Tarija Bolivia Farewell – My son is sick on the plane

The desert hills were behind the plane as it taxied in.
It seemed no longer had it arrived than in minutes we were ushered on.

TAM is a military airline, so they stand guard as we get on the plane.

We had to pay excess baggage.
Our tickets were super special.  They worked out as cheaply as two overnight buses.
I had read the road was the 2nd worse in Bolivia and it was a night bus.  No way – we had been on the 3rd worse – see our Villamontes Blog.
I also read they were old buses and freezing cold.

So onto the plane, we get.
I am pretty proud of the photography my son took that day.
The sweeping clouds were so dramatic.

When we got on the plane, we were near the front.
It was half empty.
Yet we managed to get a woman next to me that was, to say the least, a generous size.
I had not organized my bags, yet she was pushing to sit.
Pushing because the dear lady had such a large stomach that it hung nearly to her knees, and she was too big for her seat.
So then shared over half of my seat too.
The flight attendants had a zero care factor.  They did not check who wore seat belts.
So I called the attendant and asked them to get her a belt extension.

As we took off the barren hills and incredible paths were below us.

Then the trouble started.

Sadly but true the lady next to me, unfortunately, passed very vile wind.

This repeated itself several times.
Now my son was having trouble breathing.
He says he feels sick.
I know he never gives warning.
I can’t get to my backpack fast enough to get a plastic bag.
There are no sick bags.
I call the flight attendant and she rocks up with a paper towel – what?

Then it starts.
He vomits – and it is projectile.  Maybe 4 times.  It is all over the place.
Oh my – I just want to cry.
The lady next to me doesn’t MOVE?  She sits and I can hardly move to help my son because she is excessive in size.
I call the flight attendants – they are up the back chatting.  Nothing.
I call again.  Travelers start beckoning for me to have help.

the lovely people behind me are so kind and helpful – I am so appreciative.
I ask the flight attendant to move the woman next to me to another seat.
She takes a good few minutes to extract herself.
Honestly, she is sadly so wide, I have no idea how she fits through the aisle!

NOW the flight attendant brings me a garbage bag.
My son is ill in that.
I get him out of the seat and get him to the bathroom.
Just as I do the turbulence starts.
You have got to be joking?!
He can’t hang on and is crying.
The filthy toilet is un-flushed and has human waste on the seat.
So I pull the top seat down and plonk my son on that clean bit.
Poor kid is stripped off to his jocks.
Even they are wet.

I throw the soiled clothes into the plastic wrapper the flight attendant gives me from the roll of paper towel.

I then lunge my child to a back seat.
I notice there is a flight attendant sitting on the side but she is doing nothing!
Not seat-belted.  I ask her if we are arriving and she says “yes”.

So my son sits in his jocks and we land in the plane.

I am now in a race to get our bags before they are stolen and just push my son and me through the people.
They part because – well he stinks!

I get him back and make him sit in the seat vacated next to me.
My backpack has spare clothes for him, so he is fortunate.

Quickly we get off as half the plane is still full and about to take off to the next destination.

When inside the terminal I take him to the bathroom to wash him up.
It takes three goes to clean his hair.
I have a heap of plastic bags – I always travel with them – and can sort our stuff.

We race out to get our luggage before it is taken, but the good thing is they check luggage numbers off here, so it is safe.

We get to town.
I have researched a hotel and on arrival, I think I have made a mistake.
I ask the rates.
They are miles higher than on the internet – this is a common thing here – I have read many reviews and even if you pay a booking fee online, they suck you in.

The nice reception lady shows us some rooms and even my sick son says “no way Mum”.

So she agrees to hold our luggage; gives us a map, and points us to the section where the hotels are close-by.

We call into about 4.
My son says he needs Wi-fi.
But I tell him he may not get it – this is Bolivia!

We find a good one.
The owner is at the desk.
She cuts the price in half for us.
Wi-fi, breakfast, and a spotlessly clean room.

As we walk back to get our luggage, we pass the flower market.
I buy flowers for the receptionist.
When we give them to her, her eyes well up with tears. I think we made her day !!
She helps us get a taxi and tells us to pay no more than 6 Bolivianos as we are going only a few streets.

When we get there the taxi driver refuses to give me change.
I insist, and a nice man stops.
He calls over the policeman.
I then dig through my coins and give him the correct money.
I will tip. I will donate to the poor. But I will NOT get ripped off. There are morals here.

Just as we head in my son decides he feels ill.
So here we sit in front of a nice hotel with my son in the gutter as he doesn’t think he will make it to the bathroom.
Fortunately, his nausea passes and I get him upstairs.