We arrived in Trinidad, Bolivia en route to Rurrenabaque from Santa Cruz. A word to the wise, never go to Trinidad! It’s a, pardon my French, shit hole. Despite this fact, we made the most of our day here, we rented motos.
Now I know what you’re thinking, “Pooja, after what happened last time should you really be driving a motorbike?” Well, you know what they say, “Practice makes perfect.”
Jesse and I drove to the ugliest swimming hole I’ve ever seen and then, not having anything better to do, we drove to another village. We had to drive 16 km over gravel and sand roads to reach Sochojere. We expected a tourist town or some sort of attraction to justify the place’s appearance on Trinidad’s attractions map. Instead, it was pure campo. My friend looked around blankly and complained, “I’m bored.” “Awww, it’s just like Paraguay,” I sighed fondly. My friend sat down grumpily under the shade of a tree, while I struck up a conversation with a señora named Francisca. Ten minutes later Jesse was still grumpy, but I had a bag of fresh tamarind, which the señora had told me to eat and then plant in Paraguay.
We set off on our long haul back to town. We finally had reached asphalt when Jesse’s back tire was punctured. “Go get help,” he told me. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?” I asked, nervous about voyaging solo. “You’ll be faster by yourself.”
Off I went, confident because I had a mission: I had to go get help. The adrenaline that coursed through me led me to a great discovery, the throttle. I zoomed down the highway thinking all the while, “Must get help! Must save Jesse!”
I made it to the plaza in one piece and explained the situation to the man in charge of the rentals. By the time I returned to the scene of the accident, his brother was halfway done fixing my friend’s bike. I bet Jesse sure is glad that he taught me how to drive a geared bike!
Me on the rescue scooter!
A hand-washing station, just like the one I had in Paraguay!
Bored in Trinidad
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