Transport back to Santa Cruz is proving difficult, but the ten-mile trek to the coffee shop is paying off. Pancho and I are becoming good friends.
Luisa’s cooking has created a serious logistical problem, Eduardo.
He is dividing his time equally between Luisa’s empanadas and hammock siestas, but claims the truck is non-operational. I suspect the truck is fine. It’s Eduardo who isn’t functioning.
Fortunately, the empanadas provide the necessary calories for the daily commute.
The ten miles are quotidian now. I don’t need the donkeys. Pancho, the purveyor of the coffee shop, has promised me a horse.
He is a real character. Straight out of the movies. Cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and a pistola holstered to his hip.
We get along great. In fact, he offered me a job answering the phone and taught me rudimentary coffee shop Spanish.
“Seis mil dólares por kilo, FOB La Paz.”
“Doce mil dólares por kilo, CIF San Diego.”
My coffee shop Spanish is bueno!
The phone rings constantly.
I have yet to meet any of the customers. Only Carlos. He comes by once a week to pick up bricks of coffee.
That’s about it.
If I can somehow get a ride to San Diego, I’m basically home.
Eduardo’s sister arrives from Guadalajara next week. Perhaps her presence will disrupt his hammock-ridden state.
I have to go.
The phone is ringing.