Shitty day in Peru
I was watching story telling videos when I came across one of a lady who had planned to commit suicide but instead found solace in a book. A friend had recommended a book and she decided before ending it she would read a bit of it. In the library reading a chapter or two she became engrossed and decided to proceed after the book. However many days later when she finished she decided to forsake the tram and face her life. I am writing this so it may help people.
I arrived in Lima in february on a seven and a half month open jaw ticket, would leave from Ecuador. Had sold my house for my trip and carried a small one on my back full of clothes andd books: travel , crime , short stories . The bag ws so big that I was the terror of the tube swatting people.
In Luma having got used to the heat and done a tour of the City's ornate churches further being unimpressed by the dull shore scenery and high rollers of the Pacific, this was nort paradise I decided to hot foot to Ecuador by bus. Trip would last eleven hours for eighteen dollars, bargain. The bus had hardly started when I felt sick and my stomach churned. I didn't manage many shore villages before the small toilet reeking of urine and chemicals would be my home. Stuff came out of both ends like Niagara and I feared the knock of furious passengers as this was the only one. This was bad I was losing a shit load of weight and was dizzy . After a couple of hours I returned to my seat having to go back intermittently.
The bus stopped ten miles from the border I was expecting a shuttle but it appeared there were just cars for the Peruvians I was the only gringo. Shit! I just wanted to find a place to sleep. I could hardly hoick my bag on my back in my weak state. A driver appeared from a car and offered me a lift. I said hotsel cerca por favor not having learned much from my cd's. The short thin young driver nodded , then we sped past the village turning. Shit where are we goingI thought in a daze then a few miles later the car started spluttering and stopped. He ushered me to get my bag which I struggled with again being close to fainting now. Half a mile later we arrived at passport control and sat down. I asked him how much he said forty dollars he could see that I was resisting and showed me the flick knife on his trousers. I quick calculation and pay was the reluctant answer.
He disappeared and I carried on to Villa Cabamba a valley blessed with long life where hammocks next to bananas were in the hostel gardens where I collapsed.. The local hospital couldn't help but I recovered fully.
A few years later in a Shellfish lecture I saw on the screen that poisoning by ceviche , a marinated raw fish coctail had been responsible for many deaths and remembered the pot I ate from the shack near the high rollers.