The Camión

Often at the end of a trek we take public Bolivian transport from our rural terminus back to Sucre. This mode of transport is known simply as "el camiòn" (literally, "the truck"). And that´s what it is. A truck. A high-sided flatbed truck that is filled to the brim with Bolivian villagers and their market-wares and tired hikers, standing room only. It grumbles bumbily over terrifying mountain roads, and when the rains come town the driver covers its occupents with a tarp. To call the camión uncomforable would be a gross understatement. The last time I rode it there was a poor little girl jammed into my smelly hiking armpit, a boy vomiting into his hat at my feet, and old lady pinching the back of my leg because I was squashing her bag of wheat. Note how I smile forcibly as the truck fills up (photo credit to Lim, a delightful French tourist with whom I hiked):

Strangely enough, however, I find something about the camión thrilling, maybe even endearing... Perhaps I haven´t ridden it enough, but I find it amusing to watch young campesinos exchange flirtatious looks and cell-phone numbers, and I marvel at the way the Bolivian mothers juggle numerous children and blankets full of peaches. And, with the right mental fortitude, I can find true contentment as I roll through jaw-dropping mountainscapes with the sun on my back (again, thanks Lim).