Poli Bol

I struggled through the mass of people and wares to the centre of town. I had a large awkward parcel that I wanted to send home. In one small corner of the central post office there was a little squared-off room: the customs department, which consisted of one man, a large table and a set of scales. My package was inspected and then weighed, rolled in bubble wrap (trade name Poli Bol) and brown parcel paper which I had to run out and buy and finally stamped all over with an official seal. While I was doing all this, the customs man, Fernando and I discussed my travel plans and, in his careful clear hand-writing he wrote down the names of several places I ought to visit and recited a local legend about a battle between an eagle and a jaguar. The jaguar won.