The Following Was Posted Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Don't Wake the Driver
My ride to retrieve luggage that morning was shared with Rachel, another Habitat volunteer delayed by the strike. She had waited out the labor dispute in Bogotà and flew into Santa Cruz a few hours after me. Rachel was nice enough to take the cab out to the airport with me in case I needed her fluent Spanish.
Once I had my bag, Carmen put Rachel and me in a taxi for the two hour ride to San Julian.
All the cab drivers I met in Bolivia were pretty sociable. But not this guy. We never even got his name. We tried to make small talk by asking him about the CD he was playing, but he just grumbled - which in Spanish sounds the same as in English. After a short while on the narrrow road, I was a little concerned to see him rubbing his eyes and drooping his head. We were traveling about 70 mph with no seat belts, and he looked like he might pass out. At the same time, he was treating the pot holes like a slalom course, using both lanes and both shoulders. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was carving his path or weaving off the road.
Rachel and I gave him some crackers to wake him up. Then we noticed him sniffling, and he sneezed a few times. Maybe he was not tired at all, maybe allergies were making his eyes itch. And, as for the drooping head, that was the only way he could see under the huge green decal at the top of his windshield. So, we chose to believe these things and enjoy the thrill ride.
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My ride to retrieve luggage that morning was shared with Rachel, another Habitat volunteer delayed by the strike. She had waited out the labor dispute in Bogotà and flew into Santa Cruz a few hours after me. Rachel was nice enough to take the cab out to the airport with me in case I needed her fluent Spanish.
Once I had my bag, Carmen put Rachel and me in a taxi for the two hour ride to San Julian.
All the cab drivers I met in Bolivia were pretty sociable. But not this guy. We never even got his name. We tried to make small talk by asking him about the CD he was playing, but he just grumbled - which in Spanish sounds the same as in English. After a short while on the narrrow road, I was a little concerned to see him rubbing his eyes and drooping his head. We were traveling about 70 mph with no seat belts, and he looked like he might pass out. At the same time, he was treating the pot holes like a slalom course, using both lanes and both shoulders. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was carving his path or weaving off the road.
Rachel and I gave him some crackers to wake him up. Then we noticed him sniffling, and he sneezed a few times. Maybe he was not tired at all, maybe allergies were making his eyes itch. And, as for the drooping head, that was the only way he could see under the huge green decal at the top of his windshield. So, we chose to believe these things and enjoy the thrill ride.
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