Los Traficos

These two pictures show Kaz and Kamila at Kamila's new digs. Notice how windy it is.

Los Traficos
Yesterday, a transplanted American man whom I’ll call Jim because that is actually his name, offered to show Dolly and me how to use a GPS. Instead of doing that, he decided to pick a fight with Dolly and me about what people like us, who come here for a short time, can really do for the school. He assumed I had recently graduated from college, that I knew nothing about schools or THIS school in particular, and that I was just one of the “thousands of people who come through here with what they think are brilliant ideas, but their ideas are actually “stupid.” Dolly excused herself after a point and left me to dodge his verbal projectiles for another couple of hours by myself, after which he showed me how to use a GPS in about ten minutes.
I later found out he had been on the Board of the School until two years ago, when the Board fired him because they couldn’t stand him anymore. He was a most paternalistic and sour man with about the worst social skills I’d seen in a long time. Several people, both transients and locals alike, have suggested that some of the Americans who settle here leave the States because they can’t find a way to fit in there. I could see how Jim might fall into that category.
The funniest thing about my time with Jim was that, four times during our “meeting,” people hunted him down to tell him the “traficos” (traffic cops) were in town. At first, I thought this must be some popular band, then realized that “traficos” are in fact traffic police.
Normally, there are no traffic police here. In fact, I rarely see any police of any kind anywhere, and apparently, those that do exist mainly give directions to tourists and let the locals police each other. However, the traficos come into town periodically from Lord-knows-where to check up on everyone. Since there is only one main road, it is easy for them to stake out spots along it and stop people who are not wearing seatbelts or who have expired plates. A lot of people apparently do not have up-to-date licenses, registration papers, etc. and almost no one wears a seat.
Jim’s registration had expired, so his wife called four times to make sure he would get the message not to drive home. He would surely be pulled over, and the penalty for any transgression is serious- the traficos take the license plates off your car. Jim took a cab home and said he would come back for his car in a couple of days.
All day, our campus was abuzz. “The traficos are in town, the traficos are in town.” When Dolly called for a cab to take one of our classes to a stream site where the kids have been collecting water quality data every month, no cabs were available. There are usually plenty of cabs eagerly awaiting a phone call, but for the rest of the day, most of the fleet was in hiding due to the traficos being in town.