Lost and Lonely

The other day, Maria Renée (my Bolivian collaborator) and I were coming back from visiting hospitals in El Alto. We were already running an hour late for our lunch date with the people at the lab. Before our kombi stopped, we had already identified the connecting trufi that we needed to take to get to Calacoto. The trufi is just like a taxi, except that it seats five passengers so you carpool with strangers.

There were two people already inside, a man riding shotgun, and his wife was in the back. Maria Renée went to get in, but the lady pulled HARD on the door and said loudly in an American accent, “No! Sorry. NO!”. She caused Maria Renée to almost fall over.

A little delirious from the day’s journey, Maria Renée and I were taken aback. We stood at the curb and looked at each other, unsure what to do. It was so unexpected. The man had his nose buried in a map. I thought about offering help, but the lady had given off such a rude, unapproachable vibe, so I stayed silent.

Less than a minute later, the taxi driver kicked the couple out, and we in turn got in the taxi. Cue the righteousness indignation. I turned and looked at the lost couple and almost felt bad. The lady must have read in Lonely Planet about the criminal schemes that happen in the trufis. Maybe it had happened before and still happens on occasion, but this is how many Bolivians get to work and school every day.

How intimidating it can be to be a stranger in a strange land, and how funny those strangers must seem to the natives of that land.