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pulled from my body, this time by a doctor in São Paulo, who used a knife and a needle.

The next morning the commandante came by early to inform us that the plane to La Paz would be taking off at eleven o'clock. We packed our few belongings and said our goodbyes to the hotel owner, who refused to accept payment for the time we had spent there and charged us only half the bill that we had run up in the coffee shop. A friendly neighbour brought us a bag of mangoes. There is no more delicious fruit in the world than the mangoes of Rurrenabaque.

Tico came to say goodbye, tough as always. I couldn't find the words to express what I felt for him and promised myself that I would someday come back to visit him. An army truck took us to the airport. The terminal consisted of a single building outside town and a long, unpaved airstrip.

The terminal was crowded. Everyone who held tickets for the previous day's flight and everyone who had a ticket for today's was gathered, and since it was obvious that they couldn't all fit on one plane, a lot of arguments broke out. The next day was Christmas, and they were eager to get home to their families. When the plane made its approach, everyone started shouting and shoving. The commandante led us through the crowd to the door of the plane and bade us farewell. The pilot gestured us aboard.