The day after the night before...

Alarm goes off, hit the showers. Wash the previous evening off me. Go through my day in my head. Get up, check, shower, check, eat where? organise taxi to airport, how? Fill in the time before i leave, with what?

Breakfast is provided at the hostel. If you call tea coffee and bread rolls breakfast then go right ahead. I sit near Tori who i later learn is also a teacher from NSW, we get to talking. I ask her if she would like some Vegimite. For all the lovers out there you know how she reacted. Sat with her talking politics and philosophy over vegimite. Day could only get worse.

Taxi, organise it with the hostel, costs more but its easy and 100% safe. Organised. Coming at 1pm. I have an hour to occupy myself. Decide to by a small notebook to so i can communiate better when buying things and a sketch pad for drawing. (for those that no hablas espanol, numbers are confusing as computer chips) Enter the shop. An elderly lady assists me. I struggle through some basic spanish until we conclude that she needs backup. She employs the help of a younger assistant. We start playing charades. It's fun. I'm laughing but i've had a good morning. Eventually we find what I want, and i cock up the payment process by a) walking around in circles trying to work out where i pay, then where i pick it up, then shake a hand, then put the left foot in and do the hokie pokie. 30 reciepts later i have my notebook, sketchpad and a new pencil.

Hit the bricks, check out Kennedy park, walk down towards the water. See the pacific ocean. Massive. Waves breaking against dirty looking sand. A fog resting over the mountain in the distance. Beautiful, a dry beauty, with flat colours. Maybe i was still drunk. (the prequal to this story, one which exonirates my behaviour)

10 minutes before the taxi comes, i hit the pavement. Power walk up towards the hostel, get there on time, get my bags and greet the taxi man. Head back towards the airport. Check my Itinerary. Leaving 2:55pm on Friday the 19th. Check, check check. Im as good as there.

Castro my taxi amigo and i juggle spanish and english words and phrases with each other until we get bored. (he told me that Grande means large or big, and i wondered where our conversation had strayed for him to feel the need to explain that, and then i wondered what we were actually talking about, then i felt awkward, tired and a bit hungry. Decided to quiten down) I then asked what value a Un Neuvu Sol coin was. Took him 10 minutes to explain, and me 5 to understand "1". Imagine a conversation between a dog and a cat. That was the taxi..

5 minutes from the airport, i start to feel nauseaus, and hungry. Gotta eat something. Up ahead i notice a large LG Digital Clock, the big type that scroll through the time, weather, date etc. i note the time on the clock, 2:10pm. Perfect. I note the weather, about 20 degrees. mmm balmy shorts were a good decision. well done... I note the date... i pause... i think... I check my itinerary. I check the date. I check my watch, i check the clock, i check my phone. I check my email on my phone. I say a swear word. Castro nods and explains that Grande means big in spanish.

Takes Castro and i another 10 minutes to reach an understanding of the situation. He laughs. I laugh. I say another swear word. And then ask him the spanish word for idiot. he tells me that a un neauvo coin means 1 sol.

Get back to the hostel, 75sols later (about 30 bucks). All booked out. Hit the bricks to find a place to sleep. Consider going homeless for the night. There are worse places to sleep in the world. Decide against. What would mum say? Hungover, tired, deflated, exhausted. Think about mi amigo Castro. He kept repeating Primo. I didn't understand. He said it meant "me" i felt embarrased.

Found a place to stay, move in, start chillin. Get some food, lunch, chicken sandwich, chicken is too dry but the banana milkshake is mad. a tad warm. No ice. (not because i'm precious about dirty water, if its food i'll eat it. I spent nearly $100 aussie dollars on gastro medication and i intend to push it to the limits), because you don't put ice in a milkshake dummy. Blocks at least. And peruvians obviously dont have room in their fridges for milk.

Store the food in my stomach. It's safer there, and my body temp can keep the milk warm. Total south american camillion. Hit the bricks again. Sit in the park. Write. Listen to some music. Feel better. Laugh. Decide to draw. open up my new sketch pad only to discover it's lined paper not sketch paper. Swear. Think about Castro. He'd say grande is spanish for large.

Enter the stationary shop. Find the same young girl. Make eye contact. She smiles, she remembers our previous game of charades. I start again. Explaining with my body that this... pad... has... lines..., i.. didnt.. want... lines.., can.. i.. swap.. it..? She dances back at me... you... need... your... money... no... book... no... reciept. BOO YA... Search for my reciept. Not there. I start charades again. not... there... i... dont... have... it. Our game must seem like fun because others come to join in. And soon we are all talking with our hands and faces. We tire of the game. I think i won. They reward my prowess at charades by doing me a solid and replacing the pad. Victory is sweet. I tell them it was the best part of my day. And throw them the Thai sign of respect. For some reason it seemed appropriate.

Back to the park. Sun starts to set. Start drawing with a smile on my face. Life is good.