Why I Love Ken: Reason #463

Tonight, after my backpack was stolen and I was lamenting the things I lost, including my passport with its plethora of stamps (including Machu Picchu!) from South America, Ken hugged me and said, "We have a lifetime to collect more stamps."

We had just boarded a bus to take us from Potosi to Uyuni, about a 6-hour journey. The bus was very small (our knees touched the seat in front of us), and as a result I made the unusual (for me) decision to stash my daypack in the rack above our heads. A few minutes (5? 10?) later, I stood up to help someone else squeeze in a bag, and realized my pack was missing. Gone. Here's the thing about buses in Bolivia. When they're not moving they are full of people, travelling or not. People selling empanadas. People singing songs for money. And, apparently, people who board the bus a few minutes before it leaves and then get off said bus with a bag to which they don't rightfully have ownership.

Just after I noticed it was missing, another passenger confirmed that someone had indeed sat beside him for a few minutes, then stood up, grabbed the pack (my pack! my super-comfortable Osprey Talon-22 daypack! in citron!), and left. I grabbed my remaining possession (a water bottle, PET, 2L) and headed onto the chaotic sidewalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of my bag, but of course it was long gone.

The rest of the evening was spent checking into a hostel in Potosi, filing a police report, making weepy phone calls (to credit card companies, and my mom), and downing a couple of litres of beer. Tomorrow we'll head back to La Paz to find the Canadian Embassy so that I can get a replacement passport (...I know).

Regularly scheduled programming will return after I've finished mourning the loss of my favourite Lululemon zippie and a book that I was REALLY into.