Ambassador out of Bolivia. The Bolivians were blockading on-and-off for
the month of August, so I (in jest) text'd Tammy where they were EAP'ing
and aggregating again on Wednesday. I get no reply. As I was headed to
a call-out on Thursday, I get a call on my cell phone. Tammy says, "Can
you call me back?" I was in no place to call, so I had my parents call.
She indeed HAD been EAP'd. The instructions were essentially: You have
24 hours to pack one bag. A car will come for you and take you to
Cochabamba. I started looking through Google News for Bolivia
information. 10 people killed in the Pando region during protest.
Santa Cruz, Beni, and Tarija departments were also shutdown as a result
of protests in the following days. I had just been through these areas
and Tammy lives in the Santa Cruz department.
A couple days later, the US Embassy allowed all non-essential personnel
to leave. Tammy was sitting on a C-130 cargo plane heading out of the
country a day later. The Peace Corps put the Bolivian program on
indefinite suspension. In other words, she lost her job.
The last week has been spent looking for a new post. It looks like
Africa's the continent of choice. Africa, 2010 anyone?
I was rolling around in a king-size bed eating pizza watching the
Olympics in front of a really big T.V. set on a Sunday. The day after,
I went back to the airport and did the check-in routine. AA wanted an
extra $40 for my checked luggage. I pitched a fit about it, since no
mention had been made about this in Santa Cruz. The desk agent
backtracked a little and asked where I came in from. Since I had taken
an international flight the day before and had my ticket information to
prove it, my checked bags went free.
I caught an uneventful flight from Miami to Indianapolis with a lot of
chubby Americans. It's a little disturbing when the flight attendant is
moving people around in the cabin to even out the plane's weight
distribution. My parents had dropped of my truck in some parking lot
and text'd me the lot name. I flagged down their shuttle after I
collected my checked bags.
The driver and I pull into the lot and the ensuing conversation went
something like this:
"Where you parked at?"
"I don't know. I forget."
"You're sure you parked here?"
"Yup. I'm sure. I always park with you guys."
"Which gate did you come in?"
"I don't remember."
"What type of car and color?"
"Silver, S10."
"How long ago did you park?"
"Well, that's a complicated answer. I've been out of the country three
months."
"What?!"
"BUT... my parents dropped of my truck somewhere around here. We just
have to find it."
We drive around for a few seconds, and I spot my truck. Keys in the
back under the mat, just where I expected them. It was the first time
I've driven a vehicle in three months. Not much to re-learn there, but
the A/C was fantastic. I was a little jealous of the guys/gals I saw
riding as I drove home.
Most people would head home after a trip like this. I moved out of my
apartment before I left, so I'm homeless. With all my delays, I had
backed myself right up against my return date at work. So straight to
work I went. I was in the office about quarter-till four. No rest for
the wicked, or three-month vacation bums.
In reality, you don't get much work done because everyone wants to stop
an talk. I stood in the hall catching up with people and bringing
others up to speed with things that happened on the trip. I filled in
holes left from my blog posts and met the new students as they wandered
by. Apparently, I look quite different with longer hair. The number of
people who didn't recognize me as they walked by was surprising.
Coming back on a plane after traveling three months on my own is a
jarring experience. I think I understand where soldiers get PTSD from.
I was acutely aware of the people and things around me everywhere I
went. I didn't ever feel threatened, but I was always aware. Waking up
in a friend's spare bedroom the morning after was pretty disorienting.
Then, people talk about getting culture-shock traveling abroad. I've
grown up with a solid understanding of third-world countries, traveled
to Vietnam, and did Central/South America without any such issues.
However, I DID get a bit of reverse culture shock. Everything in the US
is excessive. People, cars, stores... the list goes on and on.
Tammy took care of all of my loose ends shipping my bike out from Santa
Cruz, like paying "the man". It shipped out on the Thursday after I
came back. I had planned on driving down that weekend to pickup the
bike in Miami and get back to Indiana. This was complicated, since
Monday was Labor Day. The shipper's office and custom's aren't open. I
hadn't received the phone call from the shipper by Friday evening, so I
had to sit tight anyway. They finally called on Tuesday after Labor Day
and asked when I was picking up the bike. I told them Saturday, but
they said customs wasn't open on Saturday. Friday it was then.
My dad and I left with the truck around 2pm Thursday. We drove straight
through to the cargo terminal in Miami arriving around 10:30am. I went
from the shipper's building to the importer's building to US Customs.
The first person I talked to was a little confused about importing a
motorcycle. After I told them it was my personal bike I was traveling
with, they say "Oh, it's a personal effect. Go outside, down the way
through the double-door." The guy there just looked at my paperwork,
had me fill out a form, and sign. At no point was he interested in
looking at the motorcycle. Two hours later, I finished liberating my
bike from customs and the importer.
The drive back home was a little more relaxed, but not by much. We took
a small detour through Orlando so I could visit a BMW dealership running
a sale on BMW Leathers I couldn't pass up. I got to sit on a brand new
F800GS while I was there, but didn't get a test ride. I also chatted up
the mechanic about maintenance the new and of F-bikes. He hadn't seen a
TT39 setup in real life, so I gave him the tour on my bike.
We headed off north and crashed in on some family friends Friday night
in Atlanta at mid-night. Some quick Vietnamese breakfast with them the
morning after, and we headed out around 10am. We were back in Kokomo
about 8:30pm, and I was back in Lafayette by 10pm. A trip to Miami and
back in a cool 56 hours.
This pretty much wrapped my summer trip. I'm home safe. Bike's home in
one piece, more or less. It's amazing to see it all go by so quickly...
it was an experience.
We headed off for Tammy's site at 9:30am. Three hours in a natural gas powered mini-van, we arrived at Tammy's site. On the way we dropped off another volunteer, Kilo. He's quite the free spirit.
Tammy's house is obscenely nice. It just seems out of place for Bolivian. It looked like a real architect and interior designer worked on a plan before it was built. It might be the case considering the number of westerners in her site.
We grabbed lunch in a nice little cafe on the plaza. We then wandered through the market so I could look find a bag for my carry-on items. I couldn't find anything, so we went back to Tammy's house. We found one of the poly bags the campo women use in the house. It would suffice.
I headed back to the taxi corral where I got lucky. I was the last person to fill it so they could leave. If you're unlucky, you could wait an hour for enough people. I was double lucky catching another mini-van. I had to give back a half-luck because a smelly old man sat next in the middle seat. We were all quite snug.
I flagged down a taxi when we got back to Santa Cruz. I told the guy the address and we headed off. He came to stop some place on the right road but six blocks off. I ended up giving him directions based on landmarks to get me back to the hotel. As I got out, he wanted B10 after we agreed on six. I told him to bugger off and left.
Phil joined me for dinner at the Japanese place. He had just finished some burgers just before we left for Ken's. It was good to have some company. He had a 9pm bus back to his site. I sent him off and packed my things. I kicked it with the remaining volunteer, Marlise, for the rest of the night.
11am flight to Miami. I had to arrive at the airport by 9am for check-in. Half-hour taxi ride plus some slack time meant I was hailing a taxi at 8:10. It was a little harder finding a cab on a Sunday morning. I made it to the airport and stood in line waiting forever. Everything seems to move slower here.
My ticket said we were flying on a Boeing 727 direct to Miami. I didn't think it had that type of range. After we boarded, the pilot informed us we had a technical stop in Cali, Columbia. In other words: we don't have the range so were're stopping in Cali to refuel. The flight was barely full. I had the entire row of seats all to myself. It's better than first-class in some ways.
Miami is Miami. I had zero problems getting through Immigration and Customs. My Immigration agent asked if I had brought anything back. I snickered I had just spent three months on a motorcycle and didn't have space for anything. It piqued his interest, so I have him a card and went on my way following the green dots.
I had arranged a room at the Wyndham while I had Internet access in Santa Cruz. It's quite a change from everything I've been used to for past few months. There's so much Spanish here... It's like I'm still on my trip. As the doorman helped me with my bags, I found myself mixing Spanish with English like I used to mix Vietnamese with English as a kid.
It was 9pm and I needed some dinner. Since I was back in the states, I decided a pizza delivered was the proper way to re-introduce myself to American culture. I walked down to the concierge desk to ask for the number to a pizza place. My doorman was there and happily helped me find the number for Papa John's. We got to talking and I find out he's a Bolivian from Cochabamba. His buddies start appearing and we stand and talk for a while. They want to see pictures and hear stories.
My pizza arrived and I was $20 lighter. I could've eaten a solid week with that money anywhere else. Welcome home. I sat and watched the Olympics closing ceremonies in front of a 46" LCD sitting on a plush king-size bed at the Wyndham munching on my Spicy Italian sausage and pepperoni pizza with garlic dipping butter. It was almost too much when I took a hot, high-pressure shower and wasn't electrocuted as I touched the shower head to change the spray pattern. I'm living it up for all the volunteers.
I make the hop for IND Monday morning. Since I have nothing but the four changes of clothes (now all dirty) I've been wearing the past three months, a visit to Target is in order. I hope my brain doesn't hemorrhage with all the choices I need to make.
We wanted to make it out to Tammy's site this evening so I could spend a day/night before leaving Sunday. We started pestering the shipper pretty early. He was still waiting on replies from his people. When he came back with the price, I threw up a little in my mouth. They wanted $3800 to ship back into Indy. $1800 to Miami. I started to think about selling it.
I made the necessary phone calls the previous evening. For a 12-ish hours difference, I could drop $1000 from my airline costs. I'd have to overnight in Miami. Not a huge deal. We went and got all the tickets, dropped into the PC office to deal with some business, and met the shippers back at the parking lot. They were going to take the bike and get it set to ship.
We stood there discussing my options with these guys. The airline they ship with, TAB, only flies on weekends. If they shipped it immediately, it would show up Saturday morning. I wasn't going to be in until Monday. I started working on my options.
If I hadn't purchased my MIA-IND leg, I could've ridden back from Miami. That puts me back even later on Monday. If they shipped it later next week, I could fly or drive down to Miami to pick it up next weekend. That seemed like the only reasonable option.
They wanted the bike cleaned before they shipped it, since it was still wearing a coat of mud and dust from my Coroico-Trinidad trip. I had the guy at the parking lot wash it for me. It was nice and clean for them. Rather than leave the bike at the airport for a week, I was to drop it off at the guy's house. He'd then ride it to the airport whenever I wanted it shipped. Lots of trust going one way.
I went to start the bike but it wouldn't fire. It had just been washed with water. Crap. I knew there was a reason I didn't wash the bike. After bouncing the bike back and forth a while, it started and we took off. We were rounding a corner and came to an intersection. Blue promptly stalled when I came off the gas. She didn't want to start again either.
I tried and tried. Nothing. Tammy went with our guy to get me new gas to see if mixing some fresh stuff would help. She returned with a liter of gas in a plastic bag. It didn't help. In the end, I took the bike apart on the corner to drain all the gas and replace it with some fresh stuff. While I sat there taking the bike apart, an older couple came in and out of the house I was in front of.
We ended up spending two hours there on that corner. I swapped spark plugs, drained all the fuel, replaced it but the bike didn't want to start. I was at the end of my rope. The lady came out and talked with Tammy for a bit. She also offered us drinks. At some point, she told us her husband was a mechanic and offered his help. I was grasping for straws, and took her offer.
He came out and we discussed what I had done. He asked me where the carb was. I smiled and explained this was a fuel injected bike. No carbs here. He asked me where the tank drain was. I had to explain the bike has a one-piece plastic tank, sans drain. The fitting he saw was a bulk head for the aux fuel tanks. I figured I'd crank it again for him to listen, and she started right up. I must be the same phenomena as me sitting in front of a computer and all the problems go away.
As we stood there and waited for our guy to return, we talked with the couple. He had spent a year in the states rotating with the Rotary Club. He had a nephew studying somewhere in Ohio too. We talked about my GPS units, motos, hunting tigers, and all sorts of other things. We exchanged information and I extended my usual offer. If you're in the area, give me a call and you can use one of my spare motos.
We made it to the guy's house where I left the bike. Any hope of going to Tammy's site today was shot. As we headed back to the hotel, he asked if we wanted to go to his nephew's birthday party. We said, sure! It meets PC objectives #2 & 3: learn about the culture and interact with the people. I had the idea of a little kid in my head. We show up at a pool hall where it turns out he's 27.
I learned many things in the next few hours. These folks were white-collar government employees. Bolivians drink beer with Coca-Cola. The pool tables have really narrow pockets. They play with a full rack, but I couldn't find an 8 ball anywhere. I did learn the rules of the game.
Tammy wanted to get in on some billiards too. She played one of the other old guys and smoked him. He was ribbed pretty bad. Tammy and I played a game, but the BBQ cook kept butting in. He was working it pretty hard to impress Tammy. It was comical to watch.
We wrapped it up and headed out after consuming some really tough BBQ beef and bread. As we stood outside the pool hall talking, Tammy got a phone call. The guy from earlier today was interested in buying my GPS unit and motorcycle. I was talking with someone on the phone with very good English. I named my prices and went home to think about it myself.
Friday was Tammy's 1-year in-country. I was exhausted and went to bed, but the rest of them went out to continue celebrating Phil's Birthday. We planned on getting up early to head out for Tammy's site in the morning.
Tammy arrived as expected at 6:30am on Wednesday. We had a lot accomplish. I needed to figure out how to ship my bike back, a cheaper way to get home, and try to get out to Tammy's site. We did first things first: ship the bike.
I found one instance of a person shipping a bike back to the US on Horizons Unlimited. They had shipped it with LAB for under $800 to PA. This is the price I was working with. We called all the numbers listed for LAB, but no answers. We (and by we I mean Tammy) tried Viru Viru's main number to see if they had a different number for LAB. We were informed LAB didn't exist anymore and to try American Airlines Cargo. We called them up, and they laughed when we told them the weight of the bike. 300 kilos was three times as much as they ship for an item. But they gave us a name for a guy who shipped "stuff".
We gave him a ring, and he told us he could ship it but wanted to see the bike first. We were to meet him at 2:30pm. He didn't show until 3:30, but was kind enough to let us know. In the mean time, we went and had lunch at a Japanese restaurant, Ken's.
Bolivia has a fairly large Japanese population. After World War II, Bolivia allowed Japanese citizens to settle there. There's even a city named Okinawa outside of Santa Cruz. It's a funny microcosm, since it runs like a proper city. Electricity, sewage, and government function like they should. It's an interesting study about what influences the development of a country.
I was so hungry that Tammy and I split three meals between us. It was a very pleasant change from the rest of the food I've been eating. I find myself very happy after I have a "light" meal I've grown accustomed to for the past 20+ years. I'm not a huge fan of all the oils giving me a silky sheen.
We met the shipper at the hotel and took him to see the bike. His partner also showed up to take a look and give a hand. As they stood there discussing everything, I noticed my super-reserve fuel bottle was missing. We asked the attendant if he remembered seeing it when I came in. He said yes. We had a minor problem.
He told us there were a lot of people looking at the bike all day and night. Someone must've thought it was a fire extinguisher (good thing I lost mine somewhere back in Central America) and taken it. Joke's on them if they use my fuel bottle on their fire. It was a minor detail, but he apologized for it disappearing.
The shippers got copies of my paperwork and took off to find prices for us. They'd get back to us in the morning with the details. In the mean time, we went to find me some cheaper plane tickets.
We went to the AeroSur office to see if they could get me to IND on the cheap. After telling us they flew to the US, we found out they only fly to Miami. That'd set me back under $600. We then went to the American office. They were quoting $2500 back to IND with two layovers. They could get me a ticket from Miami to IND for $154. I'd have to spend a night in Miami and wouldn't be back to IND until mid afternoon Monday. I needed to make a few phone calls before I could decide, so I put holds on both tickets.
We went back to the hotel and went to a Mexican spot for dinner with the PC crew. We headed out on the town after for an entertaining night to celebrate Phil's Birthday. He was the proud winner of some Nivea products and started the new club fad of white Nivea headbands and deodorant on T-shirts.
I rolled out of Trinidad expecting to be on the road 10 hours. There were some worries about left-over blockades. I left the city without any problems.
The road varied between pavement and gravel. It wasn't so bad. Based on the amount of fuel I had leaving San Borja, I guessed I would be good for 300km until I saw another gas station. It was 499km to Santa Cruz from Trinidad. I rolled along looking for a gas station, but didn't see anything. My low fuel light came on. Another 10km down the road, I was flat out of gas. I came to a stop right next to a farm truck that was being repaired right on the side of the road.
I asked those guys how far away a gas station was. 10km down the road. They asked if I had a reserve on the bike. I told them no. They were ready to give me a lift when I remembered my super-reserve camp stove fuel bottle. I hoped there was enough there to get me to a the gas station.
I made it to the gas station after babying it there and asking everyone in sight where the gas station was. I pulled in and got in line. The place was packed. There were trucks there filling 55-gal barrels with gas. Motos had their own line independent of the cars and trucks. Everyone stared at me when I rolled in like I had just landed from outer space. I sat there for a good hour before I was able to get gas. Only 300km more to Santa Cruz.
I rolled though various checkpoints along the way, but I only had to stop at two. The first wanted me to pay a toll. There were confused how I traveled so far without paying one. I told them I was never stopped. It was B7 for the toll. I pulled out a B100 bill. They couldn't make change (story of this country), so they let me pass.
The second one was for road construction. I pulled around to the front of the line to wait. I looked around as I was waiting. They were building a bridge across a river and heavy machinery was going down some path. There was also a railroad bridge there. They had boards lengthwise in the direction of travel. There were various sized gaps and board thicknesses. Neither option looked fun.
I let one car by me, and he took the railroad option. I followed him as he pulled away. This was by far the scariest part of my trip. If I got caught between boards, the bike would fall tossing me and be a mangled mess. My falling options were: over the bridge into the water far below, into the bridge where I would surely be hurt, or in between the tracks where the cars behind me would crush me after I broke my limbs between the rail ties. It pulled myself together, looked ahead, and rode. It was the longest bridge ever.
The rest of the ride into Santa Cruz went smoothly. The city is a confusing mess of "rings" around the city connected with "spokes" connecting the rings. I gave up pretty quickly and found a cab to lead the way. He took me directly to the hotel without much issue. Sure beats wasting time looking for the place.
I left the bike in a parking lot down the street from the hotel. The attendant told me he'd take good care of it for me. The hotel was quite nice, and was no reflection of the front door. I took my things in and dropped them in the room. During one of the trips, a guy crossed my path and said "Hi!" in proper American English. I replied "Hola." by reflex.
A little later we cross paths again. He said "Wassup." I replied "Not much, how "bout you?" I was made. I was sitting in a common area using my laptop when a girl asked me if I was from the US and spoke English, in Spanish. I confirmed both, in English. A few seconds later, the same guy popped up with his wife.
These were all volunteers that know Tammy. They all knew here brother was riding toward Bolivia, and should be arriving soon. They had put all the puzzle pieces together, but weren't for sure. We all sat and talked a while as I looked for plane tickets. The absolute best price I could find was $1,886 for a one-way with two lay-overs. I put a hold on it so I could sleep on it and wait for Tammy.
We got up to a virtual ghost town. Nothing was open, nobody on the roads, and the TV was broadcasting chaos. The blockades had become rough in Santa Cruz, with police using tear-gas to disperse crowds. It even made the CNN-International news. I just sat tight in the room relaxing. I had basically been moving every day since I left Bogota, so the rest was quite nice.
All the volunteers were notified they were on EAP. They were to stay put where they are and keep indoors. It wasn't like there was much to do anyway. Lots of TV, munching on snacks, and naps were the task of the day.
We found out most of the businesses would be re-opening around 6pm. We still made out Mac & Cheese for dinner, but went and had ice-cream for dessert. There's nothing like eating five boxes of Mac & Cheese straight out of the pot.
Since the blockades were going through midnight, all the volunteers were stuck another night. I was going to test the waters and head out Tuesday morning to Santa Cruz. They would catch the Tuesday night bus and show up bright and early at 6am on Wednesday morning.
I had hoped to be back in the states by Wednesday evening, the 20th. I wanted to make the department's new student meet & greet Friday. I didn't know what kind of events would precipitate and decided against buying tickets home before I arrived in Santa Cruz. It looked like a good move now. When I priced the flights in Ecuador, they were running $800 for a one-way to Indy. I packed my thing anticipating leaving in the morning.
The final day of the Amazon float was a little of the same. We started the day much later than normal. All these hard days of work caught up with the group. As we sat and ate brunch, the boat with out gas came in. They also had the French guy/Spanish girl couple I ran into at the travel office. They were just starting their four day cruise.
The food we ate caught up with all of us that morning. We bombed the area pretty well, so the entire site had a certain scent to it. The new group was setting up camp there as we left. I felt a little sorry for them.
As we took off, we found more bad fruit. The sling-shot came back out. The captain saw what was happening, and swung the boat around without us even asking. He gave us a few shots and chuckled. He didn't find the girls mooning the Europeans funny at all. It's pretty representative of the gender inequities here.
We came back into port early at 3:30pm or so. We went back into the city and checked into a hotel that a crazy, senile, old lady operated. After the first shower in days, all the volunteers wanted to eat at a Mexican restaurant. They also needed to run a few errands. The other guys were going to run and get the bus tickets, and I went with the girls to buy a few things and use Internet.
As we stood in a little shop buying drinks, we overheard talk about blockades starting at midnight the following day. This would cause problems with the busses traveling to Santa Cruz. It was supposed to last 24 hours, but it would delay out departure from Trinidad by two days since the busses only run at night. We had just gotten back in, had already checked into a hotel, and the plan was to leave in the morning. We stuck to that plan.
As the girls looked through e-mail, the State Department had suspended all their employee activities in the Beni and Santa Cruz departments. They also advised everyone to sit tight. We figured we'd go get dinner and figure it out in the morning. The guys were going to meet us at the Mexican joint.
Only Phil made it to the restaurant. Steve didn't want to get stuck in Trinidad because of upcoming events in his site. He rolled the dice and bought a bus ticket for that night. When he went back to the hotel, crazy lady wanted the full rate even though he had just taken a shower. She said she was going to call the cops of he didn't pay. After a while, they managed to talk her down to B10, from the B30 it costs for the night. That's still too much.
The Mexican place really was good. The Bolivian food is so bland all the volunteers gorged themselves on salsa and tabasco sauce. The fajitas and croc legs I had were quite good. I ate so much food, I passed out immediately when I got back to the hotel.
In the morning, a few phone calls were made to the PC offices. They told us to sit tight in Trinidad and they would advise when they had more information. The plan was for them to leave on the night bus, I would leave in the morning and meet them in Santa Cruz in the evening. I sat and fixed a few of the problems that occurred when I traveled to Trinidad.
Of my problems, none were show stoppers. I had a bolt backing our of the idler arm that attaches to the shock. I tightened it up. I found a large rock lodged between the bash plate and the bottom of the engine. When I took that out, I noticed the long bolt that secures the bottom frame rail with the bash plate frame had sheared off. It was long enough to keep one side attached and not drop out. There was no fixing it, since a piece of the bolt was still in the welded nut. I also replaced the broken front brake handle, straighten up my instrument cluster, and pulled out a loose piece that holds the windshield.
Right around lunch time when I wrapped up the bike, we got a call from the PC office telling us to sit tight in Trinidad. We were effectively trapped in the city for an extra day. I had already paid for another night, but the rest wanted to move to another hotel. At B30/night, I really wasn't going to hurt for $4.50. We all moved over to a hostel down the road.
A guy at the new hotel was talking about the blockades. We stopped and questioned him if the city would still work tomorrow. He told us everything would be fine and motos could pass the blockades, but we had a weird feeling about it. We asked a few more people and they all told us the exact opposite. They said everything would be closed and nothing would be allowed to pass.
Rather than get stuck in a tight, hungry spot, we went grocery shopping. Some bread, lots of chips, canned tuna, jam, soft drinks, tomatoes, cucumber, and a pineapple were going to hold us over. Dinner was going to be extra special: five boxes of Kraft Mac & Cheese.
To keep in our dinner rut, we went back to our favorite Mexican spot. We found an ice-cream place for dessert. We all went back to the hotel to take in what we could of the Olympics before retiring.
We woke up to Amazon noises and bugs. Breakfast was whipped up for us by the boat crew to prep us for the long day ahead. There was a lot of work to do: 1. fish for Piranha's or go on a hike. 2. finish four 24 count cases of beverages to finish in 1.75 days amongst six. It was hard work.
We found a nice fishing spot to pull piranha's out of the river. A few girls in out party went on a hike where they saw tigers, sloths, and monkeys. I took the relaxing fishing option. We probably threw in more red meat than we pulled in fish. The only person who managed to pull them in was the guide. The rest of us were fishing failures, except Tammy caught a 2" catfish with her hands.
We had the piranha's for lunch. I now understand why they aren't used as a staple food. There more bones and guts than actual meat. After lunch the two Canadian girls that had been with us took off, so we motored along on the river. To send them off in proper fashion, Phil pulled out a three-man sling-shot. We had some bad fruit that we sent their way. Out boat captain was pretty entertained.
I was introduced to Bolivian culture. The invitar and cocoa leaves. I learned it's very impolite to turn down an invitation to drunks. Many invitars were passed around, making a large dent in our stock. The boat captain also put in a large ball of cocoa, which made a ball of chew look tiny. There's an art to de-veining the leaves, gathering it into a ball, and adding the baking soda catalyst. After a half hour, this soggy mess is spit out. Chewing this mess is supposed to help with hunger and tiredness. It must do something, since everyone here does it.
A girl in our party, Kasia, happened to be celebrating her birthday. For some reason, she felt hats were stupid. One of the guys, Stephen, seized the opportunity. "Hats are stupid. Sunglasses are stupid." Off went everyones sunglasses. "Drinks are stupid.". Everyone put down their drinks. Kasia was sitting in her bathing suit, devoid of all valuables. She promptly entered the water off the side of the boat, with some assistance from Stephen.
The boat came back around, and the bulk of the group took a dip in the murky water. We had a real, live, Amazonian boy on the boat with us too. In good Amazonian fashion, he stripped down to his birthday suit and jumped in for a swim. Except he didn't know how to swim. So he just splashed around in the water and clang to the boat where he couldn't touch bottom. He also was the top of a human pyramid in the water.
We got to the campsite for the evening and setup. The boat captain was a little worried about us getting back to port the day after, because we were running low on gas. A boat associated with the travel agent happened to pass us. He sent word that we needed some more fuel. With the fuel coming, we took a nice night cruise to see what we could see.
We didn't see much in the dark, and we didn't have fish jumping in the boat like I had catching up to them the night before. No fresh water dolphins wanted to hop in the boat to hang out with us either. We finished the night with a Cuban to celebrate Kasia's Birthday.
I woke up early so I could make it to Trinidad early. 200km should be do-able in a few short hours. I was rolling out of San Borja at 7:30am. Nothing was open, so I figured I would just get water somewhere along the way to Trinidad. Little did I know what was about to occur.
The road was reasonably packed gravel. It then switched into some loose packed stuff. Then it changed to sand. I was pretty OK with the sand until it became loose sand. The number of times the back end came loose and scary made it feel normal after a while. I was comfortable plowing through it, and for some reason began to think about wiping out in the sand. I was pondering the Dakar Rally racers pushing through the sand with their knobbies. I could only wish I had them too.
Then BAM. I hit a huge sand pit. I started to slide bad on the right side, so I grabbed for more gas. The bike came around and to a rest on its left side. I had stayed on, but didn't get hurt. I just stood there and watched the full gas tank trickle out the vent line. I tried to lift the loaded bike, but it wasn't going to happen.
I stood there for a good 10 min waiting for someone to pass. Nothing. So unloading the bike was my only option. It was about 9:30am so the heat was coming on strong. I was running out of water and energy.
I got the bike lifted, moved, and repacked. The only problems I saw were a bent rear brake pedal and I had lost the screws that hold the chain guard. I took it off and packed it with the luggage. Right about that time a semi came flying through the sand. He looked like the full size Benz support trucks racing the Dakar. Except he was an 18-wheeler. He had no interest in stopping. I then noticed a good path along the side of the loose stuff. It must be the trail the local motos take to avoid the sand trap.
I took my new detour and kept an eye out for these paths in the nasty areas. I went about 45 min down the road when I ran out of water. I had contemplated this situation for the entire time. The decision: stop and cook some pond scum water. I found a less scummy pond and stopped.
I took an hour to cook 2L of water with my stove and pot. Half that time was cooking it and the other half was cooling it in the pond. 5 min boiling on the stove took care of all the water-borne illnesses. The chill in the pond helped settle out most of the funk. I poured the precious in my hydro pack and added some Gatorade to cover any remaining flavor. It didn't taste bad, surprisingly.
I headed down the road and found a place to eat for lunch. I figured I could run low on time, but couldn't afford to lose more energy. I took off for Trinidad, but was promptly stopped at a checkpoint on the edge of the city.
It was the first and only time a guard wanted me to dismount and show him paperwork. There are worst things to have happen, so I had a chipper conversation with him. He told me Trini was 90km down the road and the road was good. Liar. He's never seen the road in his life.
The road had turned back into dirt at his point. They had also decided to "repair" the road. This starts with 10' mounds of dirt in the center of the road over about 500m. The next step is to spread these mounds completely over the road, 18" deep. There was no way I was going to ride through that crap. I found the little dirt paths where I could. Sometimes, I only had the one set of tire tracks to follow. Others, I just got off and walked through the loose pack. Who said I don't learn from my mistakes.
About 20km outside of Trinidad, all the bridges were out. I had three or four river crossings on boats. One of them had some poorly spaced boards. I asked the guy to move some, so I would have better footing. He refused and wanted me to roll on. For some reason, I agreed. I promptly dropped the bike on the right, breaking the brake lever. The guy didn't even feel bad. Another guy on a moto came over and helped me pickup the bike.
After all these on and off stunts, I was pretty hot from sitting in my riding suit. I found a little tienda to drink water and cool off. I sat down and was promptly questioned by a young boy, 5 or 6 years old. He asked if I was from China. I told him I was from the US. He didn't like that answer. He continued to insist I was Chinese.
So I asked him if he was Mexican. Or Japanese. Or Colombian. He replied he was Bolivian. It also helped that I pulled "Hello" out a bunch of different languages. I think he started to get the idea.
Right about that time a few guys rolled in. They talked a while then insisted I drink a beer with them. He insisted and insisted. I was dehydrated and fighting some overheating. I didn't want to drink a beer and be immediately plastered. I found out later this is known as an invitar. It's also bad form to turn down an invitar. Next time. He also talked about the beautiful Bolivian women and drinking from their lactating bosoms. It was obvious he was drunk when he stumbled getting up to shake hands.
I headed straight to the travel agent's office in Trinidad right around 3:30pm. I hadn't even gotten off the bike when he came out to greet me. I guess Tammy really had filled him in on the situation. I was to catch a river taxi to catch up with the group. I dropped the moto and a few things at his mother's house, got changed, and picked up a few things for the trip. I wasn't really sure what kind of trip I was going on.
I hopped on the river taxi at 5:30pm. It was a 2.5hr ride to meet up with the group. We arrived right around 8pm. Tammy came running down to greet me and bring me to the group. I received a proper PC/American greeting: a quick dance and a mooning. They all had doubts if I would actually make it.
I found out what the trip was: a cruise into the Amazon. They had setup camp in some spot on the river. It must've been used often- there were thatch roof buildings sitting there. We were sleeping in tents to avoid the mosquitos and other bugs.
I sat and gave then the abridged version of my trip. It was nice sitting and catching up with Tammy. The other PC volunteers also made the night entertaining. The Amazon in the morning.