My Morning with Napoleon
I was standing on a hill overlooking
Samaipata with Napoleon. From above, I
could see that it is just a small town, nestled between green valleys and green
hills. I was standing on a rock. The tropical sun was fierce, but the air was
cold. There was no noise except for
Napoleon telling me of his many exploits and the history of his children. But how did I get here?
I awoke at 4:30, and 5:00, and again at 5:30; my internal clock telling me it was time to wake up. I told my clock to go back to sleep. I had no responsibilities for the day; I had no plans. But by 7:00, I was wanting to get out and explore. So my alarm clock won.
By 7:30, I was looking for breakfast. There were not many restaurants open at that
hour. I couldn’t even find one. So, I wandered into the market, and found a
place that was cooking some delicious breakfast. A man was grilling cornbread that was about
the consistency of pancakes. I was
served a drink called api, a dark, reddish-brown liquid that was sweet and
thick. He told me it was made of a
variety of black corn. It tasted more
like berries than corn.
I ran into yesterday’s trufi driver while looking for food. He told me to go to one of the miradors to get a view of the city. A mirador is a lookout that has a good view. And that is how I met Napoleon. I flagged a taxi driver, having no idea what I was getting myself into!
Napoleon wasn’t really a taxi driver, but he saw me looking for a taxi and offered his services. He owned a small hotel, as well as other rental properties. He is the father of four children, all college graduates. He is proud that he paid for their college, every one of them. They are now living in Santa Cruz, Madrid, and Barcelona. He said he knew everybody in Samaipata and proceeded to tell me stories about every one of them.
We left town on a dirt road, full of pot
holes and washed out in places. At one
place, we crossed a stream, not over a bridge, but through the stream. About halfway to the top, we got out of the
car and looked out on the green valley of Samaipata. It looks so small from up there. He pointed out where some Germans lived, or
the Swiss, Belgians, or Americans. He
showed me a $2 million-dollar home, that in other places would have cost more
than $10 million.
We drove almost to the top, where a German was building a vineyard. We got out of the car and Napoleon headed straight through the brush of vines and scrubby trees. Inside I was laughing that me, a fat retired man from the States, was pressing through thorns and brambles. The reason I came here to Bolivia was because I am not ready to quit. I am retired, but I want to live before I am too old to do much more than watch TV and tell others about my past. So here I was, in the moment, crashing through vegetation.
Before us was a big rock that was easy to
climb. My too many pounds and the
altitude made me breathe heavily, but it was worth it. The view is one of those you must see once in
your life. My camera phone can’t catch
the beauty.
My morning with Napoleon ended with him
taking me to an animal refuge on the other side of town. A howler monkey and javalina were running
wild. A coati stuck his nose out the cage
so I would rub it. A wild cat cub,
played with me through the fence. People
buy exotics, thinking of the cute baby animal, but not understanding that they
grow up quickly and become unmanageable.
Thank God for this French woman, pouring out her retirement money to
care for these unwanted animals.
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