The convoy of over twenty cars and pickup trucks sped past fruit plantations, markets, houses, mechanics, and karaoke bars. Each car was festooned with the blue, white, and black flag of the ruling Movement Toward Socialism party (Movimiento al Socialismo or mas by its Spanish acronym). Grover Munachi, a reporter from a local radio station, caught sight of something out of the win dow: "Look, it's the president!" he shouted. A small jet gradually came into view. The plane flew low over the convoy before climbing up and out of sight, only to return once more from the opposite direction. The car passengers laughed in admiration; one shouted out, "Way to go, Evo!" When the convoy arrived at its destination, a military base located on the banks of a wide, muddy-brown river, the guards snapped to attention and lifted the barrier to allow the cars through. A man sitting in the car's front seat joked, "Last time I was here these guys locked me up. .. and now look, they are saluting us!" The cars snaked through the base; to the right was the United States-run Drug Enforcement Administration (dea) compound, and on the left dozens of rusting cars, barrels of gasoline, and sacks of coca, all of which had been confiscated from drug traffickers. Ahead, three Vietnam-era he li cop ters, uh-1s or Hueys, donated by the United States, stood ready for antinarcotics missions. Evo Morales disembarked from the plane, followed by the ambassadors from Cuba and Venezuela. The trio strolled across the hot tarmac to where the eighty-strong del e ga tion of union leaders and local government officials waited patiently in an orderly line. Morales shared jokes and warmly embraced old friends. It was October 2006, Morales had only been in office for ten months, and as yet no one could get their head around the fact that the man who they knew as "compañero Evo" (comrade Evo), the leader of their agricultural union, was now the president of Bolivia.