Lima and Lime

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So we'll give this a try, see how often it's written and, most importantly, read.

After twelve and one half hours in seat 40D (aisle) it was nice to get moving again, if only to the queue of customs and immigration. No particular problems encountered here but the baggage claim was an arse of a different colour altogether.
I spotted a screen over a baggage belt displaying 'MADRID' and as I'd just arrived from there I figured I was onto a sure thing. The bags were already out and revolving like those tubs of sushi in Dundrum shopping purgatory so I took up my place and waited. And waited. And waited. Images of incompetant baggage handlers in three different airports swam into my subconcious and the red mist began to seep southwards. "Please, please, no. Please, fucking no."
When I was one of the last standing there with clenched fists, and a plastic bag from Wrights Duty Free with 40 Barry's Gold Blend, and no luggage, a kindly gentleman who was on my flight pointed out I was standing at the wrong belt. I tried to make out that I knew that, but who was I kidding?
Over on the opposite carousel was a lonely grey 80l rucksack with my name on it, going round in circles. I was saved, and realised once again that signs are never to be completely trusted. Which is fine, because they're all in bloody Spanish anyway.

The hostel, one of the chain I'll be working in in La Paz, is fine in a cramped and full of young types kind of way. All are tanned and generally cheerful and friendly towards each other. Contrary to my previous image of a single room overlooking the Pacific I've been billeted in a dorm of eight (8) beds, some occupied by girls. This morning I was treated to filthy looks and slamming doors which I immediately put down to my snoring, farting, or unsightly hairy back. Or all three. But hey, I've just arrived from Ireland so I've a bit of work to do to get Flashman handsome again. But I don't really care about them, they're young and will no doubt bounce back. And everyone has a travel story about the snoring, farting, hairy Irishman.

This evening I took a stroll down along the Pacific coast. The pathway runs along the top of cliffs hugging the coastline and it's an impressive sight. I forgot to take my camera as I was really scouting for pharmacies and hadn't meant to wander so far. In the end I found a collection of shops and restaurants carved into the side of the cliffs and after parking the arse in a suitable spot ordered a chinese salad and a coffee. I've no idea what made the salad a chinese one but it was tasty enough, while the coffee arrived in a fancy glass with a handle. Style over substance of course as the coffee was supped in two supps. But it didn't matter; the sun going down over the Pacific horizon was substance enough. It kind of put a lot of things in easy perspective. A bit too much bloody perspective, as David St Hubbins might say; the Xanax was wearing off and it was time to head back and snore the shit out of some more poor saps.

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Comments

[nooly]

i hate those healthy tanned hostel bastards

[Marcin Miklosina]

How ye Kenno
Well done Ken! Put some more stuff on here. It sounds very interesting so far. Good luck and a Happy New Year! :)

[Johnny]

You learn something new every day
Quality stuff Ken keep it coming. Although I never knew you'd a hairy back, you think you know someone...

[Kevin O Toole]

keep it coming
Well written Ken, felt like I was there with you. Except I'm not, still here in grey ole Dublin. Take it easy, Kevin

[Em]

Damn! I would have loved to see a pic!