Goodbye Señor Fargo...or how my loss of 67 cents can seem so insignificant now.

We should have been miserable coming off a 20 hour bus ride, but finished the trip feeling really well rested and happy. It had us confused for a bit, untill we remembered we are out of Bolivia and have made it back to a country that has figured out how to pave its roads. Pleasant.

We finished Cusco with a day of white water rafting, and now, I think when I grow up I want to be a professional rafter. I am sure NASA will be disapponted to find it lost a potential astronaut, just as most banks have lost a potential bank president, but they will have to get along as well as they can without me. Pro rafter it is.

We got back to Lima for a few days of easy living. We are staying in a completely non touristed neigborhood, and everybody loves to practice pronouncing "Hello" to us, although some just laugh at us as we carry our laundry around the same block 3 or 4 times looking for the lavanderia. Eventually somebody grabbed us and dragged us there, as apparently, their guts were hurting too much from laughing at the dumb gringos, that they couldn't stand it anymore.

Yesterday, in an attempt to try something cultural in which we could also make lots of easy money, we went to the horse races down here. We bought a program and followed everybody else inside untill a security guard grabbed us and started telling us something. He seemed to be talking in spanish, but as I'm a little tired of listening to that language, I just let what he was saying slip right over my head. Zenly, I smiled and went where he pointed, not knowing why. Only much later did we realize what we did wrong...we were white in a poor Peruvian zone. Knowing what a headache it would be for him to fill out the forms detailing our upcoming robberies and/or murders, he did what any lazy policeman would do, ushered us into the VIP section. Nice.

Our luck was looking up and the bets seemed promising. My hamburger even appeared to be made of real meat. That was cool. As tradition dictates, Lycia and I then proceded to lose bet after bet. A horse named after local homegrown pirate Laffite managed to make me look good by outrunning his limp front leg and finishing 5th. My best bet of the day, though, was saved for the last race, a horse with promise and decent odds named Señor Fargo. Maybe we would still be able to pay for our too nice for our budget hotel room tonight after all.

You ever hear a horseplayer use the expression, "My horse was off to a great start, but then he just seemed to die"? I, myself, have said that before, but it always was just that...an expression, maybe a metaphor. This time it was pretty much what happened.

Señor Fargo, god rest his soul, went off to a quick start, 6 legnths in the lead, and besides after the first bite of my burger, it was the only real chance I had to cheer all day. Then he faded, fast, and my attention wandered. Lycia's horse managed to finish second to last (pretty good for her that day) and as my horse was not behind him, I rubbed her nose in the fact that my horse at least beat hers.

Then we looked at the commotion well back on the track...Señor Fargo and his jockey were both laying down, neither moving. Five minutes passed and eventually, the jockey got carted off towards the hospital in an ambulance. Nobody knows where poor Señor Fargo got carted off to, but I hope it was heaven. In all my years at the racetrack, I never saw a horse break its neck and die in an accident before, and I hope I don't soon again. Especially a horse I bet on.

We left the racetrack a little sadder than we came, and now even my memories of my delicious hamburger make me shiver and wonder a little. Señor Fargo, I hardly knew you, but remember, there was always someone who had faith in you. I think I'll go back to poker now, thank you.

We had some Pisco Sours in honor of Señor Fargo and woke up wishing we had one less. That led us to the walk of shame. I eat everything when we travel, from ice cream made from Bolivian mystery water to whatever animal someone is willing to kill and cook for me. It was knowing that, that I felt like the biggest American tourist douche walking up to the Pizza Hut. "I'm interesting!" "I like your culture and food!", I just wanted to shout to those who saw me walk in..."I'm not a douche" Instead, I sucked it up, accepted the jeers and ate the best darn pizza I've had in 6 weeks...If our armies could be as efficently exported as our fast food industries, the world would be a different place indeed.

We then made it to the Inquisition museum, and for the millionth time this trip, we got to ask, "So, are Catholics completely insane, or what?" I recomend this museum to anyone with 5 minutes to spare...the mannequins make really funny faces when tortured.

Bonus quiz: When on a bus in western Peru a cute, but weathered, old lady approaches Lycia and I and explains that she is holding too many coca leaves (she had several large bags) so is actually breaking the law. She tries to explain that a police checkpoint is coming and she needs us to hold one of her bags between us and tell the police it is ours. When we suggest she put it on one of the upper luggage racks, she says she can't, and she really needs us to hold it, but not to worry, everything will be fine and we will not get in trouble.

Quiz question...What do we do? Answers can be left in the comment section...results to come.

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