2) Contrast: Bolivia. I went to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, in the middle of the Atacama desert. From there you can organize trips across the nearby Bolivian border to see lakes, salt flats, and other natural wonders. The most popular is a 4-day, 3-night trip to the salt flats of Uyuni. Unfortunately I didn't have enough time for that one, but I had heard that all the other sites in Bolivia were absolutely gorgeous and that a 1-day tour of some beautiful lakes was possible. One tour agency in San Pedro assured me it was. Then at the last minute they told me since I was the only one at the time who wanted a 1-day trip, that I would have to go with the 4-day trip, spend the night, and then return the following morning with another 4-day trip on day 4 headed back to Chile. The agency assured me this was no problem and that I'd be back to San Pedro by 11AM the next day, still plenty of time to explore sites on the Chilean side before my flight the following day.
Bolivia started out with a super-shady border crossing where the Bolivian border agent asked for $20 USD and put it in his pocket without stamping my passport or writing my name on his list of incoming persons. The "border" itself (see photo) was a tiny concrete building in the middle of the desert, punctuated by a nearby gutted school bus. About what you'd expect from Bolivia. 
The trip was great though. We drove in 4WD jeeps through vast sweeping views of red and orange desert, streaked with mineral deposits of contrasting blacks, greys, and whites, where wild vicunas (more graceful cousins of the llama) occasionally wandered near the cars. We stopped at various alpine salt lakes which were turned by algae and minerals into stunning teals, purples, and reds swirling amongst dried white salt flats where flamingos and other exotic birds make their homes. We finished the day watching flamingos as the sun set over the already red-tinged Laguna Colorada. At dinner I asked my driver how I was supposed to connect with the reverse-bound group the next morning. He had no idea I was leaving the group (first bad sign) but went to check and came back to tell me that I should be ready at 5AM and he would come get me when the cars arrived. A bit earlier than the 8AM departure the agency had quoted me, but all the better since I wanted to have more time to explore San Pedro and hadn't wanted to spend the night in Bolivia in the first place.
So the next morning I woke up and got ready at 5AM, but no one ever came. At 7AM everyone else got up for breakfast before heading deeper into Bolivia. When I inquired about what the heck happened to my ride, my driver and the other agency guy shrugged and seemed to think it was quite funny. At this point I was still pretty calm--it is Latin America after all so I expected some delay and miscommunication. Before leaving with the rest of the group, my driver told me that he had radioed to the other group and that they were "en route." Another group staying at my hostel (and by hostel I mean some crappy concrete buildings with no running water in the middle of the desert) didn't head out until an hour or so later because they had trouble with one of their jeeps. Before they left I asked their driver if he knew when cars usually passed going the other way and he told me 3-4PM. Hmmm. But he assured me that if my agency told me one was coming then it should be no problem. So I sat down outside by the road to be sure not to miss them. (They're now almost 4hrs late from 5AM).
At this point I am in the middle of the Bolivian desert nearly alone. The agency took off without leaving me any water or food (this was supposed to be an all-inclusive trip). 2 guys who seem to live and work at the "hostel" are still here, but their 1st language is Quechua. Close to 2hrs later I'm really starting to think that I might be staying in Bolivia forever, or at least another night until the next day's group from my agency shows up and I can demand to be taken back. I will certainly be a miracle if I make my afternoon tour back in Chile, and frankly I'll be lucky to make my flight the next afternoon (and if I miss that, I'll also miss my flight back to the States). I try to ask one of the hostal guys if he can use his radio to contact the supposed other group to see when they might expect to arrive. He tells me he can do this at 10:30AM (not really clear why he couldn't do this now, as there is really nothing better for him to do). I sit back down and wait for a car and/or a report. When it approaches 11, I ask again if it might now be convenient to radio. He says he already did, and no car is coming.
What!!?? (Well not like I didn't see that coming, but still.) However he tells me that he's already spoken to the agency in San Pedro and that his friend (who has zero Spanish speaking skills) is going to drive me to the border and the agency will send a truck to meet me there. OK. He motions to a 1980 jeep as the proposed means of transport. Around noon they've finally gotten the ancient clunker to start and I climb in, hopeful. These hopes are immediately dashed when I realize that my driver actually has no idea how to drive. Seriously. He's biting his nails nervously and has no idea when to shift gears. We're also driving about 5 miles per hour, a rate that I estimate will put us at the border around midnight. Of course this is assuming we actually get to the border, because the "roads" out here are basically semi-parallel tracks through the sand that are constantly crossing and diverging, and at every choice he looks really unsure which one to pick. The 2 times he exceeds his snail speed he nearly loses control around the curves and I picture my un-seatbelted body flung like a ragdoll around the car as we roll down a sand bank. So now I'm picturing myself either dying of thirst in the middle of the desert after Captain Brilliant gets us hopelessly lost, or suffering massive injury and possibly immediate death when the car inevitably loses control. I try to close my eyes and go to sleep so I won't see our constant near-death experiences, but like a moth to the flame I can't take my eyes off our impending doom. Oh, and I haven't mentioned the car's winning atmosphere. We're listening to Huaina music (this terrible terrible Andean-Quechua music where the singers purposely try to make their voices as high-pitched and grating as possible), and the guy has a pornographic postcard on the rearview mirror...of a blonde girl that looks exactly like me.
Like an angel of God the agency's truck mercifully appears after only an hour of this hell (still very very far from the border) and I'm transferred into a newer vehicle with seatbelts and someone who actually knows how to drive. For obvious reasons, I'm pretty livid. Anyway fortunately I got out of Bolivia with no major damage. I only arrived to San Pedro 4hrs after the agency had promised me, but given that those 4hrs were spent alone thinking I would never escape Bolivia, I can't be sure that 4hrs has ever felt so long. Next time I'll just stick to nice, safe Chile.
