The main event in Santa Cruz was a biblical-esque thunderstorm on the first night.
This cut out the electricity in the hotel I was at and, along with lack of time/ absence of tourist maps, meant exploration of the place wasn’t really an option.
The hotel was opposite the bus terminal and so my main impression of Boliva’s biggest city was its two main transport hubs.
Taking the bus from La Paz was largely unproblematic.
The lady I was sat next to stocked up on sugary snacks for the 17 hour haul and proceeded to dispense with the wrappers and bottles out of the window and onto the highway.
Litter, it seems, is a First World Problem…
Once checked in (to a slightly dodgy hotel) it was a case of grabbing some food.
The heat/ humidity was probably the most intense I’d encountered on the trip so far. Even the most menial of tasks (fork-to-food-to-mouth) caused me to get a bead on.
To onlookers, it must’ve looked like I was combating a vindaloo.
In reality it was steak and chips for £1.20.
The rest of the time in SC was spent hydrating and trying to create a dialogue with the somewhat stroppy receptionist.
Once she understood that I was after a taxi for the final morning, it was off to the airport to fly down south.