Ciao, Bolivia - Happy Trails
The last day in Bolivia happens very quickly.
The boys and I are up at three in the morning, and this is plenty of time to get dressed, get our teeth brushed, and our bags ready. Two large suitcases, my backpack, and Bash's potty will be our luggage that must hold us through over the next three weeks.
The driver usually shows up at four, he does as well on this day, and we cruise through La Paz's empty seats. We pass the river and are out of Zona Sur within minutes. A lone character sits on a street corner in these wee hours, and I'm not sure if he is tired, homeless, drunk, or simply lost. Perhaps a combination of all of them. I'm glad he still knows where the curb is and has decided not to hold a siesta in the middle of the street, even with the lack of traffic.
At the airport, the American Airlines rep lifts the rope for us when she sees I have two little kids. In La Paz, that is called progress, and that goes double for American, who didn't go bankrupt without a reason. My papers are all together, the forms have been filled out in advance, and I produce the passports. My heart sinks all the way to my toes when I see Liebi's photo in the first passport. This means one passport is missing, since Liebi is not flying with us. Crisis, one that shouldn't happen to an experienced worldchump. I call Liebi on the landline, another driver brings the passport 45 minutes later, and we are ready to roll.
I see a few people I know very well at the airport. Tom, who works at the Embassy with me, and who is heading back to Washington, and David, a very good English friend of mine heading to Lima on business. We make up a little time in Santa Cruz, the plane lifts off and it's bye bye, Bolivia.
Bolivia was truly a wonderful place, and the longest place I've lived in over the past 17 years (three consecutive years). In Bolivia, I flourished professionally. I watched my kids become boys. I co-founded a Hasher group. I wrote three books and ran three marathons. Maybe the lack of oxygen did wonders for my brain. It certainly was a very productive time. The only thing I didn't get was sleep.
That said, AA's tardiness comes back to haunt us in Miami. I miss the connecting flight to California, which is just as well. The boys are at the end of their rope with the travel, and we check in at a nearby motel and have a leisurely dinner.
Long after the boys have fallen asleep, my mind wanders back to Bolivia and La Paz, the city in the mountains. No assignment has been announced for us yet, so where we will be next is anyone's guess. And Cairo is already off the table.
Not left to any guessing is the fact that La Paz is a very special city, and the best place I have lived in from a professional, creative, physical, and overall personal standpoint.
Ciao, Bolivia. You will be missed.
The boys and I are up at three in the morning, and this is plenty of time to get dressed, get our teeth brushed, and our bags ready. Two large suitcases, my backpack, and Bash's potty will be our luggage that must hold us through over the next three weeks.
The driver usually shows up at four, he does as well on this day, and we cruise through La Paz's empty seats. We pass the river and are out of Zona Sur within minutes. A lone character sits on a street corner in these wee hours, and I'm not sure if he is tired, homeless, drunk, or simply lost. Perhaps a combination of all of them. I'm glad he still knows where the curb is and has decided not to hold a siesta in the middle of the street, even with the lack of traffic.
At the airport, the American Airlines rep lifts the rope for us when she sees I have two little kids. In La Paz, that is called progress, and that goes double for American, who didn't go bankrupt without a reason. My papers are all together, the forms have been filled out in advance, and I produce the passports. My heart sinks all the way to my toes when I see Liebi's photo in the first passport. This means one passport is missing, since Liebi is not flying with us. Crisis, one that shouldn't happen to an experienced worldchump. I call Liebi on the landline, another driver brings the passport 45 minutes later, and we are ready to roll.
I see a few people I know very well at the airport. Tom, who works at the Embassy with me, and who is heading back to Washington, and David, a very good English friend of mine heading to Lima on business. We make up a little time in Santa Cruz, the plane lifts off and it's bye bye, Bolivia.
Bolivia was truly a wonderful place, and the longest place I've lived in over the past 17 years (three consecutive years). In Bolivia, I flourished professionally. I watched my kids become boys. I co-founded a Hasher group. I wrote three books and ran three marathons. Maybe the lack of oxygen did wonders for my brain. It certainly was a very productive time. The only thing I didn't get was sleep.
That said, AA's tardiness comes back to haunt us in Miami. I miss the connecting flight to California, which is just as well. The boys are at the end of their rope with the travel, and we check in at a nearby motel and have a leisurely dinner.
Long after the boys have fallen asleep, my mind wanders back to Bolivia and La Paz, the city in the mountains. No assignment has been announced for us yet, so where we will be next is anyone's guess. And Cairo is already off the table.
Not left to any guessing is the fact that La Paz is a very special city, and the best place I have lived in from a professional, creative, physical, and overall personal standpoint.
Ciao, Bolivia. You will be missed.
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