Bolivia, here I come

Last night, a taxi picked me up at midnight (on reccomendation of the lady who picked up the phone) to take me to the airport . We drove on the provisional road to the airport (long story), which was so windy in some places the posted speed limit was 20 km/hr. Fortunately, my taxista knew an unposted rule that says if there aren´t a lot of cars and the turns are tight, it´s no problem driving in the oncoming traffic lane. When I smelled skunk through the window, I felt a strange burst of nostalgia for Toronto.

Obviously, the trip took half an hour, leaving me with a 4h30 wait before my flight (actually, more like 6h00 with the delay). Here´s a poem I wrote while I was waiting (internet café was closed; i used a pen, which felt strange):

simon bolívar airport
12:46 am
nothing open--nothing to eat or drink
i have a 5000 bs note
(worth about 2 US dollars)
no coins or smaller bills
the vending machines might as well be plastic pelicans
anyone i could ask for change
(i see one person from where i´m sitting, his head is on the table)
would be so depressed already
the mere sound of my voice
would cause him to burst into tears

solid plastic booth--
you´re so cold
i don´t blame you for being a soulless polymer
i have compassion for you
for my own sake
we´re in this together, booth
we´re reproducing a cliché
(itself a cliché idea)
i´m about as original as this table
thirsty, too.
the dry taste of my goodbye beer in my mouth--
it´s not so great

..

so there you have it, a tribute piece to my teenage angst.

anyway, now i´m in santa cruz, the city that narco-trafficking built (according to coca--in this case the name of my older sister--and my paperback guide to latin america); also the second biggest city in bolivia. i have a 10-hour layover and decided to check out the city. asking the bus driver whether he stopped at the plaza 14 de septiembre was a minor faux-pas (it´s actually the 24 de septiembre). anyway, it´s not a bustling metropolis. but it´s sunday, so no one´s judging.

..

later tonight i arrive in la paz, where i plan to spend a few days knowing nobody before heading to cochabamba. in theory, the next two months will be not only a cathartic but a journalistic journey as well. i´ll keep you posted on both. (yes, there will be much more blogging now.)

i promise to also try to drop this tone of western insouciance, obviously a symptom of my fear of earnestness and/or sincerity, and try to give you the straight goods on the revolutionary scene.

..

last night, i asked dave´s and my chavista waiter friend whether there was anything he wanted me to ask evo for him. he became embarassed and said no.