Day 111 - The One With the Raw Chicken

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Sundays in South America are closedown days. After the language barrier reared its ugly head again and we were dropped off at the wrong hotel (so frustrating not being able to communicate) we explored the town to find nothing open whatsoever, aside from a small cafe where we had a dish I will soon be/am already bored of: chicken, rice and beans. When someone struck up a conversation with us in English I naively entered into it, but of course no-one speaks to you unless they want to sell you something - he was a jungle tour operator. At hearing what hostel we were staying at, he spun us a story about going there for breakfast every day (as if) and said he would meet us there tomorrow and take us to his office.

We spent the afternoon at an ice cream cafe watching the world cup final - a shame Brazil weren't in it as there was no atmosphere. For dinner we needed something cheap and nearby, so grabbed some kebabs from a street BBQ outside our hostel. We were so proud of ourselves for finding such a cheap and tasty meal, until I bit into my chicken and saw that it was bright pink and raw. Hurriedly spitting it out (and then continuing to spit for a good five minutes!) I spent the evening worrying about the food poisoning that awaited me...

Chris's Corner

Why does it always happen to Sophie!? Of course, if one of us was going to bite into raw chicken it had to be Sophie!

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