A Bloody Man in a Bolivian Police Station

Did you know that if you lose or have your American passport stolen more than 3 times, they will not issue you a replacement passport? Ah my friends and strangers...sadly it is true. How do I know this? Well  my passport has been stolen twice and if I were to lose or have another passport stolen, I will not receive another passport again. This means that I have in a state of panic when my passport ever sees the light of day. So far...so good. 

 One of my favorite and most ridiculous memories comes during my trip to Bolivia. I was in grad school and asked my boss if I could participate in his study abroad program to Bolivia just after I graduated. I went as the oldest participant as the rest were undergrads, with my boss and his wife who had been my internship supervisor. I didn't speak a word of Spanish but it was one of the best experiences I've had. You can read through monkeytalestravels.blogspot.com for more Bolivian adventures!

So...my passport. In the Summer of 2008, my fellow Boliviano Trip colleagues and I made the trek to Cochabamba, Bolivia where we would spend the next 2 1/2 weeks. It took us 3 flights and over 30 hours of travel to get to our destination. When we got there we were told to just put our stuff down and we were off for a day of adventures. After some excitement that day we headed to a Brazilian cafe to finish off our night.

I put my bag between my legs and enjoyed a nice conversation with my colleagues. I was sharing about my tattoos and started talking about my mama and when I went to grab my locket to show them her photo...I realized my bag had been stolen. I could share all of the could'ves, should'ves and would'ves but that won't turn back time. We think it happened when a woman came up to us to sell us something and wouldn't take "No gracias" for an answer...i just got too comfortable. It was stupid, but I was tired and wasn't thinking clearly.

Inside my bag was...my passport, my airline tickets, $, my debit card and checkbook, my phone, car and house keys and my locket from my father as a graduation gift with a photo of my parents in it. Despite our looking, especially by my boss Jim but it was clear it was gone for good. 

So that evening, Kimber, our amazing translator, Jim and I went to the police station to file a police report that we needed to get a new passport. The taxi driver dropped us off with pleas to stick together fearing for our lives. He told us that we would need to walk down the street to get a taxi when we were done as none would pick us up where we were. We learned later it was a very dangerous part of town.

We walked into a very sketchy building that just had a counter and a man behind it smoking and reading the paper. He wouldn't speak to us but rather pointed us around another building showing us to walk through the very dark and scary alleyway. Kimber went first, then I did, then Jim did. All the while...really nervous. Bolivia...has an unusual amount of stray dogs who were barking and staring at us at this point. It definitely felt like the setting for a nice Stephen King novel. 

We walked into a plain room with just a small table, two plastic lawn chairs, a bench and a tv which was currently playing a dark and scary horror movie. We sat and waited for the officer to be ready for us as he finished his cigarette and in walked this guy...who was covered in blood from head to toe. All over his face, shirt and pants and his pants were torn as well. I had to laugh when he walked in and sat directly next to Kimber. He was incredibly calm and just sat there patiently waiting his turn as if he wasn't completely and utterly covered in blood. Add in a little light flicker and it would be a scene out of the movie Hostel! 

When it was our turn to share my story with the plain clothed officer, Kimber translated. Dude just wrote directly into a journal...no computer...just a spiral notebok. It felt very weird and not what I was expecting. The officer never turned off the tv where we had just seen someone's skull bashed in but rather...just turned it down! It was absolutely insane and truly kind of hysterical. When he finished taking my statement, he went into another room and we waited calmly with Bloody Man at our side. I saw the officer writing in another notebook and didn't think much of it until 20 minutes later when he came back with another sheet of lined paper that contained my written statement that we both had to sign. 

After a while we were set to go with instructions to come back the next morning. He told us to go outside in front of the building and wait for a cab. We stood out there a little bit petrified and a little bit goofy. We waited for at least 45 minutes to get a taxi and it was totally sketchy. No one would pick us up! We finally got back to the hotel around 2 or 3am grateful we had made it through our little adventure safely! 

Over the next couple of days thanks to my boss and his kindness...we were able to get new airline tickets and Jim took me to the US Embassy to get my temporary passport. While I was there the not so kind woman behind the desk with a severe face and frown, asked condescendingly if I had even tried to find my bag. "Did you put an ad in the paper? Did you put up signs in the neighborhood?" "Ummm....No ma'am...I didn't think that would be helpful, but here is my statement I got from the police station." I said smiling. She didn't think I was charming. I got a very stern lecture about selling passports on the black market. See, my passport had been stolen once before in Italy, so my credibility was a little shot. She made me sign a document understanding that if I should lose or have my passport stolen again, I would never be issued another passport again. The rest of the trip was absolutely incredible mixed with a severe case of food poisoning for my housemates and myself, the cutest kids I've ever met, hilarious times at our host family's house and riding in the back of the truck, a visit to a monkey park, cake smashed in my face, so much laughter, kindness and a truly life changing experience. My passport was not the only thing I left behind in Bolivia...I also left my heart with the children, families and community in Bolivia. 

The Inspiration

Writing this blog has been a long time goal of mine. Many life experiences in the past several years have prompted me to go back through my life journey and share some of the good, the bad and the truly ridiculous. What follows is a little of the inspiration behind this blog.

Mama

My biggest life inspiration is my mother for all that I do. As I grow older and the years continue to pass by, I am constantly faced with curiosity about my mother's life and wishing for the opportunity to ask so very many questions. I want to know what it was like for her when she immigrated to the States and left her family behind. What her wedding day was like. What she wanted to be when she was little. How she found the courage to go back to school and become a nurse in the middle of her life. When she knew she loved my father. What it was like to open her own yarn store in Brooklyn. How she thought of her life. What was her proudest accomplishment. What was the scariest thing she ever did. What is her favorite childhood memory. So very many questions that are unanswered or answered thankfully through the perspective of my father. But how I wish I knew the answers to those and so many other questions. My mom is so much a part of me but she passed when I was 23 years old and I never took the time to ask. I squandered my time with my mom taking for granted the opportunity to learn as much as I could from her. She was the first real deep loss for me and continues to be the toughest. My mind wouldn't and still doesn't grasp the concept of gone forever. When I am home, I am constantly bombarding my father with questions about his life and the life of my mother and his mother. He tells stories about his life with my mother, and when he was younger. His life as professional and his life as an activist and young adventurer. I have asked about what it was like for him when Dr. King was shot and he shares that the most impactful passing was actually that of Bobby Kennedy. I can't get enough of learning of his life through his eyes.I continue to think my father's life could be turned into a movie and I am endlessly fascinated. 

This blog is about capturing some of my own memories. I am finding lately that some of my memories are starting to become fuzzy as I forget details of how I felt, how it looked and what it meant. I am afraid of losing these memories and hope this can serve as a good reflection of that day. I have so many regrets wishing I would have spent every moment asking my mom about her life. Not just my mom but so many loved ones.

Rich 

My friend Rich, was an absolutely amazing man and a truly wonderful friend. Rich had decided to go to college in his mid-thirties. He had been working in construction and had the courage to decide to change his life and go to school  for a Business degree. We met on Orientation Team and Rich as a non-traditional student was an excellent resource for the other non-traditional students. His positivity, warm heart and bubbly personality made us quick and fast friends. I  would often invite Rich to parties where he would come for a short while making everyone worry that he was a Narc, but he was amazing and charming and easily won others over. He always made me laugh and most of all he was there for me through many challenging times. He was an incredible friend. For all those that know my "I once crashed in a Hot Air Balloon story" Rich was the one that got me up in that balloon. He was a balloon chaser and had free flights for his friends...but more on that later. Rich didn't always have the easiest life and he had been through some very tough times personally. But he exuded positivity and nothing but kindness for others. He was a very special friend for me and so many that were able to know him.  

 I receive an Alumni magazine from my college Shippensburg University every semester. In the magazine there is a section for Alums to share news about jobs, births, weddings and deaths. There have been many magazines that I've received that I've barely given a second glance. But one day several years ago, I was flipping through the magazine and saw the name Richard S Hughes listed under deceased with the year he had graduated. I thought it couldn't be true and immediately called my friend Ed who was in Rich's same fraternity. He shared that he had learned about Rich's passing and that his family had wanted a small ceremony. I learned that he had passed two weeks after sending me an email update about his life. An email that I had starred in my email inbox and had yet to respond to. Knowledge of that still haunts me to this day. What really scared me was not being able to celebrate his life with others that care about him. Rich and I had a friendship where we didn't have many friends in common but we had a wonderful connection. I have so many friendships like that in my life and it scares me to think I may lose someone and may never know. Or that whenever I pass, so many special people in my life may never fully know how much they mean to me. Moving around so much, my family wouldn't know where to begin to notify others. 

Losing Rich in that way had a really profound effect on me. I constantly think about the celebration of life and death. I think through the people in my life and the experiences we have shared together. I also think often that when I die, my memories come with me. The feelings, the emotions, the love, the appreciation all go with me. This is my attempt to capture just a few of those memories.

Recent Events 
In the spirit of semi-disclosure, when I lived in Indianapolis I was told that I am at a high risk for cervical cancer and need to get checked several times a year to make sure that cancerous cells do not form. About a month ago, I had gone to the doctor and received an abnormal test and then during a second test was told that I would need to get a colposcopy and biopsy as it was abnormal once again. My doctors were very thorough and kind and prepared me for any result I may receive. They set me up with several support groups and scheduled me immediately for an appointment. I went for my exam and everything came out normal and clear. Phew! All is well and I am completely fine but it was once again, a wake up call. A reminder that I've heard all too often, that life is short and anything can happen at any time. We are certainly not untouchable.

As selfish and self absorbed as it may be, one of my biggest fears is being forgotten. I've grieved the loss of far too many wonderful in my life over the past 10 years and I hold onto my grief in a way that others share they have moved on. Life goes on and memories fade. We don't always share our stories of our loved ones and in one generation, it seems that we disappear. It's a hard pill for me to swallow.

So these are my reasons. This is my life. These are my people. These are my stories.
  

Monkey Tales the Journey

Welcome to the Monkey Tales: The life and times of Patty. This blog will document some interesting moments in my life but also tells the tales of so many others who have contributed to the person I am today. I am a story teller and I have lived a full and rich life of adventure, sorrow, compassion and joy. As I have moved around quite a bit in my life, I have found myself telling stories of the crazy, the wild, the stupid and the mundane. The two words used to describe me most are: Genuine and Interesting. I have been on a long time pursuit to take chances, to make memories and to make the most out of this life and it has thankfully resulted in some pretty phenomenal stories and a very long bucket list. 

One of my longest held beliefs is that every single person has a story. These unique set of experiences that have contributed to the strength of their character. One of my all time favorite things to do, is to sit down and learn about the experiences of others. I am eager to learn stories both good and bad as it is almost like a look into someone else's soul. These stories are a gift and I have always been grateful for the kindness that others have shared.

I believe stories are a window to the soul...and these are mine.