My Bolivian adventure

And so, that was that. My Bolivian adventure.

As many of you will know, I am now back in the UK. I got to see my all the friends that I had left behind and I spent Christmas with my family at home, which was great.

Yet I can’t help but to miss Bolivia. And it’s not just the weather. As I hope I have put across with my modest blog, over the last few months I have done a variety of things, seen a lot of sights and, most importantly, made a number of friends along the way. It was these friends, the girls, the nuns, the other volunteers, who really made this trip what it was for me. I miss them very much.

Apart from these guys who I was living and working with, I’ve come back with many other stories of people who I may only met briefly but have stayed with me. I’m thinking of the teacher who showed me round a young offenders’ institute for boys in Santa Cruz (whose male colleague delighted in showing off his best Hollywood English). I’m thinking of the grandmother who, when we went to collect the half a dozen bags that she wanted to donate to the Hogar, invited us into her home, talked to us about her family, gave us a snapshot of her life. I’m thinking of that taxi driver who opened his doors to us and gave us fruit to eat and soda to drink. Not one of them was obliged to show any kindness to me, nor would I ever see them again, and yet I was made to feel welcome by them.

(I cannot, of course, underestimate the power of the nuns in these cases, or, as I like to put it, the ‘habit card’. On every occasion I was with either Madre Rosario or Madre Micaela. Surely without their presence I would not have been welcomed in the same way. Their presence provided implicit reassurance that the gringo would do no harm.)

Looking back on this blog, I realise that it barely scratches the surface of my experience. Individual girls are hardly mentioned. Thalía, Sandra, Cielo… They’re just names, and yet to me they represent a story, a history and a friend. Fortunately I have plenty of fond memories of them to hold onto, along with some 2,500 photos to jog my memory (how I took so many I will never know…).

Thanks for reading and for all your support.
Simón