I Have a Feeling

So you know those obnoxious mattress commercials? How the girls in them somehow always wake up with their hair falling in perfect ringlets around their surely makeup-less face that somehow looks caked in mascara and lipstick and they leave you jealous and hoping no one ever secretly hides a camera in your room when you get out of bed?

Well, hate to break it to you, but I’m like the girls in the commercials.

Oh just kidding. I look like I got hit by a truck.

And this is why when I got up Wednesday morning at 5:15 am to pack up and head out on the homeward journey, I put a hat on my head. Because I wanted to keep my friends.

I was walking around doing my thing which consisted of packing and brushing my teeth and wondering if the sun had forgotten to rise as it was black outside when I felt something squirm in my head.

Now if I were to think back to myself about six months ago, if something were to squirm in my head I would have probably maintained the calmness of a chicken on fire with its head cut off. But now that I have lived for six months with cockroaches and tarantulas and lice and rats and other cute creatures, I responded with a mere hm what’s that. And that’s it, folks. That’s it.

I left the creature in my head.

A few minutes later it happened again. Same story. Did nothing.

And then again. But this time it really moved. A lot. And I was more than convinced that there really was a creature in my hair.

Yeah. Still did nothing. I think I am insane.

Anyways, all to say, that explains why when I later took the hat off a six inch lizard jumped off my head and onto the ground. I looked over at Candace who saw it all, and we shared the amusement of what that little dude must have been doing up in the wonderland of my messy hair.

And then I thought wow. I am a jungle beast.

Manfred and David made us a wonderful breakfast of cheese bread deep fried in oil (loaded with nutrients I’m sure) and hot chocolate which truly tastes American. Eating together with the boys for the last time was very sad.

I mean this sincerely: I did not want to leave. When we loaded up on the horses to say goodbye, my heart was breaking. Those were four of the greatest days of my life and I will never be able to forget them. I wish I could live them over and over again.

Those four days are so precious in my heart.

So as we took off on our horses and Candace and I blew kisses goodbye, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I will see them again in just a couple weeks as they make their way back here for school.

I shall now tell you about my experience on my horse.

You know those horse wrangler cowboot wearer impressive people in the movies? Well, I am not one of them.

And by not one of them, I mean I am the screaming girl in the background who doesn’t make it into the movie.

My darling horse for the way back really liked trees and branches that threaten to cut my head off and also thorns.

I am surprised my shirt is still in one piece. Also myself.

One time my horse randomly decided to take its own turn and send me trotting through the woods screaming, “CANDACE CANDACE CANDACE.” Pretty soon Jesus (who came along with us so he could bring the horses back and who also happens to really know what he is doing) came and found me and took the rope that was tied to my horse and held it in his hand and led my horse and I for quite some time. It was rather embarrassing. I shall blame it on my horse.

Eventually I kind of got the hang of things. In fact, I haven’t galloped on a horse since I was about thirteen years old, so I decided to give it a try and it was as fabulous as I remember. I mean besides the fact I was wearing a backpack which didn’t bounce in sequence with me and also there was a giant metal water filter tied to my horse and I’m sure he didn’t enjoy running around with that too much. But other than that it was great.

I shall now tell you an embarrassing story in which I lacked common sense.

There are two basic facts you need to know:

Jesus has grown up on a ranch. He is a horse beast.

I have not grown up on a ranch. I am not a horse beast.

Which is why I am unsure why the brilliant idea to race Jesus on our horses ever crossed my mind.

Basically Jesus and his horse were behind me and he was slowly catching up. I think maybe I wanted to redeem myself from the booking it through the woods experience cuz yeah. As he approached I kicked my horse to get it going faster and shot him a yeah I’m faster smile. In which, of course, he shot me a Teacher you’re insane (he was right) smile and got his horse going, too.

So then I gave my horse a real big kick. Which is when it happened.

My darling little horse took off galloping. Very fast. All is well, right?

NO. ALL IS NOT WELL.

Because, out of nowhere, my horse took a very direct turn to the left, entered a gate, and sent me galloping into a herd of cows.

Now I don’t know about you, but when I picture my comfort zone I do not picture galloping on a horse I barely know threw a random herd of hundreds of cows in the middle of Bolivia. I more so picture sitting in my room alone with cake, ice cream, coffee, and all things good.

But here I am. On my horse. Watching cows moo and part and stare me down with their evil eyes while I try my best to remain calm and collected and do so

NOT. AT. ALL.

I am screaming, “JESUS! JESUS!” trying to get him to come save me but when I turned to see if he was coming to save me he was comfortably sitting on his oh so controlled and well behaved horse laughing at me.

My top three fears in this moment included:

1.) Falling off my horse and being trampled by cows.

2.) Staying on my horse and being trampled by cows.

3.) Being trampled by cows.

I am happy and thankful to report that I was not trampled by cows. I somehow managed to get my horse out of there.

We survived. Jesus won the race.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, at least compared to that.

Armando and I got stuck very far behind. In fact, we wondered if we had somehow gotten onto the wrong path. But we distracted ourselves with singing Feliz Navidad and I got a little Spanish lesson from him and we had a little horse photo shoot and soon enough we were almost to our final destination.

As we approached the gate that would lead us to Casa Blanca where everyone else was waiting, he said, “Teacher, look! There’s the boys’ parents!”

I looked to see them coming on a motorcycle.

It was so exciting to me that we somehow managed to be there at the exact same time, so I smiled super big and yelled HOLA across the field.

Which is about when I realized it wasn’t their parents after all. In fact, I still don’t know who it was.

I still wonder what they think of that random white girl who was so oh very thrilled to see them for the very first time.

I am thoroughly embarrassed.

Now I shall tell you about what happened next.

First, you should know that we were at Casa Blanca, which is in a town a three hour taxi ride away from Rurre, where the orphanage is.

So here we are, sitting at this station, waiting for a taxi to drive by in the direction of Rurre.

We waited.

And we waited.

And we waited some more.

After one or two hours, we came to the genius and obvious group decision that a taxi probably wasn’t coming.

Around this time, I turned to Candace and said, “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be a normal trip back. Something crazy is going to happen.”

Truer words have never been said.

Okay that’s probably not true. It is possibly truer to say I almost got stampeded by a herd of cows. But those words were very true.

So low and behold, in front of us stood a giant (as in a semi) truck straight up loaded with planks of wood. And attached to it was a trailer, pulling even more wood.

Jonathan and Armando decided to ask the truck driver which direction he was going.

And what do you know, he was headed toward Rurre.

And that is how Jonathan, Armando, Candace, and I found ourselves on the very top of a truck, sitting on planks of wood under the hot sun, thoroughly feeling each and every bump as our truck inched its way to Rurrenabaque.

Now I distinctly remember checking my watch when we got on top of the truck.

It was more or less 2:30 pm.

So I figured we would get to Rurre around 5:30 pm, or maybe a tiny bit later as this big truck was probably a little slower than a taxi.

Now keep in mind the roads of Bolivia. Take the beautiful black paved roads of America and throw three feet of dirt and some rocks on top and then dig a whole lot of potholes. There you have it. There are also animals.

Which might partly explain why at 10:30 pm (Yes. You read that correctly. This is eight hours later) we were still sitting on top of the truck.

And other than an hour pitstop in Santa Rosa, we had been dodging potholes the entire time.

So now, late at night, out of nowhere, the truck stopped on the side of the road. And then we heard the truck driver get out, grab some tools, and start doing a little somethin to the tires.

Jonathan leaned over and asked him if he needed any help.

He abruptly responded no.

He probably wasn’t the very friendliest person I have ever met. Even though we never exchanged words, I feel like our relationship was slightly awkward. But I'm sure he's a super nice guy, especially since he let us catch a ride on the top of his truck.

So anyways….we just kinda all laid down on the top of the truck. And waited.

Now the following happenings are very strange but I need you to sincerely know, from the bottom of my heart, I am speaking the truth and nothing but the truth.

For the next two or three hours, the truck would start. We would drive forward for about thirty seconds. Then the truck would stop, the driver would get out and do something to the tires, and then it would start again. For thirty seconds, maybe a couple minutes on a good one, and then it’d stop and he’d work on something again.

For. Hours.

The thoughts that went through my head during this time included things such as this:

What is happening.

If I wasn’t a giraffe maybe I could stretch out enough without having this dumb metal bar stab my leg and actually get some sleep.

Where is Taco Bell.

So now fast forward to midnight. The truck stops. Completely.

And I kid you not. We slept on top of that truck in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Bolivia until 5:30 am with the truck driver sleeping soundly beneath us.

And then, at 5:30, we called it quits.

We climbed down the truck with our stuff (in the midst of this I was rather exhausted and multiple times ran into poles and stuff) and took off walking down the road.

Good morning, Bolivia. We are hitchhikers.

After stopping a couple times to rest and bake in the sun and such, a truck finally passed with a very kind driver who gave us a ride to Rurre.

Immediately Jonathan called his friend who picked us up and drove us to Narguilla’s, the restaurant we eat at every Sunday.

Low and behold they were out of food (what is life)  so we booked it to the French Bakery down the street and I bought a very large amount of food and ate it oh so quickly. I kinda felt sick.

But what I failed to mention is that from 6:30 am Wednesday to 10:30 am Thursday, our food intake consisted of the breakfast the boys made us and chocolate cookies.

We were all starving. Also pulsing with health (sarcasm).

So yes, my friends. That is how a three hour taxi ride turned into a twenty hour top of a truck riding, middle of the road sleeping, hitchhiking experience. That is how we made it to Rurre.

It was one of the strangest experiences of my life.

And next time I “have a feeling?” I’m bringing a mattress and a sandwich.