Bolivia, the just in case country

Sometimes when you’re traveling, you need a day off to sit around and do nothing. It’s like a vacation from the all the work of backpacking. That’s right I said work. We may be unemployed but what we’re doing is definitely not a vacation. When you’re working, you don’t have to think about what or where you’re going to eat and sleep, or how you’re going to get to where you’re going because you have a routine. But when you’re traveling you constantly have to think about that and it’s hard work, especially with a 20 kg pack on your back. And that’s why you take days off. However, sometimes you get forced into a day off. Today was one of those days.

With the help of the awesome staff at the hostel, we arranged for the delivery of our package from back home. But just like back home the best they could do was give us a delivery window of 12-6pm. We couldn’t leave just in case they came at the beginning of that window. Ah just in case just like back home. And just like back home, they didn’t come until 5:30 so we lost the whole day sitting around for DHL to deliver. And we had to be there because we had to pay. The fees were duties for importing Adrian’s beloved replacement PSP. Despite it being used and leaving the country with us, we still had to pay about $150 to get our package. It was definitely not a highlight.

While we waited to fork over our cash for the goods, Adrian and I made good use of our forced downtime to plan the next couple of days. See even when we’re off we’re still working and it was made more like work with painfully slow hostel internet. After all that hard work we decided to take the day off tomorrow and join a tour to the ruins of Tiwanaku. And the day after we decided to head east to Santa Cruz near the spot where Che Guevera was killed. Unfortunately, Che Guevera didn’t get himself shot in a major city – no, he had to go do it in the middle of the highlands which were only accessible by a tour, a tour that was three times our daily budget. But we bought our bus tickets from the hostel (for a fee) and decided to figure out how to chase Che (and stay in our budget) when we got to Santa Cruz. First though we had to conquer Tiwanku (photo above).

After breakfast, we were picked up right on time and loaded into the minivan to join the rest of the folks. There was Paul from Vancouver and his Brazilian girlfriend, three Germans and a dude from Californian who talked about karmic energy and even tried to show us photographic evidence of it. I didn’t want to burst his bubble by telling him it was just his camera flash bouncing off dust particles in the air. They were harmless and entertaining, even the dude (not to be mistaken for The Dude). But our guide Edel was even better than their company. She began her tour by telling us about the psyche of the Bolivian people using the Bolivian navy to make her point. Bolivians are a patient people. Hundreds of years ago, Bolivia used to have a coastline but battles were fought and maps redrawn and now that coastline belongs to northern Chile. But Bolivians aren’t fighting and protesting for that land back. Nope they’re just kinda maybe hoping and preparing for the day they get it back. So this hopelessly landlocked nation now has a proud navy waiting just in case. And that’s just an example of Edel’s storytelling. She talked just enough to keep us informed and entertained but not too much to give us a headache. Because of her, I was glad we had chosen to do the tour rather than just taking public transit all the way out to the site.

We headed up out of the La Paz through the suburbs and back out on the Altiplano. Although Tiwanaku was closer to Copacabana than La Paz, it’s actually easier to get to from the capital for some strange reason. Along the way we stopped to look back across the Altiplano towards the mountains that surround La Paz. The stop wasn’t just a scenic lookout, it was also an Aymara sacred site. And dotted around the hill were scorch marks marking where offerings were burnt and mounds of llama fur where an animal had sacrificed. Edel explained that llama sacrifices were reserved for big requests like a new home or business and judging by the amount of fur scattered around the hill, the local village was about to get a new subdivision of very large houses.

Tiwanaku was just a short ride away from the ridge where we had stopped. And once we pulled up to the tiny town I was really glad we had a guide. The site didn’t look very impressive and neither was the onsite museum. But Edel made up for it with her in-depth explanation of the history and significance of the site. By the time the Spanish arrived the Tiwanaku had disappeared, or rather been absorbed by the Incans, and in the absence of a written history it has been hard work to piece together a history. What archeologists have been able to figure out is that the Tiwanaku had once been 4 different people that had been around for almost 9 centuries before the Incans. Each of the four groups specialized in one thing – hunters, farmers, fighters and builders but in the end it was the farming group that became dominant and the rest of the skills were kind of forgotten. In the end that was the downfall of the Tiwanaku. When the Incans came through the area, the farmers were no match for the warriors and the Tiwanaku were conquered until the Spanish came through and did their best to wipe out the indigenous groups. Luckily, the legacy of the old Tiwanaku builders survived, leaving a handful of sites with clues to this ancient superpower.

But you really needed to be an archeologist with diving or digging skills to find the clues. In Isla fel Sol the ruins were far below the sea and in Tiwanaku what was left of the site was hidden underground. Well, not all of them actually, many of the stones were now in the small town just on the horizon having been pilfered by the Spanish to construct their churches and other important colonial buildings. And what they hadn’t pilfered they’d destroyed in a futile search for gold. The Spanish mistakenly believed that there was gold in the middle of the main structure and quickly dug up half of the pyramid looking for it only to leave empty handed. At the the half of the pyramid left behind, archeologists were carefully excavating. It was a slow process and only a corner had been uncovered. Perhaps they needed to call the Spanish back in to speed up the process.

Edel took us around the rest of the sites. She pointed out the quirks of the Tiwanaku building methods. Despite being nowhere near an earthquake zone, the builders had created earthquake-proof buildings (but not Spanish-proof). “Just in case” she said cheerfully. However, the bronze used to hold the stones in place was often poached by the Spanish. Despite all this poaching and pilfering, the Spanish had left some of the most important sites alone – which is amazing. Normally everything indigenous and religious was wiped out in an effort to convert the locals to Catholocism. But here it was the religious sites that were still standing. Just in case they were wrong, I wondered.

The most famous site was the Gateway of the Sun which scholars are still trying to make sense of. The best guess is that it was an old calender – with a set of carvings to mark the seasons, another to mark the months, and a final one to mark the weeks. The designs were super clear, if only we had a handy Tiwanaku to English (or even Spanish) pocket translator. The other famous site is the Sunken Temple. Famous because of the thousands of faces carved into the bricks. Each of the faces is different, representing different tribes and people (and some even believe aliens) that the Tiwanaku had contact with. Although the Spanish had left these sites in tact they hadn’t left them alone and occasionally Edel would point out a cross that had been carved into a statue or a wall by the Spanish.

There were other sites but they weren’t open to the public. Instead we headed to a small café located amongst the derelict buildings just outside the ruins for a late lunch. Adrian and I couldn’t afford the whole meal so we just had soup. Plus we’d become fans of Bolivian soup after our time on the Isla del Sol – and this one was almost as tasty as Estancia’s. The Dude pronounced the alpaca "awesome" as he had everything we'd seen so far. Then it was back in the van for the ride back to the La Paz. We stopped briefly at the original village and cathedral of La Paz until they moved it to the valley, just in case. It wasn’t a long tour and it hadn’t been amazing (although Edel was) but it had been a good day out.

When we got back to the hostel we met an Aussie girl named Lulu. Somehow we ended up chatting about getting robbed in our travels. And she told us that she’d been robbed when she arrived in Bolivia. Besides her valuables, the thieves had even stolen her shoes and coat. She wasn’t too shaken up and took it in stride but she said that the worst part had been showing up at the school she was volunteering at and having to ask for shoes and a coat from the poor people she was there to help. She said she was more embarrassed than bothered. Getting robbed sucks but I’m glad that those we’ve met have all had the same keep going attitude. It makes getting robbed seem like no big deal.

Instead of more British/Irish cooking at the hostel, I convinced Adrian to go out for something different. We decided to go for Indian, which after Mexican was our default road cuisine. Bolivia was home not only to the world’s most dangerous road (which we weren’t visiting) but also to the world’s most dangerous curry. We decided to pass on that dish and wimped out with a wimpy tika masala and palak paneer with naan bread. The curry was delicious but the naan was disappointing. It was just a loaf of bread that we left untouched. It didn’t matter since we’d ordered too much food just in case the dishes were small (they weren’t).

Besides the tasty food, the reason for heading out of the hostel was to try to find some better wifi. Next door to the Indian place was a café which advertised wifi and a pool table. Something for me and something for Adrian. So we moved next door for dessert, uploading and for Adrian, a dutch pool tournament. A what? Well this was a Dutch café full of Dutch expats all drinking coffee and smoking and drinking and playing pool. And today was their monthly charity pool tournament which in fact was an excuse to drink and smoke and drink some more. But despite not being Dutch, Adrian was allowed to play. It was for charity after all. So while he beat all the players and won the tournament, I attempted to upload our photos just in case we didn’t have better access elsewhere. Because the one thing I’d learned over the last few days was that in Bolivia, you do things just in case.

New country. New scams.

Our new souvenirs. Fake money.

Today we were headed to the border - our 9th for those of you keeping count. It was going to be a 9+ hour trip so we got up bright and early hoping to arrive in Peru way before it got dark. The great thing about getting up early at a hostel that was also a bar was there was plenty of hot water in the showers. The bad thing? The staff was still sleeping so there was no breakfast until 9am. So we waited an hour until the kitchen opened and hoped that there was a later bus that got us where we needed to go.

We caught a taxi to the bus station. As we pulled in I noticed banners announcing a new direct service to Mancora, Peru. The bus company was having some sort of launch party with balloons and music and food. According to the sign, we’d just missed the 9am bus but the next one was at 10:45. A little late but at least it would be direct. Unfortunately, because of today’s festivities there was no 10:45 bus and the next one wasn’t until 3pm. So we set off to find another bus to take us to the border town where we could catch another bus from the Peruvian sides. That one was leaving in 15 minutes. Perfect – okay we wouldn’t have the luxury of getting all the way there but we’d get there much earlier.

We drove through the mountains from pine forests, to desert, and finally to the coast. The bus got to the border town and let us off just outside at the passport station about 4km outside of town. Unfortunately, the ayudante told us the bus couldn’t wait for us but he told us that when we were done we could catch transportation to the actual border here. Immediately, a guy pounced on us. He offered us a taxi ride to the border for $1.50. Sounded like a deal and much better than carrying our heavy bags in the sun. He walked with us across the highway to the immigration office where we were stamped out of Ecuador. And when we stepped out, our new friend was waiting with a taxi. A few minutes later we were let off in the middle of the town which appeared to be some sort of crazy black market. It was pure chaos and we were glad we had someone to help us navigate the chaotic stalls to the bridge to Peru which was hidden in the midst of it all.

But first we had to change our American dollars into Peruvian money. We stopped at one of the many money changers and he offered almost the actual exchange rate so we said goodbye to dollars and hello to soles. We thanked our friend and gave him a S10 tip for then walked across the bridge. We were unofficially in Peru – unofficially because just like on the Peruvian side the actual immigration office was a few kilometers outside of town and in between was another black market of all sorts of goods even crazier than the Ecuadorian side. Soon we were pounced on by another guy offering us a collectivo ride to Tumbes for S30 (that’s Soles not dollars), including a stop at the immigration office. Hmm. We stopped to consider it. On one hand it was more than we really wanted to pay. On the other, it was a whole lot easier than catching a moto taxi to the immigration office and then to the highway where we’d have to catch a collectivo to Tumbes to catch another collectivo to to our transfer to Mancora. So I asked 3 times about the price and made sure it was the price for both and then decided to go for it.

The man then directed us to his friend’s car. This wasn’t a collectivo but a man trying to make a few bucks on the side. No harm in that I guess. The three of us got in with the driver and were immediately whisked away to the Peruvian immigration post a small hut 2km out of town on the highway. That was over 6km between check points – no wonder there was a thriving black market around here. We hopped out of the car and were quickly stamped in. Now it was time to get back in the car. About 200 metres from the border

The man directed us to his friend’s car. Aha this was just a man trying to make a few bucks on the side. And we got in – first stop the Peruvian immigration about 2km. Peru and Ecuador have a very loose border apparently. We got stamped in without any trouble and then got back in the car. About 200 metres from the border post, the driver turned to us and told us that going to Tumbes was too far and he was going to drive us to the collectivo stop on the highway. Oh great, another scam. I told him (actually I may have yelled at him, being sick of getting scammed every time we got into a car). He told us no and emphasized that he was only going to the collectivo post. I told him to stop the car and jumped out intent on getting away from the scammer jammers. Adrian however wasn’t paying attention and stayed in the car thwarted my great escape plan. The original negotiator however took the chance to make his own escape. With Adrian and our bags still in the car, I was forced to get back in and continue arguing with the driver. Now he agreed to drive us to Tumbes but the price changed. It was no longer 30 for both but 30 for each. And he now said 30 dollars not 30 soles because the trip was 37km away. I told him no and called him a thief and a liar. I told him no, repeated the original price we had negotiated on and told him to stop asking for dollars because we had none. He eventually backed down from $60 to S60 to take us all the way to Tumbes. I was furious with being double crossed yet again. And spent the rest of the ride swearing at him in English and cursing Peru the entire way.

We arrived in Tumbes 20 minutes later (definitely not 37 km). Now that the car was stopped I told him we’d only pay him S50. He eagerly accepted that and gave us our bags – his easy agreement just highlighted the scam. There was no misunderstanding between the two men or between us – it was just the old bait and switch. Adrian handed him a bunch of small bills and then it was off to find our transportation to Mancora. We bypassed the bus stations and headed to the actual collectivos. A taxi driver told us it was going to be S27 and tried to convince us to go with him but I just ignored him. And when we got to the collectivo, indeed the price was only S6 – much better. We got on and enjoyed the ride down the coast.

Our first impressions of Mancora were not great. The town was really just a giant strip of shops and cafes along the Panamerican. – and all of them ugly. The driver let us off in front of the ugliest one – the Sol y Mar hotel that we had chosen to stay at. He then demanded an extra S2 for taking us down the strip. Grr. Sure it was only 60 cents but already this constant scamming was wearing thin. The hotel didn’t get better when we stepped in. It was cheap and cheerless although it was right on the beach. But after the taxi scam we needed to recoup some of our money. I checked out two rooms then chose the sunnier one which was S40/night and payment was demanded upfront. Adrian pulled out a S100 note to pay. The clerk shook his head and pointing to the note said “Es falso”. Adrian pulled out another S100 note. “Es falso tambien.” Then a S50 and another S50 and another S50. Yup that was right. With the exception of the 10s and 20s (most of which were now in the hands of the scammer jammer taxi driver), the money we’d gotten at the border was fake. So not only had the taxi driver ripped us off and the collectivo driver as well but the money changer had too probably in cahoots with our “friend” on the Ecuadorian side. In total, we lost almost $150 in the exchange (photo above). But it explained why the driver wanted American cash. I almost screamed in frustration. The clerk pulled out some real notes so we could feel and see the difference – I can’t say I noticed much – but he could tell a mile away. An old lady standing nearby asked what was wrong and the clerk told her that we had S300 in fake money she tutted and shook her head but was at least sympathetic. However the clerk wouldn’t even give us the room key until he had some money. Luckily there was a bank machine across the street, so Adrian got some real cash out and paid for the room. We were now thoroughly bummed and hating Peru.

Walking down the strip didn’t help much either. Mancora’s only redeeming feature was the beach. Everything else was dirty and dusty and aimed at the tourist pocket book. And let me stress once again that it was an ugly town. After checking out all the menus we ended up at an Italian restaurant run by a German-speaking Swiss guy for the S10 pasta and drink special and S12 for 3 large beers. The food was good even if the town and the country so far was shit. Oh yeah and it was our wedding anniversary.

After a day of bookkeeping, it was time for a hot bath.

Most non-Spanish speakers will recognize the word baños – because you should always know who to ask for the toilet in a foreign country. Baños was not a great name for a town and frankly, our thoughts about the town so far were better suited for the toilet than this blog. We knew it wasn’t fair to blame the entire city for being robbed but can you blame us for being cranky. It didn’t help that I had to spend the morning talking to the credit card companies to arrange delivery of our credit cards to my sister’s place. Then it was time to start the arduous job of filling out insurance claims. Actually the filling out of the forms was easy, the supporting documentation they wanted would prove more difficult. (A hint to those of you planning your own trip: before you go away, find receipts or proof of ownership of everything you’re taking with you scan or photograph it and email it to yourself. Just in case). Finally, I phoned American Express to report our travelers’ cheques stolen and get the replacements. To cut a long story short, American Express Travelers Cheques: do leave home without them. It turned out that the canny thieves had somehow managed to cash the cheques (shocking since they are the hardest things to cash when they’re actually yours). This meant that we couldn’t get replacements because American Express had to launch an investigation to make sure we were telling the truth. They asked for the police report number and the investigating officer’s name (hah, like the Ecuadorian police were actually investigating this crime) so they could follow up. This investigation would take a month and they would mail us the results. And with that, they said goodbye. So once again American Express totally disappointed me with their brusque almost rude brush off and it made me realize we were truly lucky that the thieves only got their hands on our backup funds or else we would have been totally screwed.

It was all very draining but Adrian had snuck out while I was doing all that and signed us up for whitewater rafting. Not only would it be the perfect thing to take our mind off of all the crap, it might actually be fun too. But that was tomorrow. And we still had half the day to spend in Baños. So what to do? Well, Baños was not a reference to the toilet but to the local baths fed by a hot spring. The baths were reputed to have such great healing powers that the church had dedicated a virgin to them in the cathedral. We decided to investigate this – after all, if any one needed some mental healing it was us.

The cathedral was just off the square near the hostel. The virgin was safely encased in her shrine but paintings around the cathedral told the story of the miracles attributed to her. Something about people being saved after falling off of donkeys, the town saved from destruction by earthquakes and volcanoes, nuns being cured by a bath, and of course someone rescued from a car crash and brought back to life. Or something like that. The descriptions were all pretty vague as to how the spring figured into these miracles. But the faithful seemed satisfied.

Then it was time to check out these miraculous springs for ourselves. I’m not sure if it was the depictions of the springs in the paintings or my own desire for some peace and quiet in nature that lead me astray, but I was kind of expecting the springs to be set amongst the lush green hills, a natural pool in nature. I was sadly disappointed. The spring was actually more of a public swimming bath and not a particularly one. It may have been located under a waterfall of crystal clear mountain water, but the baths were actually two pools of murky brown water (photo above). However the water was hard to see for all the families crowded into the pool. It wasn’t particularly appealing but everyone else seemed to be enjoying it so we gave it a try.

We slipped into the water which was indeed warm, piss warm in fact, and it had certain sulfurous aroma. Combined with the brown colour and all the kids floating around, our minds immediately turned to that South Park episode where Cartman is forced to stay in shallow end of the pool with all the grade one kids. Needless to say, whenever our bodies felt a particularly warm spot or an unknown object in the water, we alternated between being grossed out and laughing as Adrian did the worst Cartman expression ever. We made our way to an empty corner in the deep end as soon as possible and spent the next hour and a half in the mineral rich (although probably pee and poo rich too) water melting our worries away. Despite the inherent grossness of it, it was also just what we needed.

Highway robbery.

the outside of the Baños police station although the inside wasn't much more inspiring

Since we had arrived in South America, it was a lot harder to find good accommodation. In Colombia, the problem was that the supply couldn’t keep up with the demand. One hostel owner told me that over the last five years tourism had grown at a rate of 20% annually but this year it was growing 20% every month! Absolutely bonkers. Now combine this with something another hostel owner told me, it took him two years to get permission to open his hostel and you’ll understand why we were always so anxious to book ahead. In Ecuador, the problem was not a lack of hostels but a lack of good hostels and a whole lotta tourists. August is the highest of high seasons and Ecuador is one the most popular backpacker destinations. But despite leaving the dusty roads and low-tech of Central America, booking ahead was a big problem in (supposedly more advanced) South America. While most hostels listed an email address, it seemed none of them ever checked or replied to their emails. So here we were about to set off to the popular backpacker town of Baños without having heard from any of the places we emailed. That just meant we’d have to be sure to leave by midday so we’d have a shot at finding a good place before dark.

Luckily Baños was just over three hour ride from Quito so there was no need to get up at the crack of dawn. Instead we had breakfast and said our goodbyes to the lovable oaf that was the hostel dog and headed out to the Southern Bus Terminal. When we grabbed a taxi on the street, we were pleasantly surprised by a quote that was less than our ride in. And that pleasant surprise turned to guilt as the cab kept driving and driving and driving to get to the new terminal. It was even further out than the northern one so we gave the driver the 50 cents for the tax to enter the new terminal. I know, I know, but Ecuadorian taxi drivers were making us soft by actually being nice.

The Southern Terminal was even bigger than the one we arrived at. It looked like an airport, all shiny and clean and modern. Inside buying a ticket was made incredibly easy by the colour coded kiosks – a directory let us know which colour window we could buy our tickets at and just in case we were colour blind a station employee pointed us in the right direction. After the chaos at Colombian bus stations this was all a bit overwhelming. We had just missed one bus but there was one due in 45 minutes which gave us time to buy water and find our bus bay. Our ticket had a bay on it but as we walked towards it we were immediately turned back by security and shown to the right one. Apparently we had been walking in a restricted (i.e. still under construction) area. Oops. When we got to the right bay there was a bus waiting there but it wasn’t ours. Nope, that one didn’t leave until just before our bus pulled in.

It wasn’t the nicest looking bus but we’d seen worse. But the employees were very helpful. The ayudante insisted on helping Adrian but his bag on the overhead shelf as we settled into our seats near the front. And then we were off. The route was obviously a popular one with lots of stops in towns along the way. At each one vendors selling food and drink would also get on, ply their wares and then get off along the highway, presumably to catch a ride back to town from the next passing bus. Like all buses we’d been on in the last 5 months, this stopping and starting added a lot of time to what should have been a short trip but we were used to it.

Soon we were just outside of Baños. Adrian reached up to grab his knapsack and immediately I noticed an uncomfortable look on his face. He began searching through the pockets which was easy considering they were empty. With a look of horror on his face he told me, “It’s gone.”
Sometime in the last 3 hours from right under our noses, someone had rifled through his knapsack and removed his beloved PSP and all the games. I figured he had just packed it in his big bag and told him not to worry. No, he insisted as we pulled into the station. They were gone and that’s when he told me the rest of the bad news. The knapsack was also where he had been keeping the money belts we never wore. Inside were our backup credit cards and his British passport. What!?!

As the bus stopped we grabbed our luggage from off the bus and began a thorough search of everything. Nope. We’d been robbed somewhere along the highway. Adrian decided to ask the ayudante if he’d seen anything - of course not but he suggested it was the people that sold stuff on the bus that did it. I don’t know how they’d do it considering they were always laden down with baskets of stuff in both hands. But whoever it was didn’t matter, the stuff was gone.

The good news was we still had our main credit card, bank card and passport. So we could still travel. But that didn’t mean canceling and replacing what was gone was going to be easy. The bad news continued when we got to our first choice hostel. They were no rooms. Still in shock we headed to our second choice. They didn’t have any rooms either. But they directed us to their sister place around the corner. The room was cheap and clean and big. So we took it and began making an inventory of what was gone. And gone were Adrian’s PSP, 10 games, 4 credit cards, 1 British passport, almost $400 in traveller’s cheques, and the 6-year old digital camera which had been in a handbag inside the knapsack, meaning however stole the stuff gave Adrian’s bag a thorough going over. I did smile about the digital camera, it was on its last legs and would be a disappointment when it stopped working.

With the list in hand (as well as a Spanish dictionary and old photocopies of all our documents), we headed to the police station (photo above) to make an official report that insurance, the credit card companies and the passport folks would need. The police station really was only 3 rooms and we were directed to sit in one of them. Here we waited for 20 minutes until a police office? judge? or clerk came in took our statement. Dealing with the police was not something I had covered in any of my Spanish lessons but luckily the officer was able to understand my pidgeon Spanish and Adrian’s mime and put it together in a typed report which was then signed and stamped by a notary? lawyer? or judge? That made it official, we were the victims of crime. The next stop was an internet café to hop onto skype and cancel all those credit cards. That wasn’t fun and I’d like to state how disappointed I was in Amex’s operator and how pleasantly surprised I was by Mastercard’s. Amex didn’t seem to care and was cold and rather unhelpful. Apparently, the thief had already tried to use the Amex to get $4995 worth of goods from somewhere (in Ecuador this would by you a fleet of used cars I’m sure). The transaction hadn’t gone through because my account was dormant since I hadn’t paid the membership few in the last few months (we hadn’t used it so I forgot). But that also meant Amex wouldn’t help me with a replacement until I paid the $50 fee – she then began asking me when I was going to pay it. Suddenly my “help, I’ve just been robbed” call became a collection call. Grr. This might not have sunk in accept that I called Mastercard afterwards. They were the polar opposite: they first asked me if I was okay, if we’d been hurt; they asked me what else had been stolen and did we need help; she wanted to know if we still had access to money. And when she knew we were okay she helped us figure out how to get a replacement card. Unfortunately, (and this is true for all Canadian credit cards) we couldn’t get a replacement. Well, we could get a temporary one that would expire in 30 days but a full replacement could only be sent to a Canadian address for security reasons. For some reason I don’t understand, it’s considered safer to send the credit cards to a third party address in Canada and then have the third party courier them to us, rather than have the credit card company send them directly to us. Silly. But after 4 hours of dealing we didn’t have much fight left in us.

The adrenaline was wearing off and since we hadn’t eaten since this morning, we were starving. We walked out in a daze to find a place to eat. As we approached the main square, we saw a familiar face. It was Matt from Cartagena. We chatted on the street and excused our moods telling him our sad tale. He decided to join us for dinner and we relived our first meeting by once again having pizza and beer. Although we’d only met Matt once before, it was nice to be chatting to a friend. Not only did it help to have a sympathetic ear, he was a great distraction and by the time we finished up we were feeling a hundred times better.