Taxing taxistas

After submitting to pushy students and even pushier professors in the taxi line at school last night for 20 minutes, I revert to New York mode and shove my way into an idling cab. But in my eagerness to get home, I abridge the ritual of leaning my head through the passenger window and setting a price. I've done the ride dozens of times now and know it should cost between eight and 10 bolivianos (about a dollar).
"Ten Bolivianos for Los Tajibos (our apart-hotel), right?" I said, climbing into the back seat.
"Who told you that price?"
"Every taxi I have taken in the past month."
"Are you a professor at UPSA (the university)?"
"Yes, for this semester."
"How much do you make?"
"None of your business how much I make! Why do you want to know what I make?"
"Well, because you live in Los Tajibos."
"None of your business. Just drive."
"Are you North American? Estadounidense?"
"Yes."
"The country of the rich, no?"
"I'm not paying you more than 10, so give up."
"What religion are you?"
I knew where this was headed.
"Drive please."
"I am a Catholic."
"Well, I'm a passenger. Please take me to my hotel."
We pull up and I give him two five boliviano coins.
"Buenas noches," he says and smiles.

Twenty minutes later, Sonya and I hail a cab to a restaurant. Normally, the ride costs eight bolivianos.
I lean in the window this time and ask how much.
"Fifteen pesos," he said.
"Nonsense. I'll give you 10."
"Okay. Just tonight, I'll take you for 10."
We get in.
"What do you mean just tonight? I've never even paid 10 for this trip."
"Since you're two people, it should be 12."
This is a rule he invented on the spot.
"Wow, I've never heard that rule before. Normally I pay eight to downtown. You know, just because I'm gringo doesn't mean I'm stupid."
He cranes back and gives a wounded look.
"I wouldn't try to take advantage of you. Those drivers you've had in the past are new. They're learning."
"So you're the only driver we've had who knows the rules?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Okay, good. So I have some questions. How much would you charge me for a ride to UPSA?"
"Twelve bolivianos."
"How about if my wife was with me."
"Same."
"Why? I thought you said an extra passenger would cost two pesos more."
"Not to La UPSA."
"Ah. Okay...How much would you charge me to go downtown if I brought another passenger. But this passenger doesn't have legs and has only one arm? Would that be just one additional peso?"
"No, senor. It would be the same."
"Okay. How about if the other passenger was a midget?"
"Same."
"How about if the only passenger was a two-year-old baby? How much would that cost?"
Our driver turns on his stereo. Vanilla Ice is performing a live version of his only hit.
"Do you like it?"
We did.
"Yes."
The driver then points to two massive speakers peeking out from the trunk.
We nod.
He flicks a switch and the bass and volume shake the windows and echo off the buildings surrounding the main plaza.
Having reached a chest-thumping musical detente, the three of us, smiling, proceed to our destination.

Decent article on Bolivian elections

It doesn't reveal anything new, but this AP article frames the issues in a pretty clear and straightforward way.
It's worth noting that in the last presidential election, cocalero candidate Evo Morales (Movement Toward Socialism party) wasn't a contender until the U.S. Embassy threatened to withdraw aid to Bolivia if he won the election. The Morales campaign suddenly surged to place a close second behind "our" candidate in a sort of referendum against U.S. meddling.
The current ambassador, David Greenlee, won't publicly pick sides in the current presidential race, a U.S. diplomat I spoke with said.

Trust

On our flight from Sucre to Santa Cruz this morning we didn't have to show IDs or go through any metal detectors or patdowns. That must mean that Bolivia is a really safe and stable country, right?

Back from Bolivia...

and resettled in Santa Cruz.
We spent this past weekend sucking up all the Bolivianness of the country's official capital, Sucre. Just a 30 minute flight away, soulful Sucre couldn't be more different from the smog and silicone-filled Santa Cruz. Unlike the boomtown where we live, which seems to ooze its tangle of dirt roads into the surrounding flatlands like an uncontrolled virus, Sucre has a charming and walkable downtown hemmed in by high steep hills. The whitewashed churches and colonial buildings look like they took more than a day to build.
The city also has a feeling of tradition that is lacking in Santa Cruz.
The Sunday market outside town offers traditional colorful weaving. Each Sunday, it's flooded by residents from outlying indigenous communities wearing helmets and pompommed hats whose styles are fancified versions of the helmets worn by the Spanish conquistadores 500 years ago.
Note the photo of the red bags filled with dried leaves. They are coca leaves, the main ingredient for cocaine. The U.S. government has spent millions of dollars trying to eradicate this crop from Bolivia, causing great resentment from those like the customer depicted, who enjoy chewing the leaves to combat fatigue.
Sonya and I also spent a few hours exploring a cement quarry where several thousands of dinosaur footprints were discovered 10 years ago. If you look behind Sonya -- she's the one too vain to wear her hardhat -- you'll see a dark trail in the limestone wall. Those are the prints of some long-dead lizard.
(As always, click on photos to enlarge)