On my first journey across South America for the World Cup hosted by Argentina, I checked into a modest guest house in La Paz managed by a friendly lady. ‘You know him?’ she asked, catching me staring at the sidewall containing a framed picture of the all too familiar angry gaze of the beret-clad icon who’d followed me all through Latin America and whose socialist dream of using Bolivia as a springboard to bring revolution to South America was destroyed by US-backed Bolivian forces. I stared because the photograph of Che Guevara was placed right next to the Virgin Mary. I knew the Argentine Cuban as the many things that the Morecambe Library had taught me, but on that evening I experienced him as an apostle of revolution.
