Growing Horns

Yesterday, I awoke and before even having the time to wipe the sleep from my eyes, was bit by a toucan while piling my plate high with the free breakfast provided by the hostel. Undoubtably the perfect way to start a day that went on to include minor head surgury. This however, is completely unrelated to being bit by the toucan who has a harmlessly dull beak and wouldn`t be capable of injuring much more than an insect.

I have been living for several years now with a small benign cyst growing peacefully and slowly on my head...just a harmless, genetic little bump that mirrors those on the heads of generations of women in my family. My Grandma had one that grew so enormous it influenced how she wore her hair and her ability to wear hats! However, during a small and enjoyable jaunt to the nearby village of Samaipata, it began hurting something serious and growing at a shocking rate. I thought my head would explode. Within four days, I basically had a small horn the size of a golf ball growing out of the side of my head and knew it was time to make a trip to hospital. I returned to Santa Cruz, Bolivia, the most prosperous city in the poorest country on the continent and sought out the best clinic in town. Just inside the door, any of my worries about seeking health care in yet another third world country quickly melted away. This was by far the cleanest and fanciest place I`ve seen in months. I waited all day to see the doctor, a magnificent woman who chatted relentlessly, calling me "Mi Amor, Mi Amor" while she sliced into my head and removed the horridly infected cyst on the spot. The infection, she told me, was probably caused by a bug...although, despite her digging around, she was unble to find the sucker. Now, I`m walking the streets of Santa Cruz looking like a plane crash victim; a big white bandage taped on my head.

Guadalupe to Lima

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Coincidentally, I happened to be leaving Guadalupe the same night as the brother of a friend who was setting out, to the nation`s capital, in search of his fame and fortune. Opportunity for a better life, or at least a better income, is quite nearly impossible to come by in a town like Guadalupe. So we embarked together, with his entire extended family as a going away party, on a night bus to Lima. The bus arrived just slightly shy of 5am and since my next bus wasn`t scheduled to leave the city until nightfall, we went immediately to his Aunt's home to rest, eat and spend the day. The family of four lived in an average neighborhood in Lima...entirely lacking in anything resembling urban planning, just a sprawl of chaotic, economically depressed, open market, madness with the trademark straydogs running amuck. Their home, a one room cement box, was completely without windows, only a door opening to the front, and its interior told the story of each year of their lives; walls covered in childern`s posters, shelves of toys and sports articles. Everything of their lives was packed into this one dark room. There were only two beds from which the father wakes each day to attend his PhD course in dentistry, the wife the her office administration job, the son to his first year of university and the daughter to high school. This seems to me to about sum up the definition of lack of opportunity all too prevalent in the world; people whose daily lives exemplify serious determination towards education, professionalism, and success, yet remain in absolute poverty. Furthermore, on this day, they were happily accepting a fifth member of the family into there basic quarters. He and I spent the day being hosted graciously, napping in one of the beds, getting overfed, and watching Borat on the TV which seemed to never get turned off. Finally, after being included in a ridiculous session a family photos, I set of to catch my 20 hour bus to Cuzco.