Se acabam las pilas

The thing about Bolivia that I was afraid of is that I had been traveling for a while and had begun to miss home. Not home home, as in my dad and his crew, but my ability to put up with dirty bathrooms, crooked beds, bumpy bus rides and sketchy meals was waning. Three or four months into it, I missed capoera, my mom and my sisters.

My hopes were that once I made it to Bolivia, the scenery change would recharge my batteries and I would find the energy I needed to make it to Cusco. However, I was afraid of the refrigerator phenomenon: when I was little (and poor) I had these battery operated toys and when the battery ran out, I used to go to my mom for new ones.

Put'em in the fridge. she'd say

I would run to the fridge, put'em tucked in all the way on the back and go wait for a little bit. After five minutes or so, I would slap'em back in my toys and they'd work like a charm... for about two minutes or so then they were dead again.

I feared Bolivia would be my metaphorical fridge. I would go in and get recharged at first, but I kinda felt my batteries wouldn't be able to carry me all the way.