Sunset ride

Rurrenabaque is a small town. Everyone knows everybody's business as well as the color of their underwear. I can't walk anywhere without running into someone that I know. There is no supermarket, only plaza with stalls of veggies, hanging dead animals, and giants bags of grains and rice. They do have their own grass landing strip complete with a one-room open air building that is the "airport." Thus, so far everywhere I have needed to go I either walk or take a boat.

However, yesterday I went to visit a friend who is house-sitting up on the ridge outside of town. As it was less than an hour to sunset I decided to take a taxi (70 cents) rather than do the 30-minute walk. Hardly anyone owns a car here, and all the taxis are motorcycles. Etiquette dictates that you sit on the back of the motorcycle, not touching the driver, and you hold on to the bars on either side of the seat. Frequently, the women ride side-saddle, often with their arms full of groceries; I have no idea how they stay on, it really defies the laws of physics. The roads here are rocky dirt or cobblestone (well, literally, stones lined up in the dirt) and the ride is not that smooth. Yet I have seen motorcycles carrying up to four people.

So, these things I knew. I walked down the main street looking around for a dude on a bike. About 20 seconds later a guy turned round the corner and I sort of lifted my hand in the air a bit. He pulled over and I asked to be taken to the "mirador" which is the viewpoint outside of town.

I climbed on the bike and we took off for the mirador. We chat a bit: where are you from? what are you doing in Rurre? where are you staying? I tell him about my boyfriend back in the United States, you know, the usual conversation between local and extranjera. I practice my core strengthening when we turn the corners, seeing if I can stay on and centered without holding on.

We get to the top of the ridge and go to the last house. A man comes out, curious about the arriving gringa. Apparently this is not my friend's house. I explain the directions I was given again: it is the last house at the end of the road and there are two very mean dogs who live there.

"Ah, yes that house," he says when he hears about the mean dogs. He points down the hill to the "highway," which is a rocky, half-eroded dirt road snaking down the backside of the ridge.

We take off again, weaving down the grassy edge of the road where there are the fewest rocks, but also the highest possibility of loosing traction and falling off the hill. I envision a variety of jumping-escape strategies and shift my weight to the left.

Soon two large, aggressive dogs come bolting out and bark ferocisouly at our motorcycle. Teresa, a woman I met here working on her doctoral thesis, comes out and tames the hounds. I thank my driver and pay him the standard fee. He says that it was enchanting to meet me (a common phrase) and that I am very beautiful (also commonly said to foreigners).

Thinking nothing of it, I go inside. A bit later I mentioned that the road was a bit scary, and Teresa starts explaining that certain of the moto-taxis vehicles are better than others.

"Wait, there are specific motorcycles that are taxis?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course, they have taxi license plates," Teresa explains,"how did you get here?"

Oops. It turns out that I just flagged down some random guy riding around town and asked for a ride. Good thing I was super-vague about where I was living when he asked three times.

By the time I leave the sun has set and I decide to walk home, rather than attempt to distinguish which motorcycles are taxis as they go whizzing by in the dark. After about ten minutes of walking I've descended from the ridge and am back on the main road. Some kid that looks about 15 years old pulls up and says he'll take me to town.

I do a quick mental debate: stay on darkened road in unknown part of town or ride with some kid who is going to tell all his buddies about his gringa girlfriend.

I climb on the back and soon we are buzzing through the cool night air. We have the same conversation, except this time I don't understand the question: "Tiene un chico?" Eventually I realize he is asking if I have a boyfriend.

So I tell him that I live near the plaza and direct him to my friend's bar. He won't take any money for the ride, so I go into the bar to chat with the owners until he leaves.

Today, in the light, I have examined the motorcycles. I don't know what this taxi license plate business is about, they all look the same to me. I think I'll stick to walking.