As Andrew Carlyle once said, and has since been regurgitated repeatedly by my e-reader, no pressure, no diamonds. So as you read on, you can thank my mother for this diamond (at least a rough one) of a travel blog.
Most would say a journey should start at the beginning. But to be honest I would rather not start there and it is probable that with these folks I would have to disagree. For me, the meaning of a journey only fully forms at its close, as it approaches its end, when reflection and fondness reach their peak, and we are suddenly confronted with those things we never expected to miss from a place we barely knew.
But I´m getting ahead of myself. I am only trying to explain that this journey into the stumbling but endearing healthcare system of Bolivia must really have begun several weeks ago, in a dusty school in Northern Tanzania, or perhaps even half a year ago, when I crossed the stage to accept a pretend diploma. Like thousands that day, I was eagar to be free of what seemed irrelevantly themed papers, intentionally tricky tests and certainly friday morning lab, but begrudging the reality of adulthood that was sure to follow.
What did follow was (...is following, will follow-geez all this spanish is messing with my grammar) not the typical twenty-somtheing stumble into responsiblity, and I am thankful that in some ways this is only the beginning of my nomadic, medical, cultural, culinary, and romantic (linguistically of course) quest to save the world.
Bienvienidos al relateo humorístico de mis adventuras
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