I’ve been very inactive for the last couple of days, apart from the area between my ribs and hips, which is furiously busy. Whether I have poisoned myself or not (I’m blaming bad, yet delicious, gambas from a restaurant), I do not feel good.
Being ill and not eating leaves me in a very peculiar state, I am simultaneously hungry and repulsed by food. This is particularly acute as I walk back from Spanish. The Bolivians love a road-side treat: the air is thick with rotisserie chicken, fat chorizo and other salchichas (sausages) being griddled, wafer-thin slices of sizzling llama steak, and empanadas (delish Bolivian pasties) winking enticingly. I love and hate these meaty treats equally; when I am well, I am going to EAT!
The short walk to Spanish or a café for its internet connection have been my entire time outside. On route, I’ve been surprised by the various types of entertainment at traffic lights: jugglers, singers, guitarists and people doing that spinning a plastic thing on string, they’re all out plying their trade. It’s like a visiting a rubbish circus every time the lights are against you. And once I saw a man in a zebra outfit directing the traffic.
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