The jungle heat stuck to my body like the mosquitoes that I so eagerly wanted to avoid. Huddled under a tin roof I watched as skinny stray dogs fought over scraps from the local chicken house, the hunger making them rabid as they growled and tore through the bones.
Suddenly a bus rumbles towards me jolting me back to reality. I look up at the old rickety wooden structure and I secretly pray that this wasn’t the vehicle that would take me over the Andes. I speak in broken Spanish to a few locals and ask if this was the bus back to La Paz. They nodded quickly and moved towards the bus, throwing their luggage and live stock in the compartment below.
I push my way through the crowd as I scan for my seat. Women calm their screaming babies, rocking them on their knees as old women charge through the busy alley way selling last minute peanuts and meat filled pastry from baskets that are balanced on top of their heads. As I hear the last shouts of the tickets touts, the engine roars to life and I lay my head against the dirty window pane taking in the last glimpse of the village that hid in the depths of the Bolivian jungle.
Much later I wake up to loud hooting from somewhere in the distance. Peeling my eyes open I look around and wonder for how many hours I had slept as I look out into the thick black night. I can hear the heavy rain pelting against the window and I realise the noisy engine had stopped. We were no longer moving. I could hear aggressive hoots from every direction but I decided to sleep through and wait till morning. As morning approached I was happy to wake up from my restless sleep but gasped in horror as I look out the window to find the back of the bus was hanging over a 1000ft cliff drop.
The bus was stuck in deep mud from the torrential rain. I prayed as the driver who smelt of hard liquor started the engine again. Quickly, I fastened my shoes and put my backpack on, clambering to the non cliff side of the bus! The locals around me were signing crosses to their gods and murmurs’ of prayers filled the suddenly silent bus. As the engine roared the bus flung from side to side, each judder sending the vehicle closer to oblivion. The contents spilled from the racks on top and frightened children let out frantic cries.
Minutes seemed like hours and each jolt felt like the last, but by miracle the wheels pulled away from the mud and we were free. Relief unburdens me as we leave the muddy graveyard of cars and lorries behind us. Fear turns to awe as I take in the views, looking above and seeing waterfalls cascading over the blankets of rich green mountains that surround us. I had narrowly escaped death on Bolivia’s most notorious road and I thought at that moment how ironic that a place which has claimed so many lives could also be one of the most beautiful and tranquil spots on earth.
