Our bicycling tour ended Friday and we were dumped at our guesthouse in Cusco. We waited patiently and rang the bell a zillion times... no response. So, we taped a note to the door and headed to find the nearest cafe. Before we got to the top of the block, a man called my name. It was Mario, who ran the guesthouse. He apologized saying it was lunchtime, therefore no one was around. He walked us back to the guesthouse and unlocked the door.
Once inside, he said that he had an upgrade for us... but also, a small problem: it's located in a different building. Ahhh, the joys of foreign travel. Due to the local Strikes, the person in our room was still there...but he had a better place for us- an apartment, in a better neighborhood, but it was further from the city center. We decided to have a look.
We accepted the change as the apartment was really sweet, large and private, and in Santa Monica a quiet and safe neighborhood.
After we were left alone in our new digs, my heart continued to thump loudly in my chest, my thoughts zoomed. I also had feelings of sadness that tends to happen to me when anything comes to an end. (A weekend away, holiday, friends visiting,etc.) The bike tour was over, our two-week companions gone separate ways; we were on our own again, to make all decisions, with no safety net.
Truth be told, I always have bouts of anxiety whilst traveling (and at home too) as I do suffer from a mental disorder. Unfortunately the anxiety lasted the entire evening but dissipated after a good night's slumber in a super comfy bed.
Last time we were in Cusco, C was terribly ill with the mountain sickness; this time I came down with a cold. After cycling a day that included extreme temperature changes as well as altitude changes, this time I couldn't withstand the dry air of Cusco and I succumb to a cough and cold. Fortunately, C and I had a few days here to rest and recuperate before my next adventures.
Hi, I'm Reverend J, a queer+ sober wanderer, activist, writer and ordained minister.