My mom....

My mom stole a car once.  

She took her three boys along and invited the neighbour lady and her three kids to join her.  A couple of days later the RCMP showed up and she invited them in for coffee.  But they still made her give it back.

Honestly my mom isn't like anyone else I know.  She's an eastern girl who got dumped into the middle of the prairies where there wasn't a tree that met her approval for 200 miles.  My siblings and I knew that we didn't dare try to talk to her for the first few hours of the return trip to Saskatchewan after visiting Ontario...not if we valued our lives in any way.  I'm pretty sure dad knew that rule too.

Somewhere along the way though (perhaps somewhat reluctantly), mom decided that the prairies were home.  She planted trees around the yard...which against all odds lived...and buckled down to raise her family.

If you know us at all, you've probably learned quickly that we’re not your usual family.  

I have nine siblings.  

It's kind of like our own personal version of the United Nations.  I have a nephew who has corn rolls in his hair.  And nieces who are Native, Irish and East Indian...all mixed together in very cute packages.   One of my favourite moments was when my African brother-in-law (who's a musician and the only talented one in the bunch) gave a shout out to his family during one of his concerts and the whitest people in the crowd waved back.

When I worked at the boys' home here in Bolivia, I used to laugh because eating supper with 80 ex-street kids was quieter and less chaotic than meal times with my family in Canada.  My mom can throw together a meal for thirty (and that's just my siblings, their spouses and their kids) like no one else I know. 

I don't think I ever laugh as hard or get as annoyed or enjoy my days as much as when I'm hanging out with my family.  And in the middle of the chaos that are our family get together’s...there's my mom.  We all love our dad and he fixes our cars...but it's mom who holds the entire gong show together. 

At some point I should probably mention that mom doesn't just take care of us.  She's been taking in foster kids for the better part of thirty years and at any given moment there are usually a couple (or seven) little kids running around the house in various stages of undress and/or diapers. 

She's...ahem...70-ish...and middle of the night bottle feedings don't phase her in the least.  Sorry all my new-born mom friends…but it’s true.

Well...let's see...lessons from my mom... 

Number one is that anyone who sits at the table is treated as a member of the family.  The downside is that they have to move quickly if they want to eat.  The upside is that they're treated with love and respect and will receive the same lectures as the rest of us.

No matter what a person has done or not done, there's always grace and forgiveness.  There will likely be the aforementioned lecture...but tempered with said grace and forgiveness.

Life is nothing without the occasional adventure. 

There's nothing that can't be built or knocked down if you're creative enough and don't really care what it looks like after the fact.  If you don't like a wall in the house, wait until your husband goes hunting and then take a sledge hammer to it. 

There's as much value in a hand drawn picture in a cheap Walmart frame, drawn by a foster child, as there is in a valuable antique painting and they should hang side by side on the wall.

If you have to turn right in twenty seven blocks, it's okay to get into the right hand lane as soon as possible and come what may (be that buses that stop every block or a hundred other cars making slow right hand turns) you ride that sucker to the end. 

I'm not sure if that last one was so much a lesson as it was an observation from a son who sat in the passenger seat for too many years.

In the end, the most important lesson I've learned from my mom is that God is love.  I know this because I've seen it in my mom.  Every person, no matter their age, colour or background or mistakes they've made, has been created by God and deserves our love, encouragement, dignity and help. 

Both my parents taught me early on that there's no request for assistance from a friend, neighbour or stranger that shouldn't be met with a smile and a "Sure, what can I do?"  If I've ever seen the verse, "They'll know us by our love" personified in a person, it's in my mom.

All of those lessons have served me very well over the years.  Well, except for the driving in the right hand lane one.  That one drives me crazy.  But the rest is why I do what I do. 

The example that my mom (and my dad) set for us growing up is why every kid that comes into our house here is a part of our family and treated as such. 

It's why, when I see a need, my first thought is what can I do to help meet that need. 

It's why I want to provide a family for these guys who have never known a loving, Godly family…because my mom (and again my dad) provided this for me.

So Mom…here’s to you.  Happy Mother’s Day!  You deserve it.  

You really are the best mom a guy could ever ask for or have.  Thanks for loving all of us and being such a great example.  We all love you more than we could ever tell you.  

Well...not that I would probably even try to tell you (at least in person) because, after all, I am a male member of the Switzer family and Dad’s gene won out in the desire to avoid the touchy/feely stuff.  

This is also why the guys and I punch each other (as do my brothers and I) as demonstrations of our love and affection for each other…

Well, Mom….this is all just to say…

I miss you and I love you lots!  Hope you have a wonderful day!  

Lots of love!

Ken

PS  I really do wish I was there to give you a hug and some flowers or something.  Although, I did send a present home with the family that was just here because I’m the eldest and the most thoughtful and, of course, your favourite.  

I know that you can’t admit that because you are such a great mom….but we both know it’s true.

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A random conversation...

Larry was at my house for breakfast on Monday.  We do a discipleship thing every week.  After we were done, we were just kind of shooting the breeze.  He was wearing shorts and I noticed a scar on his leg behind his knee so I asked him how he got it.  He said that he got tangled up in some barbed wire when he was a kid and instead of trying to get out slowly, he just ripped it loose and gave himself a pretty good scar.

Then he pointed to a scar on his other leg and said that he got that one when a monkey bit him. 

I was like, "A monkey?  How did that happen?  Was it a wild monkey?" 

"No, it was a pet."

"Why did it bite you? 

He got kind of a sheepish look on his face.

"Well...I kind of bugged it a lot."

Then he showed me a scar on his stomach and said he got it in a fight...the guy stabbed him.  Then he showed me another scar on his back, "Here too."

Then he pointed to the scar on his cheek.  That one was from the motorbike accident in September. 

Then he started laughing...the one on his forehead?  Well, he had a bracelet on his wrist and a dog jumped up and bit onto it with it's mouth and wouldn't let go.  So Larry was trying to get rid of the dog by cutting the bracelet off with a knife.  When the knife finally cut through the string and the dog and braclet fell off his wrist, the knife arm jerked upwards and he stabbed himself in the forehead. 

I laughed very hard.

I love these conversations...

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Taxi cab confessions...

Yimy had the truck today helping someone, so I was briefly forced to take a taxi. 

Public transportation never ceases to amuse and entertain me.  When I'm in it.  When I'm following it in my truck it makes me want to ram it and drive over it.

Anyhow...here's my conversation with my driver.

Driver: "That's our casino."  (as we drive past a casino that's been closed for a couple of years)  "It's closed."

Then he says with disgust..."Evo."

Evo is our president of whom many (most) lowlanders are not a fan of.  He's to blame for all of the ills that befall us. Including, it seems, the closing of the casino (which didn't pay it's taxes and was therefore shut down).

The conversation continues.

"Where are you from?  The United States or Europe?"

"I'm from Canada."

"Canada?!" he says approvingly.  "CanaDA.  CanaDA.  CanaDA" 

He just kept saying it every couple of seconds as we drove.  Then he asked, "Is that close to Holland?"

"No.  But it's close to the United States."

"Ah..."

We drove in silence for a time.

"How long have you been in Bolivia?"

"About seven years."

"SEVEN YEARS?!"  He seemed impressed by this.

"Are you going to marry a Bolivian girl?"  'Cause you know...that's the next obvious question.

Laughing a little I replied, "I don't know.  I dated a Bolivian girl a couple of years ago."  Why I volunteered this information I have no idea.  It just encouraged him.

"You did?  But you're not with her now?"

"No."

"Why?  Was it because she wanted to get married and you you didn't?"

"Uh...no not exactly."

"Was it because you wanted to get married but she didn't?"

"Uh...no not exactly."  At this point I really want out of this weirdly personal and awkward conversation with my total stranger taxi driver so I start tapping my fingers on the door in time to the music.

"Ah you like this music?!"  He's sufficiently distracted.

"Of course.  It's clasic rock!"  It was some song in English from the 1970's.

"Yes!  It's my favourite!  How old are you?"  Again with the weirdly personal questions.

"45."

"Then you understand about this music!"  Yes...because I was 4 when this song came out.

"There's a bar where only single people go to meet other single people who like this music too.  People who are 40 or 45 or 50." 

Uh...

Not sure how to respond to that.

As I'm contemplating my answer he says, "So you're Catholic." 

Seriously I can't keep up.

"Uh no...I'm evangelical."  Thinking this conversation is moving in a more serious, spiritual direction I add, "I work here with a Baptist group."

"AND YOU LIKE THIS MUSIC?!?"  he yells at me and starts killing himself laughing.

I start laughing too.  "Of course!  And lots of my friends like it too!"

"Truthfully?!"

"Yes!"

At this point we've arrived at my destination and I pay him.  As I get out of the car and he drives away I hear one more, "CanaDA" and him still laughing. 

Ah public transportation...

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Why won't it stop raining?!

For those of you who aren't on Facebook...let me recap briefly...

I wanted to do something a bit different with this class from SCS, so Tuesday we took the group up into the jungle to our favourite waterfalls.  Yimy and I checked the road out the day before and it was fine...nice and dry and no major issues. 

We had a fun (if a little rough) trip in and then the kids had the chance to enjoy one of the prettiest places I know.  One of the girls said she was speechless for three minutes before she could do anything.  =)

While we were swimming and enjoying lunch, it started to rain.  I figured it was just a little shower like we've been having off and on for the past couple of weeks.  Usually the sun is out again after a few minutes.

Except this time it didn't happen.  It just kept raining.

So we decided to take off early and head back into the city before the road got too bad. 

Yea...missed that one by a bit. 

I was in the first truck and I knew right away we were in trouble.  My truck handled the mud well enough (okay...there was a little sliding around but nothing too major), but I knew the bus was going to have problems.  I sent Americo hiking back to tell the bus not to try to go anywhere (he ran for 45 minutes), while I drove my group of kids out.  I figured we could ferry the kids out in the two trucks...I had no idea what we were going to do with the bus.

We waited out at the river and after a bit, Yimy arrived with the other truck and the rest of the kids.  We hired another bus to drive the kids back into the city and I went with them while Yimy headed back to where the bus was stuck.  He and a couple of the guys got the bus unstuck and tried to convince the driver to park the bus at someone's house and leave with them until it was dry enough to drive out.  He didn't want to leave, so Yimy and the guys headed back to the city (at 4 AM).

The SCS group got away fine the next morning and in the afternoon (after sleeping) Yimy, Roberto and Larry tried to get back to the bus via another road that didn't have to cross the river.  By now the news was reporting that low-lying areas along the river were being evacuated (by helicopter) and that the river was expected to rise by two metres overnight.

The guys didn't make it either.  I was waiting for updates and at 2 AM they called and said they were stuck.  At 4 AM they said they were going to sleep in the truck and try to find a tractor in the morning.

The next day Americo and I borrowed a friend's truck and went looking for them. 

I took pictures...

Roberto sleeping in the park of a little village

after walking out of the jungle with Yimy for six hours...

 

 

We parked my friend's truck and walked in the last mile or so...

 

 

The truck was in the middle of that mudhole at 4 AM...

 

 

By the time we got there Larry had found someone with

a tractor to pull the truck out...

 

 

The guys all happy that the truck is out of the mud...

 

 

10 minutes later...

 

 

Words fail...

 

 

Yimy tried to dig for awhile and then he and Larry went

after the tractor guys while I, Roberto and Americo kept at it.

 

My back is feelin' it today...

 

 

The guys shovelled sand into the box to try

and weigh it down a little...

 

 

Ohhh...the cab of my truck...

 

 

Yimy had to take the truck to three different places today

before he found someone willing to wash it...

 

 

Roberto's sandals...

 

Well...technically they're mine since he borrowed them from me.

 

I got the car wash guy to power wash my shoes when

I had my friend's truck washed...

 

 

Finally the tractor showed up...

 

 

The tractor guys made a killing off me.  But I had no option...and they knew that.  Oh well...they were nice enough guys otherwise. 

We eventually made it out of the jungle (I've never been that far back into the middle of nowhere) and after one other dicey spot we were on our way home.

The bus driver is still waiting with his bus.  I heard today that the rain is supposed to let up by Sunday but I'm sure it'll be a day or two after that before he can drive out. 

I imagine he'll be grumpy.

We will be paying him for his time, so hopefully that will help.  But I don't imagine he'll be driving for us next year.  =) 

Anyhow...thanks for praying for us and please keep praying for the driver.  I feel bad about what's happened, even though it wasn't really anyone's fault and we've tried hard to get to him.  I'm sure it'll be fine eventually but I'll be glad when it's over.

So...another day in South America...

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Tropical Thunder!

So I'm sitting here in the dark with only my computer to keep me company...at least until the battery runs out.  We just had a major storm roll through...lots of lightning and thunder...and a rain that would turn any place in Saskatchewan into a disaster zone. 

And of course it knocked the power out.

But we're used to rivers in the street as high as your bumper...the water drains off fairly quickly.  But it's why we don't do basements here.

Anyhow...I snapped a few pictures off of my deck to keep myself entertained...

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

So it turns out getting pictures of lightning is hard.  By the time I started taking pictures most of the action was right above me...or behind the building across the street.  But I got a couple of okay shots.  The rain had mostly stopped by this point too.

 

But of course the rain managed to come down at exactly the right angle to force itself past the frames of my windows. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My living room window doesn't open...but the workmen didn't seal it correctly and water managed to get in between the window and the sill...right above an electrical outlet.  Fortunately, as I said, the storm knocked the power out, so it's all good....

 

Anyhow...that was my night.  How was yours? 

 



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Who knew I had an electromagnetic field...

I'm supposed to be posting pictures of Christmas here but I got bored and distracted and now there's not enough time before I go to bed.

So instead I'm going to regale you with the story of my latest "doctor" appointment for my back. 

In case you didn't know, I've been having back problems again.  I think it has something to do with crashing down the side of a mountain in my truck but I could be wrong.  It flared up again back in December right around the time I was shopping and cooking and trying to make Christmas happy for everyone.

Yea...

So anyhow, I've been sceptical of doctors down here ever since that Chinese fellow tried to light me on fire, but this new guy was recommended to me by some friends who said he really helped them after their car accident.  So you know...why not?   

The first mistake I made was assuming that we were talking about a physiotherapist. 

We weren't.

Actually...now that I think about it...that was really my only mistake.  Everything else kind of flowed out of that decision.  I knew there was a problem when we found the guy's "office" and there was a big sign that said "Terapias Holisticas" (holistic therapies).  I'm not against holistic medicine in theory but I do happen to live in a country where that could potentially mean a number of different things.

We rang the buzzer (one of the guys was with me) and were met by a fairly normal looking Bolivian guy who it turned out, spoke excellent English.  That was a bonus.  The Chinese guy didn't and I didn't know what was happening until he lit me on fire.  So you'd think I'd be better prepared for what was going to happen this time.

You'd think so wouldn't you.

We chatted for a bit and I explained what had happened and the problems I was having.  He talked about some of his therapies and what he does.  He didn't seem like a wackjob.  I was mostly on-board (or at the very least curious and ready to be entertained) so we went into his...I don't know...therapy room?  There was a computer and one of those electric glass ball things that looks like there's lightening inside and your typical massage bed and books kind of piled all over the place.

I expected to be told to lay down on my stomach but he laughed and said that everyone thinks that's what they should do (uh...yea) but he does things differently and so I should lay on my back. 

He explained a bunch of stuff about what he was going to do but honestly I didn't really get much of what he said.  I mean...I understood the words...I just didn't have a clue what he was talking about.  There was a lot of talk about my body's electromagnetic field and magnets and bad bacteria and whatnot.

In my head I was like, "Okay sure....let's get on with this."

So I laid there as he held my feet and tapped my ankles together and started talking to my body's electromagnetic field.  I kid you not.  He ran through a list (in Spanish so apparently my electromagnetic field understands Spanish better than I do...) of all my different body parts and I guess my body told him what the problems were. 

Then as my body talked to him (in Spanish?) he put magnets on the areas that had problems.  My eyes...my arms...under my legs...on my stomach.  I guess I had a lot of issues.  Either that or my electromagnetic field speaks Spanish like the rest of me does.

So there I was lying on this table with magnets all over me and with this guy mumbling away down by my feet.  Honestly it felt a little strange.  I admit that I did say a little prayer at one point and asked Jesus not to let me get any demons. 

Now to be honest, he did get a couple of things right.  He asked if I'd had my appendix out (I have) and if I'd lost a lot of weight lately (again, I have).  But those are fairly broad questions and I'm not sure they're very indicative of his accuracy. 

After we were done with the magnets and whatnot, he did start manipulating my body in directions it doesn't normally go and then was happy when he heard popping noises.  He kept asking me if I heard them and sometimes I did and sometimes I didn't but I said I did because I'm a nice guy and he was so excited and I didn't want to disappoint him.  That also happened when he got me to walk around to see if I felt any better. 

So the question remains...did it work?  Well, that's a tough call.  If my brothers and I ever complained about something that hurt my Grandpa would punch us in the shoulder and tell us that he'd healed us because now we didn't feel the original pain anymore...just the new pain. 

There may have been some of that at work here.  But...who knows.  It's a couple of days later and I think maybe I feel a bit better.  The pain kind of comes and goes so I'm reserving judgement for a few days longer. 

At any rate, I have another appointment on Tuesday and yes I'm going back.  He told me that he also does acupunture and I've always wanted to try that.  So...you know...why not?

Besides...he didn't set me on fire.
   

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Bolivian New Years 2013...

For those of you I'm not Facebook friends with (Deb), here's a little video I posted of the view from my balcony tonight. I'm home alone (back problems) so I figured I'd put this up since I really have nothing better to do. =) The guys are hanging with people from our church.

Anyhow...enjoy. Bolivia...it's always entertaining!

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Home again...

I’ve been back in Bolivia for either nineteen or twenty two days depending if you count from the day I actually arrived here or the day everyone mistakenly went to the airport to pick me up.  We’re still not exactly sure how that happened.  But once Maribel got her “Thanks for putting up with the guys for five weeks” gift (we split the price of a laptop)…she was pretty much fine.  Maribel’s gifts are getting bigger and better each year.  I know what she does for me and I don’t want to lose her.  Haha…I think she also knows this. 

Everyone's been asking how my trip was and how things are going now that I'm back. And by everyone I mostly mean my mom. At any rate I figured I'd jot a few things down and let you all (mom) know how it’s going.

The trip was actually one of my more uneventful travel experiences.  I had the chance to visit some friends and family in Ontario/upstate New York on my way through, which was great.  Plus I had supper with my 98 year old Grandma who looks amazing.  We had pizza and wings. 

The only travel stress I had was the usual “Are my bags over weight?  Are they going to look closely at my 46 pound carry on?”  That’s always the challenge.  Even after I manage to get my suitcases checked in, there’s always the fear that some keener at the gate is going to realize my carry-on luggage is perhaps a little weightier than it should be and make me check it too. 

This year that stress lasted until the plane was in the air.  The plane was really full and they were asking people to only put one of their bags in the overhead compartment.  My second bag was just as large as my first and there was no way it was going to fit under my seat.  So when no one was looking I put both of them in the overhead compartment.  Then I stuck my head in my book and ignored the flight attendants comments about the “huge shopping bag” and how it was “seriously heavy” as they tried to maneuver more bags into a somewhat limited space.  I felt guilty, but obviously not guilty enough.

My only other “oops” moment was when my carry on (with my laptop and the new laptop for Maribel) flipped off the top of my stack of luggage on the wheely cart at the airport and landed on the floor…and then as I watched, the next 50 pound bag on the stack rolled off and landed on top of it. 

As it turns out, laptop computers don’t like having 50 pound duffle bags dropped on top of them. 

Maribel’s laptop survived fine, but mine didn’t.  The screen broke.  I didn’t even know that was possible.  There are lines that look like lightning strikes across one side.  Which, in other circumstances, would be cool.  At first they were mostly clear and you really only saw them when you jiggled the computer and then they looked like water ripples.  Also…sort of cool.  Now, however, they’ve turned black and are kind of annoying and distracting.  And they’re spreading.  It doesn’t bode well…

My first week back was definitely the honeymoon week and we all enjoyed each other’s company and life was mostly smiles and chuckles.  When I say first week I actually mean first five days ‘cause we didn’t quite make the week before reality returned and life as a family of fourteen smacked me upside the head.  Ah…those five weeks in Canada as a once again single guy with no responsibilities….

But life is what it is, and of course God is faithful and we always manage to work our way through the grumpiness with a few extra doses of patience and God-given strength.  I do see a lot of growth in the guys, which is why, I think, it’s tougher when someone throws attitude around or takes a major header into some sin issue that I thought was long gone. 

It also didn’t help that my first week back it rained…a lot.  And then rained some more.  As well, because my room was mostly closed up while I was home in Canada, there wasn’t much air circulation and lots of things in my room molded.  Shoes, leather sandals, my straw boats from La Paz, books…the wall…  I’m still finding mold on things. 

Ah life...

Anyhow, a couple of prayer requests before I go. 

There are a couple of guys we know and work with who are still really struggling with their addictions and pain from their pasts.  I can see God healing them, but it’s definitely a battle.  If you could pray for strength and wisdom for them, that’d be great.

Pray for peace and stability and a sense of God’s presence in the house as well.  Some of the guys don’t always think through their actions and how they affect others.  They throw attitude and say dumb things and then when they feel better they think everything is fine.  They forget that what they did and said had consequences.  So pray that they start to think more about others and have the wisdom to ask for forgiveness when they need to.

And finally…I NEED TO SELL MY OLD TRUCK.  I mean, I really, REALLY need to sell it.  I need the money and I’m tired of dealing with that silly thing.  It looks good and has nice, new mudder tires on it…so it should go.  Unfortunately it’s not a good time to sell.  Nothing is moving much.  Please pray that it goes soon!  I like buying trucks.  I don’t like selling them.

Thanks everyone!  Tune in here again soon and I might have some cool news to share…  =)

Oh…and funny story for the day.  Last Friday I was driving people home from El Jordan’s monthly church service and I ended up in an area of town I don’t know very well.  The last person to be dropped off was a little old Grandma who was pretty darn excited to be riding in a nice truck. Together we bounced along down some somewhat, shall we say, dicey roads.  With the rain I mentioned there were huge ruts everywhere. 

All of a sudden, as I drove through what I thought was just another deep rut, the front end of the truck dropped and my front two tires entered into what, by the smell of things, was a pit of raw sewage.  I mean really, really vile raw sewage.  I seem to have a habit of doing this.  This time was infinitely worse though.

All I can say is that these are the moments that do wonders for my prayer life.  I pushed the button on my dash to put the truck into four wheel drive and felt a rush of unparralleled thankfulness to the wonderful folks at Toyota who invented the push-button four wheel drive…as compared to my first truck where you had to get out and manually lock the wheel hubs.  Let’s just take a moment to imagine that scenario shall we. 

It took a few tries and some serious prayer (I kind of get the sense that God was enjoying this little moment and let me sweat a little just for fun) and then the rear tires caught and pulled us out.

I have never been so happy in my entire life.  Little Grandma seemed to enjoy the excitement as well.  I’m not sure she totally got what was going on, but she had a big smile on her face and an unending commentary running the entire time that I didn’t understand a word of.  I think we bonded.

My front tires still smell like sewage and the guys who share the room that has the window right by where I park my truck aren’t overly impressed.  But life is what it is.

Live the adventure people… 

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Ah Subway...once again you toy with my heart.

I really do appreciate when someone down here tries to get it right.  And to clarify, I'm talking about things like restaurants and business services and whatnot.  Not things like character development or learning to make good decisions.  Of course I'm happy when someone does that...goes without saying.  It's kind of what I do here.

But living in a third world country away from your home culture has it's challenges and struggles somedays.  So when there's a restaurant or business that clicks with you and reminds you of home...it's nice.  I'm not advocating that Bolivia become North American or anything (heaven forbid)...but once in awhile it's nice to eat food that tastes like it looks like it should. 

Which brings me to Subway.  I love Subway.  I mean...I really, really LOVE Subway.  It's the first place I go when I hit the airport in Miami.  When I lived in Saskatoon there was a Subway a block and a half from my house and the "Sandwich Artist" kid behind the counter knew my order.  I'm sure I ate there a least twice a week (okay...maybe more).

So when Subway opened in Santa Cruz you can imagine my reaction.  The gong of joy in my heart rang loud and true.  I'm sure my mouth dropped open the day I saw that glorious sign and if I was a person who cried I would have cried huge, wet tears of happiness. 

But sadly, as with many things in life and in Bolivia...it didn't last.  I went a few times and eventually the pang of disappointment was too much and I stopped going.  It just wasn't the same.  It's been long enough now since I've gone that I've almost gotten over the slight pain I feel in my heart every time I drive past a Subway sign. 

Which brings me to Monday night.  I was at the airport dropping off a couple of my friends.  One of them, Jeremy (who's just freshly arrived from the States and hasn't had time to become jaded yet) commented on the fresh, happy smell of baking bread coming from the airport's nearby Subway store.  Maybe it was his naive excitement or maybe it was my age induced memory loss...but after my friends got on their plane, I meandered past Subway's little corner. 

The thing is...it looks the same.  I mean exactly the same.  They even got rid of their McDonald style plastic tables and put in those lounge chairs and little short coffee tables that no one could possibly eat a sub at without being uncomfortably hunched over...just like in North America!  "Look!" my heart said, "Surely it'll taste the same now!  They have the same stupid tables and chairs!"

So I got in line. 

I faltered momentarily when I saw the menu and prices and realized I was about to spend twice what a normal plate of food costs here.  But then I watched as my favourite Parmesano Orégano bread came freshly out of the oven...and I caved to tempation and desire. 

I made it past the meat and cheese selection fairly unscathed.  I wasn't thrilled with the three little pieces of ham or the one slice of cheese that adorned each half of my sandwich.  But I decided I could live with that.

Lettuce is lettuce.  So whatever.

Then I asked for a few onions.  I'm not a huge onion fan, so honestly... I was very clear on "a few!"  The girl hesitated for a moment as if she couldn't understand why I would say that and then procceded to put as many sliced onions on the sandwich as there was lettuce on the thing.  Seriously.  When I later walked through the airport I'm sure people wondered at the the smell of onions wafting behind me... 

Okay whatever, I can pick them off.

Then came green peppers.  I really like green peppers.  Always have.  My "Sandwich Artist" kid (yea, I kind of enoy writing that) in Saskatoon would load up my sub so much that you could eat the thing without leaving great chunks of pepper behind. 

So I winced slightly at the sad, two little pieces of green pepper she carefully laid side by side on each half of the sandwich.  Which is weird 'cause it's not like green peppers are so much more rare and expensive than the stupid onions.  But whatever.

The tomatoes looked kind of dicey so I skipped them and went straight to the olives.  I also like pickles but I learned long ago that Bolivian pickles bear no resemblance to real pickles in any way whatsoever.  Except maybe that they're green.  But nothing else. 

So yea...the olives.  No lie, the girl counted out four pieces of olive for each half.  And I'm not even talking about olive slices here.  I'm talking about a slice of olive cut in half.  So...a piece.

After carefully placing each of the four pieces of olive on the sandwich she hesitated and then carefully put on one more "piece" of olive on each half.  Oh, the generosity of it all.  Warms my heart it does.

I skipped the bacon.  I could say that it's bad for my heart, but we all know I couldn't really care less about that.  Reality is...a floppy, half-cooked slice of pork just doesn't really help improve my sub sandwich experience at all.  I know, I KNOW...it's bacon!  How can you ruin bacon?  But as it turns out, you really can.

Then with a dribble (and I do mean dribble) of sweet onion sauce,  I was on my way.  I did break with form and tradition here and asked for another dribble of sauce.  She grudginly complied.  But her heart wasn't in it.

I wish I could convey what it's like to then eat the above described sandwich.  It's kind of like eating the ghost of a memory.  I'm not sure what that means exactly but wow, let's be honest...that's some impressive alliteration.  It's like your mouth almost remembers and recognizes what you're eating...but just not quite...

Granted the bread is pretty good.  No complaints there.  If you squish the sandwich around in your mouth a bit and try your darndest to ignore the overpowering flavour of onions...you can almost catch the ham and cheese in there.  The flavour of green pepper is a joke and the olives?  A distant memory...

And so...once again...my heart has become jaded and cold.  Thanks you Bolivian Subway.  Fortunately, the lack of a good sub sandwich isn't going to exactly impact my life in any substancial way.  And in three weeks I'll be passing through Miami and come hurricanes or floods or South Beach gangsta dudes with their Cadilac Escalades...I'm eating a freaking Subway Melt with pickles and olives and bacon.

Wow...this is a really long post about a sandwich.  I should maybe have mentioned that at the begining...

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One of those days...

Once again the SCS team has come and gone.  And once again I had an excellent time with them.  We always have fun.  At least that's how I remember it.  Hopefully they feel the same. 

For some reason though, in the middle of those good, happy times, there are always moments when you have to choose to either laugh about what's going down...or you hit the nearest person with a shovel. 

Most days I choose to laugh.

Last Monday was one of those days.  We were working at fixing up the house of a lady from our church.  It was a great project and I was excited to get it done.  But it just seemed like everything that could go wrong that day did.

It's tough keeping twenty eight people busy.  Yimy and I were running around getting supplies and trying to keep things organized.  We accidentally bought four times too much plastic for one of the projects (at about $80 a roll).  Then the brakes went on the truck (I looked in the mirror and there was smoke POURING out from the rear tire wells). 

And then as we limped back to the work site in the truck, we found our road was closed.  Workers had dug a big trench across the street.  We bumped and jostled our way down a side road until we came to a cross road.  There was a big muddy spot that we had to get through and Yimy hesitated (he was driving).  He suggested that we turn around and go back and find another way. 

But the team was waiting and I didn't have much patience left at that point.  So I just said, "Vamos Yimy!  Cuatro por cuatro!" ("Come on Yimy!  Four wheel drive!")

Yea...dumber words were never spoken.  We drove into what turned out to be a much deeper mud hole that we'd anticipated. 

Oh...did I say mud hole?  Raw sewage hole would be more appropriate.  Yimy just looked over at me and gave me that classic "I told you so" look.  I rolled my eyes and told him to move so I could drive.  I figured I'd show him how it was done.

Yea...not so much. 

We weren't going anywhere.  The undercarriage of the truck was resting on the ground.  So Yimy hoofed it back to where the team was to get us some help.  I just sat there in the truck while everyone drove by and judged me and smirked at what an idiot the gringo was.  I burried my head in a magazine and didn't make eye contact.

Eventually some help arrived from the team and they gave it their best.  But there wasn't much they could do.  After awhile, we managed to flag down a big truck who backed up to us and yanked us out with no real effort.  Then he proceeded to drive right through the mess as soon as we were out of the way.  Yea, yea...whatever.

Anyhow...here are a couple of picks I snapped on my phone.  They make me laugh. 

Now.

Outstanding...

Digging...

More digging...

Good effort boys...good effort.

A little bit later back at the house, after everything else that had gone wrong, one of the guys on the team brushed his head against a piece of wire hanging from the ceiling of the house where we were working.  It gave him a shock and it turned out to have live current in it. 

I just shook my head and pretended not to see.  He was fine and his hair was already curly so I figured we were all good.
 
It was just that kind of day...

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The final chapter?

Most of you probably remember when this happened (and a bit more here)...even though it was way back in May of 2011.  Seems like a long time ago doesn't it?  And it is.  Certainly long enough for my truck to be fixed and sold long ago.

Except it isn't.

Almost a year later, I'm still fighting with my insurance company to get everything done.  The details are too long and frustrating to bother getting into here, but suffice it to say that I finally lost it today.  After all the delays and lies about when the truck would be ready (or that it was ready when it wasn't) and terrible bodywork that had to be redone...today was the last straw.

The only thing the truck needs at this point are two new fog lights and to replace the right headlight bulb.  Somehow that's managed to take nearly a month.  Yimy and I sat in this guy (Daniel)'s office today for nearly an hour while he waited for the guy in Cochabamba (Sergio) to approve the purchase of said lights.  This would be the same guy that took eight months to "fix" the truck in the first place. 

Finally Sergio called back and said that they would pay for the fog lights but not the headlight because they didn't know if was because of the accident or not, and Daniel (the Santa Cruz guy) agreed with that.  After ten months of waiting...four trips to Cochabamba to pick up the truck only to be asked if I could come back in a few days because "it wasn't quite ready"...more waiting in Santa Cruz for the bodywork to be redone....multiple trips to the Santa Cruz office to try to get them to finish the work the Cochabamba office didn't do (this Daniel character actually told me that it was my fault he hadn't gotten to this sooner because I didn't come into the office often enough to remind him to contact the Cochabamba office for permission to buy the lights.  He said that he had "lots of other work to do!").

And now they were fighting me on a $5 light bulb. 

I couldn't believe it.  I seldom get angry over things, but that was the last straw.  I ranted to Daniel (he later told Yimy he was annoyed that I left without saying thank you for his help!) then went to my insurance agent (who I've bought my insurance from for the past six years) and ranted to her.  She was sympathetic and asked if I wanted to talk to the main boss guy.

Oh, heck yes...

So I told the boss guy my whole story and explained that I couldn't believe that, after everything I'd been through with them, they were saying they wouldn't buy the stupid lightbulb.  I figured it was the least they could do.  It's cost me hundreds of dollars in interest to the bank to have that truck parked for ten months when I couldn't use it or sell it, not to mention the trips to Cochabamba, not to mention the aggravation of waiting for so long.

Yea...I was pretty angry.  I told him that if he wanted to keep his clients happy he shouldn't argue with them over a stupidly small thing when they've done such a terrible job in the first place.

He was actually really good about it.  He appologized and immediately agreed that they would pay for the $5 lightbulb.  I walked back past Daniel (the pain in the butt guy) with my head held high and a pride in my step.

Yay for Ken!  He finally get's to win one!!  Who cares if it's only a $5 lightbulb...it's still a victory for the little guy over the big, evil corporation!  I was quite pleased, if I do say so myself.  I never seem to get to declare victory in these kinds of situations. 

And then....there's the funny, little final chapter to my story.  We stopped back at the house to get the broken lightbulb from the truck to show the parts store what bulb it was exactly.  After a couple of minutes Yimy came back into the house with a smirk on his face. 

When he went to pull the lightbulb, he noticed that there didn't seem to be any wires coming from the headlight like there were on the other one.  Turns out the autobody guys unplugged the light when they were working on the front end and then never plugged it back in again.  When Yimy reattached the plug?

Low and behold the lightbulb was fine and everything worked great.

Ahem.  Would "Oops" be the appropriate response?

After a moment of somewhat self concious laughter on my part, I decided that I don't feel too bad about my ranting.  Sure it was over a $5 headlight bulb that turns out was never broken (haha...that makes me laugh even as I write it), but that was really just the tip of the iceberg.  My insurance company's work was terrible and it feels good to have been able to say something to someone who matters. 

I also decided that my insurance company is never going to find out.  Yimy's the only one who knows down here and I pay for his food so that effectively buys him off. 

And so....yay, Ken finally wins one!

Kind of.

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Random story about nothing really...

Random story for the day.  When my parents were here my mom was folding my laundry (miss you Mom) and she held up a t-shirt and asked me if it was mine.  I looked at it and it looked like a knock-off Abercrombie and Fitch shirt.  So I said, yea, I guess so.  I've got a couple of those kicking around.  They're cheap here.

Then she said "Really?" in that tone that mothers get sometimes.  So I read it again.  Turns out it didn't say "Abercrombie and Fitch"  What it actually said was, "Grabbabootie and Pinch". 

Huh...not the t-shirt you want to tell your mother is yours.  I was like, "I have never seen that t-shirt before in my life!"  Which was true.  But somehow when it's your mom asking (and looking at you) it makes you nervous and sweat a little and seem like you're lying through your teeth.  It was like being seventeen all over again.

It didn't help when I asked the guys who it belonged to and no one knew.  I repeatedly assured my mother it wasn't mine (I think my voice got a little more shrill each time I said something).  It also didn't help that inside my head there was a part of me that was sort of laughing at the t-shirt.  'Cause you know...it's kind of clever.  I think my mom was laughing inside too.  My dad, on the other hand, laughed on the outside.  I don't think he actually knows what Abercrombie and Fitch is, but he thought the t-shirt was funny. 

Later that evening I explained what it meant to the guys.  They all acted indignant.  Then Andres laughed (he speaks English and got the joke) and I laughed and then everyone else laughed.  Which just proves what I've suspected for awhile...the guys wait to see which way I'm going to go on an issue and then follow along. 

Good to know.

Anyhow...now we've got this t-shirt here and no idea where it came from.  My guess is that it got donated from one of the church teams that were here this past year (ahem...Hope?).  One of the guys suggested re-gifting it to our pastor and seeing if he catches on.  He wears a lot of funny t-shirts.  But I could just see him wearing it Sunday morning and some visiting gringo missionary getting all offended.  And as per usual, once again, it would all land directly on my shoulders.  On the other hand...darn funny...

So, yea...I'm still thinking about it.

At any rate, there you go.  That's what I'm thinking about this fine Sunday afternoon.  If anyone out there wants to confess and own up to leaving the shirt here...by all means let us know.  I'm sure I won't post your name here or anywhere else on the internet.  I'm sure.

Have a great Sunday!  I hear the weather is nice.  Here too....

The incriminating t-shirt...

 

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Ken 1 - Bolivia 0

As I'm sure I've mentioned many times before...I love the life that comes with living in a foreign country.  A simple drive to the supermarket can turn into some crazy adventure.  Or in this case a simple drive to some pretty cool waterfalls on a little dirt trail an hour back into the jungle.

Okay...maybe the supermarket/waterfall-jungle comparison wasn't exactly even.

Be that as it may, what started out as a relaxing day in the sun turned out to have a few interesting twists in it.

But then, doesn't it always?

A friend from church volunteers at a children's home about an hour out of the city.  She called me Monday evening to ask if I was free the next day to drive the kids and a few staff members out to some waterfalls we know (I've written about them before). 

Let's see...hang around the city in 40 C weather or go spend the day playing in the water?  Wow...decisions are hard!  That one took at least three and a half seconds to figure out.

So bright and early we all piled into my truck (twenty one of us) and headed off into the jungle. 

Franco's first ride in a truck...

One of the little guys (Franco) had never ridden in a truck before.  He was facinated with everything.  He had his nose right down in the air vents and he asked me what they were.  So I reached over and turned the air conditioning full blast.  Poor Franco...  The look on his face was awesome though.  You know...it's the little things that keep you entertained...  =)

The waterfalls...

We had a great day at the falls.  I had a good time schooling a group of Bolivian teenagers by showing them that old, gringo guys can jump off cliffs where Bolivian teenage guys fear to tread.  And also the ladies from the home grilled some chicken that made you think you'd died and gone to heaven.  So...yea...good day.

The kids playing in the water...

As I sat there in the sun in my Superstore foldy chair, I thought, "I really enjoy my life.  Do what you will Bolivia...I'm winning!" 

Huh...I should know by now...never taunt a country.

Eventually the day began to wind down and so we all piled into my truck for the ride home.  Along the way we had to stop to let a spider cross the road.  No kidding...we saw it from about fifty feet back.  It was bigger than my hand.  Probably about the size of a small dinner plate.  And hairy.  And it seemed to have more legs than normal. 

I got out to take a picture with one of the staff member's camera.  By now it was in the longer grass alongside the road, so I tapped my sandled foot near it's backside to get it moving to where I could take a better picture. 

As a side note...until that moment the spider had been crawling across the road at a reasonably slow rate.  There had been no indication it could move any faster than it already was.  So...putting my bare foot near it's scary, hairy legs didn't seem like that big of a deal.  Seriously.

So...disclaimer aside...the moment I tapped my foot, the big, scary spider jumped and went shooting off through the grass.  Scared the flipping whits right out of me.  I suddenly realized, "That thing could have run up my leg and bitten me on the face before I even knew what was happening!" 

My respect for nature was once again renewed.  Well, for sure at least until next week...

The kids wanted to catch it and sell it (which you can actually do...people put big bugs under glass and sell them to tourists).  But I figured live and let live was a better philosopy. 

Once we got passed the big spider, we dropped the kids off at their home and headed back into the city.  Only to be stopped a few miles later by a big line of trucks.  I didn't realize what was happening at first.  I thought the trucks were just parked along the highway waiting to get into a grain terminal that was nearby.  But then one of the ladies said, "Oh, oh...bloqueo!" 

Blockade.

I've mentioned this before, but for those of you who might not know...everytime someone...anyone...is annoyed about something...anything...they block a road.  It doesn't really matter why.  They just dump a pile of dirt in the middle of the road and toss a few burning tires into the mix and they figure they're making a political statement. 

And the crazy thing is, people here respect it.  Everyone's just like, "Oh well...another blockade..."  It's just a part of life...

So we bumped and bounced as I u-turned over the centre boulevard and we headed back the way we came.  We discussed everyone walking across the blockade and catching a bus on the otherside while I waited in my truck for the blockade to come down.  People can walk across the blockades...you just can't drive past them.  But someone commented that I could be waiting a couple of days depending on how serious the blockade people were.  Yea...toss that idea.

Then someone suggested we follow the line of cars and see if someone knew a route around the blockade.  Since it seemed we had nothing else to lose...away we went.

Line of cars behind us...

Eventually we were way out in the middle of nowhere where no one ever goes...along with about a hundred other cars.  It was pretty funny actually.  Every little road or two lane track had a row of cars randomly trying to find a way past the blockade back to the main road.

Toll booth...

These two enterprising gentlemen were charging people to use their gate.  I got mocked my the people in my truck 'cause I overpaid.  How was I supposed to know the going rate for bribing some random guy to let us through his gate to get out of his cow pasture?

Stalled...

Eventually the line of vehicles came to a stop and I started to worry.  We were literally in the middle of nowhere and if there was no way to go on, we would be hours trying to turn around and go back the way we came. 

The line of cars and trucks stretched out for miles in both directions.  We were pretty much stuck.

But not to fear!  According to the truck in front of us, we were in a "Convoy Zone".  And if I learned nothing from 80's trucker movies, I learned that convoy's are never defeated!

Although...truth be told...this convoy didn't seem to be rolling the way I'd always imagined convoys rolled. 

Eventually, after driving through a ditch and another field...we were moving once again and my faith was renewed...

There were a couple of confusing traffic moments.  Afterall...who has the right of way in a cow pasture?

But eventually we made it through.  And after only two hours of driving through some of the most scenic backroad pastureland Santa Cruz has to offer...we were once again on the main highway and past the blockade.

That makes the score:

Ken - 1
Bolivian - 0

Well...Ken - 2 if you count not getting killed by a giant spider.
 

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