Looking for Relief in Santa Cruz

When I arrived in Santa Cruz's airport, in Bolivia, I discovered the airline had left my backpack in La Paz. I was told to leave the name of my hotel and they would deliver my bag later that afternoon when it arrived on the next flight. I flipped through my Lonely Planet guide and found the name of a hotel near the main plaza and said that was where I would be staying. What more could I do?

Sweat. Santa Cruz was much warmer than La Paz - being at a much lower elevation the climate was tropical. This did not bode well for the guy wearing jeans and wool socks with nothing readily available to change into. I found a cab (one without a/c apparently) and directed him to the address in my guidebook. The drive took about 25 minutes, and although the cabbie had all the windows down, my t-shirt was soaked by the time we reached the hotel.

I paid him and went into ask for a room. They had plenty available. But the cheapest room was 130 Bolivianos (about $16) and I thought this was much too high. So I thanked the desk clerk and decided to check the hotel three doors down. He offered a room with cable TV and an over-head fan for 100 Bolivianos (about $12.50). So much better. I cranked up the fan, stripped off the wool socks, and stretched out to relax for a bit. Then I realized I had given the airline the name of the other hotel. Ugh.

I tried calling the number they gave me to tell them I had switched hotels. But all I got was a recording in Spanish. I decided I would walk back to the original hotel, tell them my situation, and beg them to hold my bag even though I wasn't staying there. Hopefully they would be sympathetic. They were.

Santa Cruz was the city from which I was going to catch a train into Brazil. There didn't seem to be much to do here other than sweat. And wait for my bag. But my coworker's cousin was in town from La Paz visiting relatives and offered to show me around. Not having anything to do other than wait & sweat, I took her up on the offer. But first I had her call the airline to see about changing hotel names for delivery. She got through to someone but was told they weren't going to deliver the bag - just send it to the airline office in town. Okay, that would be part of my tour. To kill some time we walked to the main plaza and checked out the church. I was looking for any relief from the heat - the cool air in the church, the shade of a tree, a cold drink. But the jeans and wool socks were just too much in that heat. I finally decided we needed to take a break at a restaurant on the square that had dozens of ice cream dishes. And there we sat for a couple of hours.

Finally, around 4pm, we took a cab to the airline office. We skipped the long line and walked back behind the counter (I was just following the cousin who seemed to know what she was doing) to a back office. There we (and by we I mean she) went about explaining the situation and trying to find my bag. Turns out it was being delivered to the hotel. Two cab rides and 16 Bolivianos later we got back to the hotel where my bag - and shorts & flip flops - were waiting.

I carried it up to my room and took a nice, long, cold shower. The relief of cold water and then shorts and flip flops immediately turned my foul mood around. I was ready to see what Santa Cruz had to offer - with a smile.

Still, not much.

To see pics from my time in Santa Cruz, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603952352167/