We survived Puno's gangs.
But further down the road civil disorder was replaced by institutional corruption.
The Puno traffic cops, unaware that the righteous sword of indignation had been unsheathed with such devastating results in the town centre, pulled us over to supplement their income.
But further down the road civil disorder was replaced by institutional corruption.
The Puno traffic cops, unaware that the righteous sword of indignation had been unsheathed with such devastating results in the town centre, pulled us over to supplement their income.
“Hey Greengo” came the opening gambit from the aviator wearing, moustache toting traffic officer in tight pants and a paramilitary bomber jacket. “Your truck - ees the wrong cola. You must pay a cash fine - in non-seequeeential, low value, used notes”
“What!?” said TJ.
“Feefty dohlas – US” came the reply as the officer fingered his side arm.
“The wrong colour?” enquired Izzy. “What’s wrong with orange and white?”
He paused and looked to his colleague. “Eet dazzles the Llaamas”.
“So you’re going to write us a ticket for dazzling the Llamas with our overly bright paint job? You understand we can’t pay a fine without a ticket” TJ teased.
“No teecket – feefty dohlas” was all he could offer.
“Then we have a problem, officer. No ticket, no fine” was TJ’s final word, the last four punctuated slowly and clearly in his Texan drawl.
There was a pause as the two officers conferred. “Okay – fordy dohlas” came the reply.
“No”.
“Thirty?” came the increasing desperate response.
In the end, he took five dollars and slunk away in a cloud of dust to fine the local Llama Farmer for not providing the animals with sunglasses.
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