Stink-making gross machines...

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(I'm tired and will not have a chance to proofread this for a bit...read only if that doesn{t scare you)

That´s what has become of us, it seems that is all we are now. Where once there were two thinking, sentient, human beings with emotions and feelings to share, there are now just two gastroenterological wrecks.

For me this is hardly a problem, as a fellow for whom the word 'civilized' has hardly been used as a description, I had little to lose. Lycia, on the other hand, as previous to now well mannered young lady, has fallen quite far. The ravages of Bolivian/Peruvian cuisines are merciless.

The four day Salar de Uyuni trip (a month ago, blog forthcoming, eventually) was where we were blinsided first, and by an enemy we never suspected...a pizza. It looked so good at the time, and more importantly, was not served with the criminally overused Bolivian sides of plain white rice and soggy french fries. PWR&SFF are more than a side to Bolivians, more of a staple, served with meals as often as, say, plates are in the United States. Every freaking meal, brakfast, lunch and dinner...you can hope and pray, but PR&SFF will show up, regardless of what you order...unless you order pizza, which Bolivians, trying to impress us gringo tourists with how wordly thay are, make alot.

Anyway, a Salar de Uyini trip consists of 4 days in a Land Rover going over all kinds of unearthly terrain, and in Lycia and I´s case, puking all over the darn place. On ancient ruins for instance. Or on the toilet seat of the only working bathroom in an ice cold town of 70 suckers. Then it´s time to pile back in the truck and burp up some putrid sulphuric smell that seemed to come from just outside Hades for a few hours. Vacation sure can be fun, especially for the two sweet Englishwomen we shared the truck with that day. Even I felt a tad bit of pity for them.

We were commited to 4 days of this, stinky puking truck riding unpleasantness, as there really was no turning back or stopping the tour in this remotest of remote spots from this trip, and our 4 day supply of toilet paper was gone in 6 hours. Amzingly, the mysterious beasts that possesed our stomaches actually left our bodies within 24 hours, and with some borrowed toilet paper, we eventually had a fine trip.

Actually, that whole trip was only a week after a keen 18 hour bus ride over jungle roads so pocked and pitted that they made my bar mitzvah pictures look good. For that ride I atr least had a strategy, as I knew it was coming...no eating or drinking for 24 hours before the trip, as a single bite of bread had me over the toilet for an hour...and no eating or drinking the entire day on the bus. It worked, but again made me wonder why this is a vacation again.

The third gastroenerological horror show of a bus ride was the one that changed me and Lycia´s relationship for good. Sometimes I get mad at her for not looking at me the same ever again, and sometimes I not only understand, but actually feel bad for what I put her through that night trying to get back to La Paz. I don´t even know what they were or where they came from, and there was a lot of googling as I tried to learn, but we have never smelled anything like the burps I had that night. Ever sniff a rotting corpse? I have, and would gladly have put one under my nose to chase away the smells coming out of me that night.

These things were bus clearing. It was below freezing outside and on our heaterless bus, the German girl in front of us kept opening her window in order to breathe. I didn´t like the look of her, and as someone who has found the majority of Germans to just be huge pricks, I still feel really bad for what I put her through. Girl, if you are reading this, I apologise...sincerely. Since burning my mom´s house down 20 years ago, I have not been sorry for much. This is the exception. These death burps exploded out once every 5 minutes for 12 hours, and Lycia was so disgusted, she couldn´t even cover for me by pretending to look around and try to figure out who did it. She just put her sleeping bag over her head and lurched away from me as quick as possible.

A month later, and everytime I let out a cute little innocent burp, she looks like her stomache is dropping in fear as she has just seen the walking dead. It has been really hurting my feelings, actually, but luckily, she can now keep her mouth shut about bad smells for awhile. A gentleman never tells, but he can make hints that lead to wild speculation, so let us simply say, we chose the wrong night to choose a hotel room with bathroom walls that didn´t reach the ceiling. Every sin I put upon her that night on the bus, I received equal (well, ok, not equal...nothing will ever match my accomplishments fro that night) punishment in return. We´ve stayed in Chiclayo longer than planned, and so far, mainly have done nothing.

Vactions sure can be fun.

On another funny note, I really enjoy when people from the big cities around here ask if we are scared of the crime in South America. What a joke, little sissies don´t realize that our murder rate in New Orleans is 5 - 10 times higher than theirs. Fools should be more scared of people from our hometown visiting their countries.

Incidentally, does anyone still read this stupid blog to actually learn something about the culture, politics, and geography of all the fascinating places Lycia and I go? You really shouldn´t.



RIP Señor Fargo

J&L

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