical terrorism. I had to provide passport number, address of destination and a fingerprint. Then, once on the bus, a company employee went around snapping a picture of every single person for the record.
To make the endeavour even more similar to flying, we had a two hour "layover" in Puno, Peru-- which cheerfully began at 5 a.m. As I was groggily sitting, with one hand gripping my backpack and the other hovering around my purse, a German monk appeared. He was wearing full brown robes and began blessing customers-- for a few pence-- and spreading brochures in the middle of the bus terminal.
Once we arrived at the border, both Peruvian and Bolivian officials teamed up to send us crisscrossing from Immigration Office to National Police, then back for another stamp, oh but where is your entry card, Imigration Office will give it to you for 18 soles, then return to the police, oh but wait Bolivia must validate this first, walk back to the first building. It was actually quite funny, and once we caught glimpse of the Lake Titicaca, bureaucracy and delays miraculously fled my mind.
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