That last day in La Paz was frantic to say the least.I raced back to the hostel and told them that I had to leave the next morning.While paying for my stay I tried to call Alastair at Gravity Tours so I could see if we could hook up for a drink to say goodbye.Sadly he was out of town on a private bike tour and I would miss him.I was bummed as he had done so much to welcome me and make my stay in La Paz an awesome experience.The next thing was to try and track down the small group that I'd been hanging with.Most of them were on tour and as I had to leave for the airport very early I wouldn't be able to see them either.
MY next task was to start packing up all my gear.I hate packing for trips and I really hate boxing up my bike for flights so it felt like a real chore to go upstairs and start the long packing process.One by one the Bolivian house-maids found out that I was leaving and they all came to say goobye and wish me luck.They had been really wonderful to me during my stay.They had helped me with my Spanish,kept an eye on bike for me while the the hostel was full of workers renovating the place.Most of all they had been so patient and kind while I was sick.I would miss thier bright smiles and kind hearts and wished that everyone who likes to believe that Bolivia is an evil place could meet the wonderful people that I had met here.My last night was uneventful and after a few drinks at Ollie's to say goobye I was in bed early with thoughts of what lay in store for me in the next few months.
Knowing just how bad the traffic is in La Paz I called a cab at around 6am to take me the short 10 kilometers to the airport in El Alto.Thankfully the hostel is at the base of the climb out of town to and I wouldn't have to negotiate the jammed downtown core.The long, winding climb out of the bowl in which La Paz sits was absolutely beautiful and with the sun yet to rise the city below shimmered with a million lights of the city a waking to face the new day.I had ridden down this hill three weeks before and marvelled at the beauty of this grand old city.I knew that one day I would be back to renew old friendships and face new adventures.Then without any fanfare, we crested the summit and La Paz was gone from view. I was soon unloading all my gear on to the scales at the check-in counter of Llyod Aero Boliviano.
One thing that always worries me when I face the check-in counter of any airline is just how much they are going to charge me for my bike and any assorted other bits of baggage that seems odd,unusual or overwieght.Suprisingly though I found someone who was actually quite impressed with the fact that I was biking around Sth America.She didn't blink as the digital readout on the scales kept climbing as first on went my bike, then my trailer followed by my backpack full of all my camping gear and clothes.I was glad that I was wearing long sleeves though 'cause I could easily explain away the huge scabs that covered my top lip as the result of a bike crash.I'm not sure I could have explained the rash which covered most of my torso and arms with as much credibility.
With all my gear now safely on it's way to the belly of the aircraft it was off to complete my airport ritual.I have a perculiar thing that I only do at airports and that is to eat at either MacDonalds' or Burger King.It's strange I know and I'm not sure when or why I began this odd practice.I'm guessing that the main reason is that there is some sort of price control over food served there.I mean when you pay at MacDonalds at an airport it's pretty safe to sat that you are paying five or six dollars for the five or six dollar meal that you would pay in the city, not twenty dollars for the sandwich costing four dollars on the street.Maybe I'm thinking that as I'm in an airport then I'm not really anywhere in particular and so the normal rules don't apply, thus it's okay to load up the arteries with junk.Who knows?I was just hoping that the pride of Bolivian aviation was going to be able to lift this fat bastard off the tarmac and put him down where he wanted to go.
The first of my flight's was quite uneventful.We had to change planes in Santa Cruz and then fly onto Panama in Central America before heading over to Miami.The transit in Santa Cruz was a bit scary as this was our last port before leaving Bolivia and as such we were subject to intense scrutiny by Bolivian customs.Santa Cruz is in the heart of cocain country and as I was the solitary gringo arriving on this flight in Miami from Bolivia I figured I would get the full treatment from customs and immigration.Once passed through customs with all my gear dismissed as being too much trouble to look at I was on my new plane headed for Panama
.The second leg of my round-about journey north proved a quiet affair as well and upon landing in a rainy Panama City we were told that we would not be changing planes but we would be changing crew.From my isle seat,two rows back from business class I could quite clearly see most of what was going on in the sharp end of the aircraft and it was obvious that 9/11 meant very little to all those involved with flying this aircraft.
I figured when they said we would be changing crew,what they meant was that the old crew would get off here in Panama and a new crew would continue on to Miami.What actually happened was that once the new crew were on board some sort of impromtu cocktail party started.One things for sure, they know how to treat thier flight crews on Lloyd Aero Boliviano as the beer and wine flowed freely even before the pland had hit the runway.The whole of business class was occupied by the old flight crew,the old cabin crew,some ground crew and thier families.It was bizzar.What topped it off for me was that at no time during take off or during the flight was the door to the cockpit closed.At most house parties around the world the kitchen is the spot to chat.Here at thirty-odd thousand feet the door to the cockpit was the choice location to be seen.Little kids ran in and out of the cockpit through the legs of those clutching a beverage in on hand and the interior of the aircraft with the other.I lost track of who was working and who wasn't.In the end, it would seem that whoever was flying the bloody plane,had it pointed in the right direction and the party was shut down as we began our descent into Miami International Airport.It wasn't the scariest flight I've ever been on but it was no doubt one of the most interesting.
Once I had walked off the plane I was really expecting the worst from immigration and then customs.I had no doubt that they would be very interested in a lone male traveller arriving from Bolivia and so with resignation I approached the immigration booth.The first thing the immigration officer did after checking out my passport was look at the scabs on my lip and try to compare my distorted face with that of the guy in the photo.I was then iris scanned and finger print checked and yes I was in the system,having entered the U.S many times before."How long will you be in the U.S?" She asked "Just four days at the beach until I head off to Canada" I replied waiting for the barrage of questions to start."Have a nice stay in the United States" she said smiling and with that she handed me my passport and I was on my way to the baggage claim.One down and one to go.I was sure that customs wouldn' be so accomodating and crossed my fingers that all my stuff had arrived in one piece.
After an eternity waiting for my gear,which thankfully did arrive intact,I pushed my fully laden trolley toward the cutsoms hall.Once at the front of the line I was waved forward and approached my designated official.He scanned my load and pointed at the big box on my trolley."Is that a bicycle?" he inquired "A mountain bike and some equipment."I answered."And that"he said pointing at the silver bag under my bike."My trailer"I told him."Where have you come from today?"It was the question I had been waiting for."Bolivia" I cringed.With that he turned to another official and asked"Do you want to check this bike out?""I don't want to check no bike?"She replied lazily."Well I don't want to check no bike either he muttered" and with that he told me to have a nice trip and sent me on my merry way.Unbelievable!So much for homeland security.
So there I was back in the first world again.Now what?I knew that I ddn't want to drag my bike around with me so I checked it at the baggage storage area and then caught a cab to my hostel in South Beach.On the way I was overwhealmed by just how clean Miami was.After being in La Paz I guess anywhere would have seemed clean but I was also very impressed at how little traffic there was and how efficient the freeway system was.I commented to the driver about that and he just lauged.He then told me that the reason it was so quiet on the roads was that it was a public holiday .I guess without realising it I had arrived on Memorial Day Monday so I thought great there must be stuff to do today then.My cabbie told me flat."This is the weekend the black people come to Miami to shoot each other!"I couldn't believe it.He then went on to tell me that South Beach was the worst place possible to be this weekend .He did say though that most people would be on thier way home today so I would have more than likely missed the worst of it. "This should be interesting",I thoght
I checked into my hostel and the girl on the reception desk was no more enthusiastic than the cabbie.She looked so worm out and I asked her if it had been a busy weekend."All I can say is thank God it's over"was her reply.I guess my cab driver must have been right.Looked like I missed a hellish weekend. All I wanted to do was get out of my jeans,put on a pair of shorts and head off to the beach and soak up some of the suns' heat.
The hostel was only three blocks from South Beach and once I hit the sand it was an express trip into the warm waters of the Atlantic.Bliss!After so long in the cold of the Andes it was great to feel the suns warmth on my body even if the salt water was stinging the sores on my lip.I then went for a stroll along the sandy beach toward the huge resort hotels that lined the beachfront about a mile away. It was great to see so many people out and about either running or cycling along the hard packed sand path at the top of the beachead.I decided that I could get used to hanging out here and my joy increased when,on walking through a beachside park,I spied a sight I hadn't realised I missed so much in my time in Latin America.Starbucks!I am a dedicated coffee addict and the sight of a Starbuck's store sitting in the park by the beach was like an oasis to me.I ordered myself a huge coffee,ingoring the funny looks the staff gave my scabby lip and settled down on the garden patio for the next couple of hours.
It was during those hours sitting in the sun watching the bikini's walk by when the culture shock set in.Here I was sitting in Miami,Florida surrounded by manicured lawns,boutique hotels and custom low-ride cars while just a short day ago I was in the grip of third world poverty.I looked at the coffee in my hand and realised that the money I had spent on that drink would have bought lunch for half a dozen Bolivians' just yesterday.Jewellery sparkeled on the manicured hands of several women sunning themselves on the patio surrounding me.Their designer bathing suits oozed sexuality and what little material there was showed off flawless skin, bronzed by the Florida sun.A far cry from the squat Bolivian women covered from head to toe in layers of old fabric, colours dulled by the dust and pollution of the city around them.I pictured their happy wrinkled faces, dirty and dry,cracked by the harsh elements of a tough life in a poor land.I wondered how long the painted princesses around me would last in a hard place like Bolivia.
It wasn't just the trappings of a wealthy nation that put my senses into overdrive.The colours of South Beach jumped out at me everywhere I turned.The emerald green parks were full of towering trees and trimmed with manicured flower beds full of reds,yellows and orange.Looking to my left,past the whiter than white beach was the brilliant blue Atlantic topped with the flourscent sails of a dozen boats at play.To my right was Ocean Drive, home to that famous row of 50's inspired, pastel coloured hotels and bars seen in countless movies and television shows.They form a rainbow of pink,blue,green and lavender buildings dressed with upmarket outdoor restaurants and bars,their streetfronts lined with luxury cars.This was a very far cry from the last five weeks I had spent in the bleak,barren,brown alti-plano of Bolivia surrounded by the cruel realities of poverty.I had enjoyed even the worst of my experiences there but that was behind me now and it was time to play in the Florida sun.
I left my little perch in Starbucks and began the walk back to the hostel.This time I decided to walk along Ocean drive and check out the street I had seen highlighted so many times on the television show C.S.I. Miami.The nieghborhood didn't dissapoint and and realising that I hadn't eaten for some time I sat at a nice cafe and ordered lunch.From my vantage point I could watch the passing parade and be entertained by the antics of a group of testosterone fuelled African American studly types who verbally assaulted each female that passed thier way.It was all meant in good fun and everyone seemed cool with it but I have to say if any girl in Australia had that much suggestive language directed at them they wouldn't be impressed.These bubble-butt babes seemed to relish the attention.Must be a cultural thing.One particular guy,who stood about five foot five and was equally wide tried so hard to lure each passing bikini clad beauty to his table for a drink.He was very scary to look at and could have easily passed as an extra in any prison movie but he was also very funny to watch as time after time he got shot down by a potential mate.His show ended when a super hot convertible sports car pulled up to the curb and the driver waved him over.With his drink still in his hand and his pride in tatters he hopped into his "homies" car and took off for greener pastures.After eating I continued my trip to my hostel and marvelled at the endless row of cool bars and restaurants on Ocean Drive.All was fairly quiet and for me it was time to get back to my hostel,unpack my stuff and have a nap.
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