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So far on our travels we had rarely stepped outside the supposed `comfort zone´ for a prolonged period of time. We had camped by roadsides on a couple of occasions, but Argentina, Chile and Brazil are the three wealthiest, most modern and easiest countries to visit in South America. Bolivia was supposed to be a whole new ball game, and on crossing the border, there was an acute awareness, of welcome to the third world. Bolivia is the poorest country in South America with a struggling economy. It is landlocked, and has one of the largest indigenous populations in South America. We had been told to prepare for the worst.On crossing the border, we were told by our tour guide that no one was to speak to her, because if the authorities suspected she was a tour guide then, there was a possibility that she would be arrested or refused entry to the country. However we didn´t really experience any problems. Border control seemed to have more fun pronouncing our names and reading English from our passports, and didn`t really seem to care who came or went. It was probably one of the laxest borders I have ever been through.Driving a bit further across the border we arrived at a dusty strip with a train station and a few shops. We would wait here for a few hours before catching our overnight train to Santa Cruz (disputably Bolivia`s largest city, certainly their fastest growing city). Before the high speed line (15hours) had been built, the journey was nicknamed the ´death journey´. High temperatures, and being unable to open the windows due to mosquito`s made the journey almost unbearable and even on the 2day long train journey people would contract serious illness. The other alternative was a weeks journey. I think they told us this so that we didn`t complain too much about our train journey. It was extremely uncomfortable, smelly, cramped and boiling hot. Having got in an argument about opening, a window, which one of the cabin crew said wasn`t allowed and another said was, I finally got some rest as the train cooled down.We arrived in Santa Cruz the next morning. It's a modern city with not a huge amount to say. It is the capital of the wealthiest province in Bolivia, and as such, is not dislike any other average South American city. I think the purpose of us being there was to catch a flight the next morning. The only real thing of note was me getting my haircut in a bolivian barber shop. My Spanglish coming along nicely I managed to survive that encounter. Our arrival into Bolivia had actually been put into great jeopardy the day before we took our overnight train. The train had been cancelled for the last few days, as Santa Cruz was holding (what the Presdient termed an illegal) referendum on self determination and autonomy from the rest of Bolivia. The build up to the referendum had seen protests, strikes and violence, but after the vote, peace had seemingly been restored. Around the squares there were banners and placards which was genuinely interesting, but there were no real sights as such. We went out for a nice meal and prepared for an epic flight to the city of Sucre.
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