A laptop, a guitar and an idiot.

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
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Trip End Ongoing


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Flag of Peru  ,
Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Another mighty effort to drag ourselves up for an early bus into Peru.  As time progresses it becomes apparent that to do this at night would have been pretty damn stupid.  Although the border crossing itself is the fastest and most hassle free I've experienced so far, arriving in the arid town of Tumbes feels sketchy.  Doing this in the dark with no idea where to stay the night would have been asking for trouble.  Paddy doesn't hesitate to rub it in that travel by day was his idea.  He's currently up on me three good decisions to one.  Bastard.

You don't want to stick around here for long, and be very careful of being charged 'Gringo' prices.  We learned the hard way, and coughed up double compared to locals for the min-bus to Mancora.  It certainly felt a lot more shady than Ecuador, and has a similar feel to that of the North of Mexico.  Somewhere you definitely don't want to be spending time in. 

After a sweaty and cramped couple of hours worrying about our back packs on the roof and trying to snatch some sleep, we arrive in Mancora.  It's a small beach town with Peru's best waves and sands apparently.  I wouldn't care a jot about that, as I'm going to totally hate it.  With shades of San Juan already returning, we fail to get into Hostel Loki, which is probably a good thing.  It's a resort more than a hostel, filled with pissed up back packers, most of whom actually seem to be from England.  Those typical 'English abroad' types that get on everyones wick with their decibels, melodrama, and ignorance.  Twats basically.  We move further up the smelly main road to find something else.

The memories come flooding back.  It looks similar, sounds similar, smells similar and has similar delinquents running amok through it's dusty streets.  It has similar filthy stray mutts with frothing mouths prowling for scraps.  It has similar beach bum swagger and dread locked hair.  It has Bob Marley posters and Che Guevara t-shirts.  It's a nasty little hole where people end up staying for months.  It's San Juan Del Sur all over again, and I'd better get out of here fast, otherwise I might end up liking somewhere shit.  Again.

We're not allowed into Loki's when we return for a beer later, although we were told we could drop by for a drink.  The gate guard clearly doesn't realise we'd be spending money in the place, and demands we have a wrist band.  Protests are met with a blank look, as always, so we make our way into the quiet town.  It's 9pm and we're informed nothing gets going until 2am.  Paddy is adamant we need to go home and not force the party, but guess who is resigned to staying out, on a total mission to find a nice girl, get drunk, and then not be able to do anything?  With the help of a couple of like minded Aussies, I persuade him to stay and have the craic.

It turns into a mess.  Once again we buy drinks for people, including a bottle of rum which we consume on the beach.  I spend an hour or so playing street soccer with a load of kids while I'm pretty much in an alcoholic stupor.  Eventually the girls come out, I dance like a loon, nearly fall off a bar, pick a fight with someone much bigger than me and speak to a lovely girl from Moscow but fail to get her details.  This is because I don't have a pen.  I can't find a pen anywhere. 

"Paddy!  Get me a pen!" I yell, demanding he use his Spanish.  I don't think he even knows it's me asking.

"Oh well" she smiles, you'll just have to come out tomorrow otherwise it's not meant to be."

I assure you I have no intention of being here tomorrow, so I turn and thrash up the road in a drunken huff, Paddy in tow.  When I get back to the room, I pick up my laptop and guitar and march right back out onto the darkened street, with the soul purpose of finding her and getting her details typed in.  "Don't" mumbles the helpful Paddy, in a mongoloid attempt to stop me.  I've got that head on though.  THAT head.  The head that keeps getting me into bother.

You read that right.  My laptop and guitar.  I have no idea what the hell was going through my mind.  There I was, guitar slung over my back, laptop in full view, stomping down the road to where she was last seen.  What on earth was I going to say had I arrived at the bemused group with an electrical item and six string?  "Ahhh...I'm glad I caught you...could you please enter your email address, and while you're at it I'm going to play you a tune?"  "Right you fuckers, who wants my laptop and who wants to hear Wonderwall?!"  I've done some stupid things in my time, but that is definitely up there with the best of them.  I wonder if I thought I was being romantic?  I was just being a total dick.

Needless to say she wasn't there, as she'd gone off with the big guy I tried to have a fight with earlier.  I manage to get myself, guitar and laptop back to the room intact, and pass out on a pile of laundry.  Tomorrow a lot needs to come out in the wash.




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