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Published: March 13th 2015
When I awoke at 8am in the hammock on top of the hostel roof I noticed that the clouds in the morning sky were passing by Buenos Aires much faster than they pass by the UK. At first I wondered if I could have been drunk but then I reassured myself by the thought
‘No this happens because the earth is round and the earth tilts on an axis so it is likely that some parts of the earth spin through the atmosphere faster than others. This must be one of those parts of the earth that spin faster than others.’
The earth is indeed round, and does tilt on an axis and clouds do tend to linger longer over the UK than in Buenos Aires due to the UK being an island but my worst fears had been confirmed - the simple fact of the matter was that I was either drunk or I had an upset stomach, which I was reminded of during the day when I was sick time and time again until I slept for the whole afternoon.
Before I’d slept for the afternoon I cried a lot. I’d been extremely tired for about seven days now even though I was sleeping well at night and eating well during the day, and not doing very much more. Basic tasks such as writing my blog were becoming difficult, I lacked concentration and irresistible but exhausting adventures were coming to me without me looking for them. I’d arrived in Buenos Aires with a to do list with enough action to fill 20 exciting days, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t muster up the energy to even do one of them. For me that is very unusual as usually when I'm travelling a good nights sleep combined with a positive attitude the next day would catapult me into new adventures regardless of how traumatic and tiring the previous day had been. I’d face the next morning with optimism . Here this wasn’t happening. I didn’t enjoy the fast turnover of people in the hostel. Once I’d got friendly with Elizabeth and Martin I was happy to just spend time with them as I liked both of them as people. When they weren’t around I was more than happy to write my blog, reflect on what I’d learned and occasionally glance at the pictures on the hostel wall of Johnny Cash, Carlos Gardel, Bob Dylan, Alberto Omedo and Che Guevara with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I felt that as they were pictures I didn’t need to smell Che’s cigar, talk to them or worry about them robbing me. That alone was comforting.
I realised that the speed of the adventures (both good and bad) had finally caught up with me – the .........................................................................................................
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