“There is nothing in Putre. Go directly to Arica.”  A Bolivian and frequent visitor to Arica, was not the only one with this advice. But avoiding a twelve plus hour stretch in a bus was enough of an incentive for me to buy a ticket to Putre anyway.

I arranged for a taxi to pick me up from my hostal at 6am, the bus was scheduled to leave at 6:30. The chill of La Paz’s early morning hours helped me wake up, but driving through the empty streets gave me even more of a jolt.  It didn’t seem possible that the sprawling, congested city, inundated with pedestrians and vehicles could know hours of vacancy.

The main bus station however was crowded. Locals bundled in blankets to keep warm and many sat on colorful woven bags of thick plastic, bulging with goods to sell elsewhere. A movie size screen in the central waiting area kept some of the awaiting travelers engaged, but the early hours nudged many to sleep. I suspect there were those too with no travel plans enjoying the relative warmth and comfort of the station.

A tiny woman bent with age implored me for money, I gave her a particularly generous amount knowing my coins would serve no purpose in Chile. I received no thanks and she hurried on to a couple with equal fervor.

Nearby a young woman sat on a small blanket with a paltry amount of individual pieces of gum and candy. She implored no one as she sat passively, patiently for a sale. I gave her too a generous portion of the Bolivian money I had. She responded with a tired smile and a gesture to take what I wished. I thanked her, but left with  empty hands.

I still had time to buy some food for my trip and headed over to a small shop just a few feet away.