The Airports

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The trip to Cochabamba, Bolivia was a long and arduous one, full of no-fun. I left my apartment in columbus at about 4:30 on a Tuesday morning for my 7:40 am flight to Miami. As soon as I got past security, I realized that I forgot my passport type photo that I need for my Bolivian visa. Darn.

Since I arrived so early at the airport, I scoured the internet for a place in Miami where I could get such a photo taken (I had a 5 hour layover there, so I would have ample time to leave the airport and go get such a photo taken). I found a Fedex that offered the services I required only ten miles away. I could catch a cab there, get the photo, and come back no sweat. Wait a second, I thought, cabs are pretty expensive, right? By looking up average taxi prices in Miami, I talked myself out of it. The cost of just a one-way trip would cost around thirty dollars, not to mention what I would have to pay for him to wait outside of Fedex while I did my thing (probably totaling to about $80, including the cost of photos). I decided that if Bolivia wanted my money, they could give me a visa without having a photo.

I flew out of Miami at about three in the afternoon bound for Santa Cruz, Bolivia. The plane ride was about 9 hours long, and landed in what was the jankiest airports I have ever seen. I went through customs with the help of a very short man who didn't know any English. The only hitch at customs came with my voltage converter that you need so you don't fry any electrical equipment. There were no instructions in Spanish, so the lady looked at it a long time before she let me get by with it. I tipped the small man for helping me get by customs with all of my property intact. They didn't even ask to see a photo for the visa, proof of sufficient funds, or any of the other junk the Bolivian consulate website said was required; they just wanted crisp, new-looking dollar bills before they let me pass.

This airport, as I said before, was a little bit on the gross side. The lights gave everything a dim orange wash, and the floors were composed of old tiles you might see in an aged elementary school. I was a little bit apprehensive about falling asleep in this particular airport, but I had a layover from 1am to 7am, and hadn't slept much on the way there, so I found a quiet spot on the floor to lay. By the time 6am rolled around, I had collected almost another 2 hours of sleep on the cold tiles.

I got on the plane headed to Cochabamba at about 7am, the time it was supposed to leave. The plane actually left at 7:30am, just one of many demonstrations of how "punctual" the Bolivians are. A short plane ride later (with complimentary disgusting-looking ham and cheese sandwich that I threw away), and I was in Cochabamba. I called Tomas Ortiz (who we call Papi), the guest house coordinator, and his wife Iris (Mami) and a volunteer named Rebecca came and picked me up. The time was 11am on Wednesday morning. A 30.5 hour journey, and I was finally at my destination. Relief.

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