I thought I’d continue the trend of non-Bolivian tales but on the other end of the time spectrum: our holiday to Bali, just a couple of months ago. Apparently some years back, Bolivia was voted Number 2 most corrupt country in the world. They paid good money to have it bumped down from #1.
Almost more harrowing than being flung out the door of the pre-WWII plane into the dust of some obscure foreign country is what is commonly known in the industry as re-insertion:* returning to live in one’s country of origin after many years in some glorious foreign land that only made it onto the world map in the past 2 decades.
I realise I’ve let the team down somewhat, in that I haven’t covered in detail much of Bolivia’s other cities and locales of interest. Obviously, I won’t start today, but at least a couple will get a mention. A few years in, on yet another one of Dad’s character-building exercises, we endured a family trip to Sucre and Potosí.
The thing about being an MK is that once you return home and attempt reentry, the process is like jamming a pickle in an electrical outlet: shocking. And everyone stares at you since you smell horrid and have green goo on your hands. In our 3rd world country (sorry, Developing Nation) we’d become accustomed to wealthy friends and the country clubs, spas, and sauna access they provided.
Say what you will about 3rd World Countries, but their public transportation systems are not to be trifled with. Of course, taking a trifle on anything moving is a mistake and will only end in tears and a shirt that looks like the entire Rolling Stones entourage puked on you, but in the other sense of the word I mean transport in Bolivia was quite good.