RYAN DENNIS

A good friend of mine is very concerned with his health. He juices carrots, goes to yoga and once visited a shaman. He pointed out humans are the only species that drink milk into adulthood.

I sit on the couch and stare at the fat gray squirrels waddling along the electric lines. I pick up an imaginary shotgun and point it at them.

A small pack of dogs sat on top of the hill and watched us speed by. Everywhere in Bolivia, there are dogs.

I’ll admit it: Six months ago I didn’t know on which continent you could find Bolivia.

Yet, when my girlfriend and I were preparing a trip through South America, there it was in the middle of the other places we were planning on visiting.

If location is everything, let me start by disclosing this one thing: This column is being written inside a tent in the mountains of a drought-stricken desert of Chile.

I walked gingerly up to the table with my registration slip. The eight men sitting there turned toward me. They looked me up and down, making calculations. Rural poker sharks do not look like the Vegas typecast seen in movies.