The place, Santa Cruz, Bolivia. One of the worst cities I've ever been in. It was a few weeks into what was supposed to be 4 months in South America. I remember why Auralie and I picked Bolivia, we wanted to do something with ourselves. I restless and she... restless? I can't speak for her. I said, I'll go for 4 months. She said (wise one), I'll go for three weeks. We wanted to go because we didn't know anybody who'd been there.
Santa Cruz is the oil and gas center of Bolivia, very wealthy but home to so many of the disenfranchised. One day I saw a woman's purse get ripped from her arm by two men on a passing motorbike. I sat in the cyber cafe (places that only exist in the third world anymore) and watched, frozen.
The next day I went out. This was a town in which you could never relax. It was a mix of Wild West and Jamaica, palm trees and saloons. I'd heard of the many scams pulled on tourists. A man came up to me with a map, telling me he didn't know where he was. He was clearly local so I said, I'm a turista, no se. Another man approached showing me a police badge. He said, you must come to the police station to show us your identity papers. I said, I don't believe you. He said, look we'll hire a cab and go together.
Of course the cab driver was in on it too. I screamed so loud, I remember screaming, no no no no no. In English, I'm not going I won't go don't make me go. People came to look. The two men got into the cab and drove away, looking at me out the back window. I went back to the hostel and vomited.
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