IT SOUNDED AS THOUGH THE entire village had gathered outside of my window for an early morning chat. I checked my watch. 6:25am. Surely it couldn’t be morning already? I was having such a delicious night’s sleep after a few days on La Ruta del Che that had thus far led me to La Higuera, a hamlet five hours from Samaipata, Bolivia.
I dozed a little while longer, laughter and chatter mixed in with half-cooked dreams.
By the time I got up, the old school house was deserted save for a few stray dogs who wondered around Che’s room and sat guard in front of his mural.
I spent an hour walking back and forth through La Higuera looking for my alojamiento hostess and the woman with the key to the museum, but both were elusive. I guessed that, like the trip to Che’s execution site, this was another of those things that wasn’t meant to be.
Maybe I should have waited around a few days in Vallegrande for an English speaking guide to be available? Maybe I would have actually got to experience something a little less hit and miss?
But no, this was actually far more fun, more random, more adventurous. The experience of being in places and close to places where Che and his men had hidden and hung out was good enough to get me into a reflective headspace.
I still felt close enough to the story.