I have officially been taken for a fool

So there's massive flooding in the East of Bolivia, in Santa Cruz province, and a state of emergency has been declared. I guess all the scientists were right about global warming: more frequent, more severe weather patterns. All the scientists except the Exxon-funded ones, I guess.

So last night, I was out and about at a little past 11, and this guy, Mike, approached me with a story about being rolled by some cops. Corrupt, fake, who knows. Same thing really. It's like those stories out of Iraq about gunmen "dressed as Interior Ministry commandos" kidnapping and killing people: they're dressed like Interior Ministry commandos because they ARE Interior Ministry commandos. But it's a neat bit of doublespeak for the press to say "dressed as" - a technical truth that doesn't reveal the total breakdown of Iraqi society as much as the whole truth would.

Anyways, Mike tells me that he got his money belt and passport taken after the cops wanted to "search him for weapons," and now he can't get a hotel, and everything is closed (most stuff in La Paz shuts down at like 9pm). This seemed plausible to me: the cops, Western Union being closed, no money for a hotel. He wanted to let me hold onto his camera in exchange for a little cash for a room, which he would pay back tomorrow. Sure, I'm suspicious of stuff like this, and Mike seemed like a bit of a tweaker - he teaches anthropology "at his own university" in New York (but didn't seem to understand my question about cultural or historical anthropology), and kept trying to show me these "faces" in these little rocks he had that had something to do with the "research" he was doing in Bolivia. But he wasn't any stranger than the people who come to Macchu Picchu to experience some great spiritual awakening (a la that stupid book, "The Celestine Prophecy"), and the camera had film and batteries in it, and I didn't give him much cash, and it would really suck to be in his position if he were telling the truth, and this is a serious run-on sentence. So I gave him like $10 and took his camera, and we agreed to meet the next day in the Plaza to exchange money and camera, and he offered to take me to breakfast.

The next day, I was sitting in front of the church, and Mike walks by really fast, right in front of me (planned, I'm sure), and I call to him but he doesn't stop, I hurry to catch up with him and he starts talking about how there's $1000 wire from his wife "just waiting for him" at the Western Union, but he can't get it without a passport, which is being processed at the embassy "right now," but he can't decide if he wants me to get my passport and accept the money from the Western Union for him or if we should go to the embassy so I can pay for the passport renewal. And about the time I'm thinking "I just bought a new camera, didn't I?" Mike says "the cops are right behind me, they think I'm harassing you." "Are you?" I think to myself, and I come to a stop. Two tourist police come up next to me (they were women, which I mention because I bet you were picturing two men, as I probably would if someone were telling me about "two cops," but like I said in a previous post, a lot of cops here are women), and Mike takes off through traffic, across the street. The tourist cops explain something (I didn't get it all because they asked if I spoke Spanish, and with a grim look I said a little, and they launched into this explanation in Spanish. I guess the tourist police, who are supposed to speak English, are just as anxious about using their second language as I am). Anyways, they say some stuff like "he's going to take your bag and your passport," and "he's dangerous." Then they asked me where I was staying, and tried to give me directions back to my hotel, like I was the Country Boy in the Big City for the first time. Look, I may be naive, but I'm not stupid, OK? But I'd still trust two friendly cops over a tweaker traveler that has strange stories and now wants more money when he should no longer need my help any day. At any rate, Mike had vanished. I figure he thought he was made, and took off.

I got off easy, probably (even though I wouldn't have gone anywhere with Mike - I really only got a taste of his hustle). So now I am the proud owner of what is probably an overpriced, Canon camera. At least it has a fresh roll of film and good batteries. The funny thing to me was, who was this guy? He obviously had a complex hustle worked out. Who comes to Bolivia to do stuff like that? (Mike said he was from New York, and the tourist police confirmed he was an American, although I didn't understand quite how much they knew about him). I'd met idiot travelers who ask for money before: once, I met this guy on Khao San road (backpackers ghetto in Bangkok) who "was out of money, and just needed 100 baht to get to the airport" or something like that. And I said "what, you expect me to believe that you came all the way to Asia from the US, traveled around, somehow totally ran out of money, and have no friends or family back home who can help you?" The guy didn't even bat an eye, and said "yeah, man, I need help!" Well, I told him where to stick it. Mike though, he had something complex worked out. Weird.

The barbers of La Paz continue to harass me as I pass their shops; I'm beginning to resent the implication that I've become so hideous that they would be remiss in their duties as barbers to not try and convince me to get my hair cut. I seem to be the only one being singled out. Maybe that's because most travelers wear funny hats, and I don't have my funny hat on today.