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We were pushing through this sandy no man’s land, looking forward to the paved roads of Chile, when we noticed a cloud of dust in the distance heading straight for us. 15 minutes later, a man came out of his 4×4 truck sporting an official-looking “Aduana Nacional” cap. He positioned himself on the other side of my bicycle—his desk—and formally asked for our passports. I handed them over in complete disbelief. Using my seat as a table, he imprinted our Bolivian exit stamps. We could stop searching for the elusive border post, it had found us. | ||
-Yannick |