Crossing the border from La Quica in Argentina to Villazon in Bolivia was easier than expected and not the long lonely walk I was imagining. I had visions of walking across a long bridge with not much around but again my imagination was somewhere else. There was a bridge but beneath it was a car park where the taxi driver left us and on it, a couple of small offices that made clearing immigration like a McDonald's drive through. Exit stamp at one window, please ...