Spies: The Legend of Toni

By: Haig Ourishian
Haig@badchair.com

Friday 1630, California Route 39 - I am parked facing the wrong way, sleeping. The air conditioning and public radio work in concert to diminish any chance of making it to Palm Springs on time.

Thursday 1500, Beni River - Toni throws a bottle into the river and calls for us to follow. We pass the Havana Club around and dive in. Immediately, my mind turns to rape.

Saturday 1300, Bolivian Route 3 - Suddenly our jeep is pulled to one side of the road. Just a routine stop for food... nothing to worry about, we are reassured. We purchase dusty fried chicken and potatoes for a dollar a bag.

Friday 0325, Beni River - We are in the process of breaking into a straw covered shack when a rustling sound inside turns into a light. Toni says something in Aymara and immediately we are handed 3 bottles of Bolivia's finest pilsner. This, it seems, is the after hours spot.

Thursday 1900, Beni River Bar - I awaken to discover we are the most hated people on the river. Someone has urinated on a crocodile and European sensibilities have been outraged. Toni escorts us to our boat. I am reassured by the presence of the machete draped over Toni's chest... his reasons denying me ownership of one, far too clear.

Saturday 1500, Bolivian Route 3 - Once again, the jeep is pulled over to the side of the road.

-So we will go to Caravani together. There, we will rent you two taxis and follow you all the way to La Paz.
-Why? Is everything ok with the Jeep?
-Oh ya, its just got a bit of a gas leak and its having trouble with so many people in the car... don't worry.

Saturday 2230, La Paz - We scream for him to drive us to Route 36... He takes us to a park instead.

Thursday 1510, Beni River - I try to float for a bit on the surface of the water when I feel a nibble at my toes. Immediately, I begin thrashing about, half expecting to see the surface of the water turn maroon.

Wednesday 1100, Rurrenabaque - We pay $60 each for a 3 day tour of the Beni River. We are instructed to purchase white shirts and return within the hour. I am negotiating the purchase of a fine bottle of Cuban rum when Toni is sent to fetch us.

Brief portrait of Toni (stolen as down payment).

Though standing only five foot four and weighing a mere one hundred twenty pounds, Toni is the biggest bastard we have seen. He is no less than Crocodile Dundee, but of the Amazon. Permanently shirtless because he knows how sick he looks, the man is fearless, drunk, and calmly psychotic. The only thing that would make him any cooler would be a mullet, but no hair dresser can get close to him because he carries a massive "fuck off" knife every where he goes. He sports this weapon around his shoulders constantly, maybe even in his sleep. We speculate he is forced to work so far out of town because people were sick of him stabbing them all the time.

-So Toni, how do you feel about a drink?
-Si.
-Pretty sick knife you got there Tones.
-Si.
-You've probably stabbed up whole villages with it, ey?
-Si.

Saturday 2100, La Paz - Abandoned by my brother... a deserter fit only to be shot.

Friday 0300, Beni River, hammocks - Out of the darkness emerges Toni and asks if we are up for a mission to a bar deep in the heart of the river.

-Yes Toni, that will do, but we are going to need a huge amount of gasoline if we are gonna do this thing right.

Toni does not understand our need to go speeding through the darkness at dangerous speeds, but it is an idea he accepts quietly...

Thursday 1925, Beni River - Having just executed a glorious escape, my mind turns to the root of the insult that got us to unceremoniously be dismissed. Was our crime so heinous, so abominable that the only remedy was expulsion? Its never easy figuring out who the real criminals are, no matter what the situation might be; but when both judge and jury are a handful of travelers paying their hosts poverty wages, serious thought trumps drunkenness and becomes a crucial ally.

After hundreds of years of rule by cycles of aristocracy, Bolivia finds itself led by its first indigenous head of state in over 470 years. A former llama herder, bricklayer, baker, and trumpet player, and current Apu Mallku (supreme leader) of the Aymara people, Evo Morales has been president of Bolivia since 2006. One among a new breed of charismatic South American leaders, Morales has defined his presidency on the principle that "The worst enemy of humanity is U.S. capitalism."

It is in this dream of Evo Morales we find ourselves when faced with the consternation of the traveling class. The traveling class is an amalgamation made up largely of individuals with a hunger to "see the world before it disappears." It was, after all, why I was there. Like some personification of a long forgotten United Colors of Benetton ad, I had come to Bolivia to experience a place and a way of life that I had never before known before. I did this, knowing that my mere presence would speed up the process by which the indigenous way of life would disappear. Yet, I went anyway. Could it be that I was the criminal in this dramatic dance at a bar somewhere in the abyss of the Beni River, or were my detractors so zealous that they saw of only one appropriate way to experience the disappearing world? We were out for the same sort of thing... its just in the practice that we differed.

Saturday 1630, Caravani - As we negotiate the rest of the trip, the front end of our jeep explodes.

Friday 1700, California Route 39 - I count my toes for good measure, turn the engine over and head east.