American AirlinesAtlas MountainsBoliviaLa PazMiamiMoroccoPeace CorpsRachidiaRonald Reagan AirportWashington DC
La Paz: Back to the Mountains
A heat wave hits DC before I am scheduled to move out on Saturday. Following three days of the muggy heat DC is known for and temperatures that read 98, 99, and 98, respectively, it is a relief to leave the place. So Saturday is slightly better, at around 90, but with one hitch…a slight possibility of thunderstorms. That slight possibility would end up being sizable.
First things first. A Moroccan driver takes me to the airport, and I am surprised at how much Moroccan Arabic I actually remember. The man is from Rachidia, a place I remember well, a college town on the eastern side of the Atlas mountains whereas my town was to the west of them. This guy can't stop laughing. What's this white boy in DC doing speaking Arabic to him?
Everything goes according to plan. I get rid of the luggage, meaning I now have some mobility lugging nothing but an almost empty backpack around Ronald Reagan Airport. A quick snack and a glass of red Italian Allegrini (delicious), and it's time to board. The captain on the plane says there are something like twelve planes ahead of us, due to weather complications, storm warnings. While I appreciate the captain's honesty, this also means a considerable delay. I suppose that's normal these days. What I don't like, however, is the fact that we leave around eight, two hours later than planned. That means it will be close trying to catch my connecting flight in Miami.
In Miami, I get off the plane, locate the gate from where the plane to La Paz is leaving, and put my running training to good use. I don't slow down until I reach D6, the gate reserved for American Airlines to La Paz. I am probably the last passenger on the plane, meaning I made it. Somebody must have told the crew that the plane from DC (also American Airlines) was arriving, meaning they hold the plane for me. I feel so special. Uh, actually not. It would have been nice to have a bit of a breather in Miami and stretch my legs. Not going to happen. It will be more of the same with American Airlines, meaning rude service along with the crammed space that makes you think you might have been an oil sardine in a former life.
Eventually I do make it back to La Paz. The driver is there. Good. No problems coming back to high altitude, even better. Once I leave the terminal, I realize my mistake. Winter has just begun here in June, and the temperatures are below freezing. Brrrr. For once, I am grateful a heater is on inside a car.
It's six in the morning when I get home. Liebi and Bash are already awake. Excellent.
Bash is surprisingly shy when he sees me, but happy no less. When I check to see what Axl's doing, I see he's still sleeping, in our bed, no less. I just sit and stare at him for a moment, knowing that I haven't seen him or his brother for almost two months. I wonder what's going on in that little head of his.
The next bit of news doesn't have to wait. The next day, that Monday, there will be a transportation strike. How's that for luck on my first day back at work? If the last transportation strike is any indication, then this is one you might want to avoid. I don't mind boxing matches, it's just that I would prefer professional fighters doing these, not union drivers beating up on non-union members.
Whereas I always like going back to the States so much, it's just that I wished I could have returned to La Paz much sooner. DC is one of my favorite cities in the world, but it's a different story if you have nothing and nobody to come home to. Liebi wouldn't be there, nobody to share a fire or a glass of wine with in the evening. There were days when I'd expect the kids to greet me at the door (how's that for a Norman Rockwell?), only to realize that I would spend the evening by myself.
No more, luckily. At least not for the near future.
First things first. A Moroccan driver takes me to the airport, and I am surprised at how much Moroccan Arabic I actually remember. The man is from Rachidia, a place I remember well, a college town on the eastern side of the Atlas mountains whereas my town was to the west of them. This guy can't stop laughing. What's this white boy in DC doing speaking Arabic to him?
Everything goes according to plan. I get rid of the luggage, meaning I now have some mobility lugging nothing but an almost empty backpack around Ronald Reagan Airport. A quick snack and a glass of red Italian Allegrini (delicious), and it's time to board. The captain on the plane says there are something like twelve planes ahead of us, due to weather complications, storm warnings. While I appreciate the captain's honesty, this also means a considerable delay. I suppose that's normal these days. What I don't like, however, is the fact that we leave around eight, two hours later than planned. That means it will be close trying to catch my connecting flight in Miami.
In Miami, I get off the plane, locate the gate from where the plane to La Paz is leaving, and put my running training to good use. I don't slow down until I reach D6, the gate reserved for American Airlines to La Paz. I am probably the last passenger on the plane, meaning I made it. Somebody must have told the crew that the plane from DC (also American Airlines) was arriving, meaning they hold the plane for me. I feel so special. Uh, actually not. It would have been nice to have a bit of a breather in Miami and stretch my legs. Not going to happen. It will be more of the same with American Airlines, meaning rude service along with the crammed space that makes you think you might have been an oil sardine in a former life.
Eventually I do make it back to La Paz. The driver is there. Good. No problems coming back to high altitude, even better. Once I leave the terminal, I realize my mistake. Winter has just begun here in June, and the temperatures are below freezing. Brrrr. For once, I am grateful a heater is on inside a car.
It's six in the morning when I get home. Liebi and Bash are already awake. Excellent.
Bash is surprisingly shy when he sees me, but happy no less. When I check to see what Axl's doing, I see he's still sleeping, in our bed, no less. I just sit and stare at him for a moment, knowing that I haven't seen him or his brother for almost two months. I wonder what's going on in that little head of his.
The next bit of news doesn't have to wait. The next day, that Monday, there will be a transportation strike. How's that for luck on my first day back at work? If the last transportation strike is any indication, then this is one you might want to avoid. I don't mind boxing matches, it's just that I would prefer professional fighters doing these, not union drivers beating up on non-union members.
Whereas I always like going back to the States so much, it's just that I wished I could have returned to La Paz much sooner. DC is one of my favorite cities in the world, but it's a different story if you have nothing and nobody to come home to. Liebi wouldn't be there, nobody to share a fire or a glass of wine with in the evening. There were days when I'd expect the kids to greet me at the door (how's that for a Norman Rockwell?), only to realize that I would spend the evening by myself.
No more, luckily. At least not for the near future.
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