Oooh, my poor body.
It all comes back to me in a wave of weakness as I slowly stir, grabbing at the tail of a dream I’m being pulled out of. I fear that the smallest movement might set a freight train on the loose.
Hello friend! I surely hope you’ve been better than me.
Oruro is a god-awful, no-good lousy town. I make up my mind as soon as I jump out of the bus and the poignant smell of piss and trash hit me, a cocktail so typical to third-world towns and bus stations but which I have so far successfully avoided in Bolivia. It’s close to midnight, my mouth hurts and I’m alone in a new city that looks like a suburb to a violent Wild West village. I stomp past a woman yelling for passengers to the bus to Cochabamba, my next destination, and I long to jump on it and leave behind the empty, dark streets of this useless town, but I’m in need of a nice sleep and a thorough toothbrushing session even more, so I trudge along. more “Sunday postcard from… Oruro, Bolivia”
Hello friend, how are you?
This postcard is going to reach you late. (Just blame the South American postal service and hope that it doesn’t take as long as it took for that care package mum sent me from Finland – I can’t believe I waited five months for a bloody cheese slicer.) Actually, I’ll probably arrive home before this card does. I’ve been doing the maths, adding up numbers like a diligent little first-grader since that is about the level of maths that has been required in order to complete my calculations. Let me just catch you up to speed: more “Sunday postcard from… Machu Picchu, Peru”