Bolivia

Bolivia lay at the top of the hill. Hidden from my view by the incline, I could only imagine it. Filled with mines and buried Eldorados? Indigenous women, babies slung cross backs. Socialist presidents. Cheap markets. I know that most of the people who knew about this trip, told me to skip it.

We changed our money in Peru. Bolivianos. Suddenly richer than we had been, the air felt lighter. Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the coins that rattled there... 3 soles. I couldn't believe the coincidence. My spirit soared. I would carry these 3 soles with me through the rest of this journey and they would protect me and guide me. Later I would deliver them back to the USA to verify where I had been. I looked up at Bolivia. I contemplated how I would cross this imaginary line. Leaping. High on altitude and short on oxygen, we leaped our way from Peru to Bolivia.

On the other side, a new country, a new people, a new story... and a beggar. One of those women who look like they melted into their giant petticoats, bowler hat open and extended. I walked past her.

And stopped. I turned around. 3 soles. I turned them over in my hand before they fell soft on the dirty felt. She fingered them and looked up at me, then scuttled off. No Aymara blessing, no Spanish gracias. Just a lighter weight in my pocket, a story, and 3 soles given.