My original plan was to ride north in Peru along the eastern border of Bolivia, then cross into Brazil at Iñapari, Peru. The idea was to skip crossing into Bolivia, avoid spending needless time with customs and immigration to enter Bolivia, and suffer the typically bad roads of Bolivia. I was going to revisit Bolivia on the backend of the trip, so why bother? Before leaving Huanuco, Toby Shannon asked if I would be willing to test the Bolivian border near San Lorenzo. Test the border? The Peruvian government usually blocks non-Peruvian riders from leaving Peru and entering Bolivia with a Peruvian-plated motorcycle. Yup, even if you have documentation that you are the owner, Peruvian customs would let the bike cross from Peru to Bolivia. There is a law on the books saying as much, but it is not always enforced. Toby asked me if I would try to cross at the little used frontier crossing. I could only say yes. 

Reaching San Lorenzo I found what I believed was the road to the Bolivian border. At the intersection was a police station and after making an inquiry they pointed me to the immigration office down the street. Great, they should be able to tell me if I can cross into Bolivia with the bike. That is when the wheels fell off the wagon. The officials wanted to see my passport. No problem, here you go. Remember my Spanish is a little better than caveman level, no excuses, but I just am not wired to learn languages. The simple inquiry is taking a LONG time and it turns out their computer systems are offline. Per a new policy enacted shortly before I flew into Lima, Peru, immigration stopped putting entry stamps into visitor’s passports. That’s all well and good, until you’re in a sleepy little town close to the Bolivian border, and my legal entry into Peru cannot be confirmed. I believe they were in the process of calling Lima to check my entry status. Oh boy. Time to use my lifeline and call Toby Shannon in Huanuco. He can’t be reached, but Sara picks up and talks to the officials. Some time passes, lots of conversation. Finally, immigration decided I am in Peru legally, but can’t tell me if I can cross into Bolivia or not. They suggested going to a different border crossing, perhaps they meant the Tríplice Fronteira (Peru-Boliva) at Iñapari, but I understood they said to go one hour south, which could add up to a lot of wasted time…I decided to give up the test and head north to Iñapari and the Brazilian border. Sorry Toby, the test didn't happen.

Crossing at Iñapari was straightforward. I know the drill well, get my Peruvian exit stamp in the passport, and usually the next step is turning in the temporary importation permit, but it’s a Peruvian bike. Customs needed to give me a form that documented the bike and when it left Peru. There is a time limit for how long the bike can remain outside of Peru. I don’t understand the logic or recall the amount of time, but know for sure that losing the document would be a major problem when reentering Peru in the future. 

The final step, spend any excess Peruvian Sols.  It was going to be months before returning to Peru; no need to carry too much foreign currency.  Time to buy gas, cartons of juice, gum, and chocolate snacks. Also buying and eating fruit on the spot is a good idea. Transporting fruit over an international border is prohibited, so it’s munch, munch. Back on the bike and over the bridge to Brazil!

Now it’s time once again for the entry process. First, Brazilian immigration will stamp me in, then customs will register the motorcycle. The immigration step ran into a small snag. I am a dual citizen of the United States and Ireland. Some countries in South America charge US citizens a “reciprocal fee” to enter their country. It’s called a reciprocal fee because the United States charges a relatively high fee for some foreign nationals to enter. Tit for tat. I like to think the world loves the Irish and more importantly, those with an Irish passport don’t get charged a reciprocal fee. The fees charged U.S. nationals have come and gone for most of the countries in South America. Bolivia is the only one I knew of at the time that was still charging a fee, but once you start traveling on a specific passport, it can be smart to keep using it. That way all of the entry and exit stamps line up if the immigration official of the day decides to inspect the collected stamps in your passport. Yes, I have had more than one official flip back and forth, reviewing where I had been, and checking that I had been stamped out of the neighboring country. They have an important if boring job. 

The snag, a few years before my Irish passport had expired and we went to Brazil for a vacation (by plane…imagine that.) My Irish passport had expired, so I used my U.S. passport and that passport showed up in the Brazilian immigration system. The immigration officer mentioned his discovery. Correct, I’m a dual citizen. Is that a problem? My Portuguese is worse than my Spanish, still, I could make out when the officer asked his colleague what to do in the case of a duel citizen. A shrug was returned and then I heard the beautiful sound of my passport being stamped. On my way out I told them Brazil is my favorite country in South America. 

Next stop, visit customs across the street, register the motorcycle, and request a temporary vehicle importation permit (TVIP.) The concept is when you register the bike with the customs office of the country you are entering, you’re effectively saying you won’t sell or abandon the bike thereby avoiding importation taxes. If you and the bike leave the country within 90 days (the standard amount of time), turn in the paperwork on exit, no problem. 

One last question for the friendly customs officer, “Is liability insurance required in Brazil?” No, but it is recommended. Well, I tried to buy insurance later and failed. More on that later.

Not far into the northwestern Brazilian countryside, hundreds of white Brahman cattle dotted the landscape. Over the next several weeks, I would see thousands and thousands of Brahman. For the first hour, Brazil was beautiful, and then the rain that was dogging me in Peru started again. Behind clouds, the sun was getting very low in the sky. Wet and getting dark, I was searching for lodging in the first Brazilian town of size, Brasileia. The quest for lodging wasn’t going well. I hadn’t gotten used to prices in Brazilian currency and all of the hotels returned by Google Maps seemed expensive. Riding around I saw a sign “Centro” pointing to the town center. I followed the sign with fingers crossed that a simple room for the night would materialize. I’m now following a pickup truck, over a bridge, then zigzagging around cement walls/barriers, passing a sign mentioning something like “Zona Military.” No one stopped us, so I figured “whatever”, and kept following the pickup truck. 

After a few blocks, I found an ATM. Now on autopilot, I slid my debit card into the slot, selected language ENGLISH, and entered U.S. dollar amounts into the interface. With a whir of bills, the hatch opened, I grabbed a wad of cash, and stuffed it into my wallet. 

Bolivia?!?
Trying Google Maps again, I found a few promising hotels. When checking into the Residencial Las Palmas, I discovered the new cash in my wallet was Bolivian! Confusion turns to laughter with the realization I had entered Bolivia when crossing the bridge. The hotel clerk grins and hands the room key. It turns out my route had taken me through two towns, Brasileia, BR, and Cobija, BO. The towns are separated by a small river and an international border. Later hotel clerk caught up with me to say if I planned to stay additional nights, I should check in at the border as the immigration officials can be “annoying” if I didn’t get stamped into Bolivia. 

Open Border
The boundaries between countries often have entry processes that are formal and directive, “controlled borders.” On entry, the visitor is channeled to the immigration and customs offices. Passports are inspected and stamped, and vehicles are registered.  In some frontiers, the controls are lax. A visitor can cross into the neighboring country, spend time in the city, perhaps do some shopping, and then return to the original country without officially entering the country. Crossing an international border for casual visitation and commerce without a visa is an “open border.” I’m not an international law expert. The description is my own, and if the terms are slightly off, know that in practice the concept holds. Later in the trip, when crossing from Brazil into Paraguay, I had to search hard to find the customs and immigration offices on both sides of the border. The north side of the street was Brazil and the south side was Paraguay. It is not unusual to be run into a visa checkpoint a short distance or a few miles from the border. 

Wet Gear
Time to dry my wet gear. If a hotel room doesn’t have air conditioning, it will probably have a fan. The AC can be set to fan, the circulate air, not cool the room. The damp clothes got hung on available hangers and a make-shift clothes line using cargo straps managed the rest. Boot liners come out to dry after every hot or wet day. Usually, everything is dry by morning. On occasion, I have found laundry services in big tourist towns, like Cusco, that will dry wet clothes, but they are hard to find and in my experience they’re rare. Locals hang clothes to dry in the sun. Once in Ecuador, the hotel kitchen staff put our wet boots under their massive oven. It helped a little. In Chile, a high-end hotel spirited my wet gear to a “warm room”, not a machine drier, and the clothes were ready in the morning. 

Time to eat. A burger joint was a nice evening stroll from the residence and most importantly it was open. Perfect. On my walk back to the residence, I passed a large open gate and saw dozens and dozens of motorcycles. Could these be impounded bikes? In my mind, they were stolen Brazilian bikes. Hard to be sure, as one has a Bolivian flag and most of the license plates are not visible. Brazilian and Bolivia motorcycle license plates can both be white. 

In the morning, after finding breakfast, I bought an umbrella and I spotted a motorcycle taxi with a rain canopy. So cool. I was nervous about crossing the border back into Brazil. On the Bolivian side, a bored official waved me through. I didn’t see a reason to stop on the Brazilian side to share how I accidentally left the country and now was returning. No, no, no. 

The next big destination, Porto Velho, is not a long ride, even though the weather doesn’t look great. What could go wrong?  Time to roll.