I know that many times I've explained the craziness that retrieving a package from the local post office is... totally worth it, but crazy none the less. If the package is kept under 4 pounds and doesn't have an outrageous value placed on the outside by the sender than the package is fairly easy to get. You climb the amazing amount of stairs to your post office box (and being at a higher elevation and out of shape as I am you reach the top huffing and puffing), you try and remember which key among the zillions you have actually opens said post office box, you squat to open the box (which mind you at 9 months pregnant, or with an infant in arm is quite an adventure), then you open the tiny door to your box and if you're blessed as we so often are... your heart skips a beat at the little slip of paper indicating you have a package waiting just for you (okay let's be real... just for Nathan and Grant :) If the slip is printed in blue... you're safe. You can retrieve your package downstairs in the post office (yes just like Harding, only here you have to pay to get it out...) but if the slip is printed in orange... well that's enough for a whole separate post since it involves the customs office ('nuf said).
Just recently our post office here in Cochabamba (the only one here in the city) has been closed on a hunger strike since the employees wanted a raise. Not a big deal to your average Cochabambino, but to the Gringos who so look forward to mail from home it's been disappointing to say the least.
Last Friday afternoon I was in a taxi headed down to the open market and noticed that the post office was once again open and the employees once again well fed (apparently :) So I asked the driver to drop me at the door and up the stairs I went. When I got to the top and opened our box I saw not one, but two slips waiting for our family! Woo Hoo (much rejoicing was had!).
I made my way down the many stairs to the sweet lady who guards the much anticipated packages. To retrieve the packages you must pay for a stamp for each one and have proof of i.d. This is where you must remember I was on my way to the market... meaning I carry as little as possible on my person to avoid anything getting stolen... meaning I had no i.d. on me what so ever. I did not however realize this until the two packages in question were laying on the counter in front of me at my fingertips just taunting me for my lapse in brain function in forgetting my i.d.
I explained the situation to the precious lady across the counter, fully expecting to have to beg and offer my first born child in exchange for the packages in front of me. This particular employee was new and so she had never seen me in her life, she had no reason to trust that I was who I said I was, no reason to extend grace to me (and even less reason to since I'm a foreigner... I've learned), but she did. She looked at me, asked for my phone number and i.d. number, took my money for the stamps needed and wished me a great weekend.
After I picked myself up off the floor from the heart attack she gave me, I thanked her profusely, made a mental note to make her a batch of no-bakes the next time I come in, and said a huge thanks to God for placing her in my path that afternoon. It is so rare that as foreigners we are extended grace, usually we are forced to discuss, explain, justify, and argue our way through such buracracy that it's insane, but last Friday I was shown grace, and like the blind man healed, I just can't help telling everyone about it :) (and yes care packages from home are almost as good as being healed of blindness... okay, just kidding :), kind of... I mean who can put a value on new sleepers for Grant, Ranch dressing for the mommy, and new toys and stickers for Nathan?)
