It’s hard writing this now, after being back for over 3 months. Mainly because I know how it all turns out, but partly because reflecting on it is surprisingly emotional. This story is now in my long-term memory. But it’s my duty to finish it, I owe it to myself.
I admit, my last entry was very boring. Probably the most boring blog post I’ve written. But when I got back, some people wanted to know why I came back and more to the point – why I came back so suddenly. As it's been a while - here's a re-cap: the truth is, it was time to come home. Time to get real and realise what I needed to do - take responsibility for my life, admit defeat and go back home. I wasn’t forced, it was a choice – my choice, a choice made because I didn’t want to swan off round the world on someone else’s cash. So I faced facts and made a decision. To put it mildly - decision making is something historically I’ve never been known for, but over the 10 months in South America I got used to trusting my gut instincts and making snap decisions.
Even the journey home can be an adventure in its self.
- I’m not just saying it, it’s true...
After booking my flight, I went straight to the souvenir market in Lima and went on a whirlwind tour picking up all the stuff I’d seen earlier that I’d half-planned to buy for the family.
Before I went to the airport, Fiorella and Mao (Mancora) took me for a farewell dinner. Neither of them liked to think of me leaving South America on an empty stomach and with bad feelings about Peru. I didn’t have bad feelings about Peru – but as you know enough was enough - so far 2010 had not been a good year.
I’d said goodbye to Victoria earlier that day, given her a big hug and waved as she took off in a taxi. Only a few hours later it was Fiorella’s turn to hug me goodbye and my turn to leave. The adventure was ending - badly. It ended in Lima – my least favourite place in South America. The only person that had the power to help me was my cousin, Bella. She offered me the opportunity to carry on and take the adventure to Mexico. Then, just like that, she took it away. Mainly because she suddenly had a boyfriend and in her usual selfish style couldn’t give a fuck about anyone else. But it turns out she's just one of many disappointing, fair-weather 'friends.'
Power Playlist
I got to the airport, checked in and did the usual airport stuff. Had a wander around duty free, bought myself some new headphones as I’d been using a pair bought in Buenos Aires airport on my way to Bolivia that ever since the day I got them, only 1 headphone worked.
I sat in the lounge and waited. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Pages and pages. I wanted to capture every moment, every feeling, whilst I was still there. I needed to record every memory before it became faded with time and travel. People were looking at me, wandering what the hell I was doing – what on earth was I frantically writing about, but I didn’t care. Then I sat back, composed myself and a playlist – a commemorative homecoming playlist.
I admit, I felt excited to be going home. I was up for it. I was ready. London didn’t seem like such a scary awful prospect compared to the soulless hustle and bustle of Lima that I’d been subjected to over the last two weeks. A place that I’d never liked but knew others that did. Things got messy in Mancora, but in Lima I was just numb and disappointed at my own failure to make Mancora fest happen and at having yet another disastrous relationship under my belt. I knew neither of those things were my fault - not this time – but I felt stupid for trying, I should’ve known better. Known better than to mix business with pleasure – South America should be pure pleasure, otherwise it just gets hard. I should’ve known better than to fall for a 19 year old Peruvian. But – we live and learn. What else can you do?
I wanted to listen to something that epitomised London at its best, it’s finest. I wanted to listen to The Clash, but it wasn’t ‘should I stay or should I go’ this time, this time it was ‘London Calling’. I felt a tingling throughout my entire body as I heard the instantaneously familiar high-pitched riff against the rumbling base guitar, and as the tinny drum intro kicked in it sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time in months I’d had a private musical moment all to myself and it was glorious. I suddenly felt a rare sense of patriotic pride: I’m from London. The ice age is coming. My heart pumped with excitement as Joe Strummer's anxt-filled vocals rang true in my ears. I was ready for the cold. I was ready to become the fatter, paler incarnation of myself once again.
Whether I like it or not, it’s in my blood. I was born there – in the West London hospital. I grew up there. I went to school there. I’ve worked there for years. I’ve lived there most of my life. And in my last year I was existing in the centre of it – W1 – old London.
I was two flights away but my heart felt like it was already back there. It was a good feeling and I wasn’t sad to be leaving Peru any more, the anxiety was over (“I just want it to stop”) and it was time – time to go home.
What a relief.
Proudest moments
Whilest waiting in the airport lounge, I had time to reflect and realise I had a lot of moments in the 10 months away that I can look back at with a sense of pride. When you’re away from home for any significant period of time, you can’t help but feel like you’ve progressed and achieved something.
Climbing Sugarloaf was and still is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Leaving Paraty and heading for Rio to try my luck and succeeding – at least for a while; getting to Bolivia on my own; not getting robbed, raped, lost or murdered - generally not dying. Picking the right people to talk to every time – when I say ‘right’ I mean the good people, honest people, interesting people – not the ‘cool’ people. But the really fucking cool people that I now know and love and will hopefully never forget or lose touch with.
Even singing karaoke for the first (and last) time in Cordoba, in front of a room full of people I’d just met, I can strangely look back at with pride –my ‘self’ in London would never have let me do that.
I’m also pretty proud of having the strength to walk away from the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever come in contact with, twice. But I was due for one more proud moment before touching down in Heathrow...
Sitting on the plane, waiting for take-off, I nodded off. A few hours later, I woke up on the runway. The runway at Lima airport. Nice. An announcement told us that they couldn’t take off that night because of poor weather conditions on the west coast of America. So we all got off the plane and were taken to the Sheraton hotel in Lima for a couple of hour’s sleep, before being shuttled back to the airport to do it all over again in the morning. Seemed pretty pointless to me, but the Winter Olympics were just about to start in Canada and I was flying with one of their official sponsors – Air Canada – so I cynically assumed they were avoiding any inopportune bad PR.
The Sheraton was nice enough, as corporate hotels go. Big, bland and over-priced. Luckily it was free. The breakfast was pretty good – I do like a buffet. We were rounded up and sent off in a bus back to the airport. I was sitting in-front of a particularly ignorant middle-aged Canadian man and a woman that I assumed was his wife. The lucky lady (and my good self) got a running commentary on everything that was going on out of the bus window: “look at that girl there, running, I wander what she’s doing. Look at these people, what are they doing. Oh it’s so busy; I wonder where all these people are going. ”- Erm – work maybe? It was like he’d never been in a city before. Lima is pretty generic as cityscapes go and it was 9 o’clock in the morning.
Take 2
We got to the airport and there was considerable Canadian confusion as people tried to go through check-in with yesterdays boarding pass. Eventually we were back on the plane and ready to do it all over again. This time we took off. A good start.
The journey itself was fine, I was exhausted but I only slept some of the way. When we arrived at Toronto we had to wait in line. Because of the previous delay, our next flight had to be changed. Which meant yet another hotel stay. As the Canadians were home, the remaining passengers in-transit were downgraded to a Holiday Inn, me included. I got to the front of the line and waited patiently. I was watching the people in front of me at the desk and it became apparent that this large collection of Peruvians couldn’t speak English and the Air Canada bloke couldn’t speak Spanish.
Aaahh - I think I can help out here.
I went over and asked the guy what the situation was. Then I explained what he’d told me to the Peruvians in Spanish. We needed to collect our hotel vouchers, plus some dinner vouchers, go and eat dinner in the airport on the 3rd floor, then get the shuttle bus to the Holiday Inn Express. This seemed fairly complicated, especially for 2 families, 2 young guys and another young guy on his own, when it’s their first time in an English speaking country without any grasp of the English language.
I knew the feeling well. When I was on the way from London to Brazil I was in a similar situation: I’d been told at Heathrow that I needed to change terminal when I got to Sao Paolo in order to make my connecting flight to Rio, which meant I had to collect my bags and check back in. It seemed odd, but at Heathrow - excited to be off on the trip of a lifetime, with no idea how it was going to turn out, where I’d end up and how long for – I didn’t question it. When I arrived at Sao Paolo airport and failed to find the baggage reclaim, I attempted to communicate with the airport staff.
As we know, I arrived in Brazil with ‘obrigada’ and left with ‘obrigada’. It was stressful. No one could understand me or help me. So eventually, I cried. Then a Brazilian woman, who was on her way home from learning English in London, came over and helped me.
I’d shown my e-ticket to the airport man and she explained that there were 2 airports in Sao Paolo and I needed to change airport. Long tings. This would have been a bus ride away and by that point, I may not have made the flight. So she negotiated me onto her flight to Rio from the airport we were standing in and arranged for my luggage to be transferred with me. I was so grateful that someone had helped me out. It served me right for a) buying the cheapest flight to Brazil and b) not reading the ticket properly at any point.
The Peruvians however were all heading to Tokyo and through no fault of their own, were stranded in Toronto with 5 children and A LOT of luggage. I felt compelled to help them. From the moment I got there, South America had shown me immense love and kindness; I’d experienced the kind of hospitality and selfless gestures you rarely get on home-turf.
So I took the now group of 10 up to the 3rd floor and helped them redeem their meal tickets. It turned out the Asian man with an English accent that worked behind the counter at one of the food restaurants in Toronto could speak Spanish, randomly – maybe he should have been behind the air Canada desk instead of Roy who’d thanked me profusely for helping out Air Canada. Erm, not quite mate – but yeah whatever.
We ate our cheap burgers and headed for the shuttle bus terminal to wait for our bus. The Holiday Inn bus arrived after a fairly long wait outside in Canada, in February, at -8 degrees – IN FLIPFLOPS. But it turns out it was not meant to be. We needed the Holiday Inn Express bus and we couldn’t possibly take the Holiday Inn bus. I tried to bargain with the bus driver, but she wasn’t buying it. It was my first taste of nonsense western capitalist system bullshit in a while; it’s definitely more frustrating than bizarre Bolivian bus nonsense that exists because of a LACK of system.
After a few false starts, me and the boys insisted that the women and children wait inside in the relatively warm, while we looked out for the Holiday Inn Express bus. We waited and waited and waited. Every time a bus came into view we thought ‘this is it’, and then it wasn’t. I ran back inside few times to speak to the help desk woman Carol, who was actually really helpful. Carol and I called the Holiday Inn Express a few times and every time they insisted that the shuttle bus would be around any time soon.
Two and a half hours later the Holiday Inn Express bus arrived at Toronto airport. Needless to say, my toes were freezing, but I hadn’t died of hypothermia. I win. We boarded the bus, shivering. I couldn’t wait to get to the Holiday Inn (Express) and get into a nice warm, comfy bed. En-route two of the boys gave me a scarf from Peru. It’s black and made from Alpaca wool. They’d bought a load to take to Japan and sell when they got there. One of the others gave me a carved wooden key ring. It was a sweet moment, I was touched.
We got to the hotel and I checked myself in. The manager was expecting us because I’d spoken to him on the phone whilst waiting for the bus at the airport. I explained the situation to him. He couldn’t speak Spanish either, so he asked me if I could help him check everyone in. I was knackered. My eyes had almost stopped working so I was wearing my glasses for the first time in nearly a year to give them some sort of chance of focussing, I was greasy, disgusting and in serious need of a hot shower.
We checked them in, got their wake-up calls sorted and determined who had their boarding passes for their flight to Tokyo the next morning and who did not. Once that was sorted it was time for bed, but first – the goodbyes. One of the mums asked me why I wasn’t coming to the airport with them in the morning – I explained that I was on an earlier flight to London and they’d be alright. Bless her. After a barrage of byes, thank yous, and good lucks, I finally got to my room, cleaned myself, got into bed and turned on the TV and watched the only thing on at 2am - ice hockey.
I fell asleep with a good feeling and one thought: I can speak Spanish. Sort of.
***
I’m going to let you into a secret. Well, it’s not much of a secret – it’s pretty obvious if you think about it. Since meeting Gwilly in Paraty I was on a mission. Pretty much all along I was looking for a Latino. I wanted to settle down with a nice South American man so I could live there forever and never have to leave. I wanted to fall in love and never have to come back to my life in London. Never have to go back to the rat race. Just be free forever. But it didn’t turn out like that.
Instead I learned a lot. Made a lot of good friends. Had some unforgettable experiences and had an amazing adventure.
So I’ll leave you with the words that I thought of as I flew away from the most incredible time of my life.
In the words of Jagger & Richards: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you’ll find you get what you need.
©
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Fight or flight
When I left Mancora I didn’t have any more fight in me to deal with Mario and the exciting new ways he’d come up with to cause me anxiety every day. I was thinking of going back because he was coming to Lima, potentially for two months. That would buy me two months in Mancora to earn some money, relatively stress free. After the lift to Mancora not happening I decided it was a sign from the universe telling me I shouldn’t go back there. Luckily I’d had the foresight to take all my belongings with me so I didn’t HAVE to go back for anything.
I did have some money of Lorena’s that I needed to give back to her, but I could wire it to her somehow at a later date.
Lima – the city that style forgot
Peru had started to really do my head in - the retardedness of everything in Lima was getting to me - for example people’s inability to walk properly. I don’t mean disabled people. I mean people stopping suddenly in the middle of the pavement, walking all over the place, bumping in to you on purpose. Then there’s the traffic that doesn’t stop for anyone, you have to watch out or it will run you down – it’s not as bad as La Paz where they’ll actually speed up if they see a gringo crossing the road – but La Paz has redeeming features, Lima doesn’t. It’s just a polluted lump of buildings, cars and people by the sea. Void of character, soul and charm.
It was boring; the almost two weeks I spent there were mostly rubbish. But I needed to get my head straight and it worked. It reminded me of everything that I hate about cities. I hated it more than I hated London. Lima also reminded me of the good things about cities… shopping. Yes I know, it’s consumerism, I know it’s the big capitalist machine sucking me in making me buy things I probably don’t really need. But when Victoria and I had gone shopping when she first arrived and I got to the Clinique counter at Falabella, a department store in Miraflores – I spent some of my birthday money on products. Well needed skincare products. For some reason - possibly the combination of cheap make-up, dirty water, dust, poor diet, dehydration and stress - Peru was incredibly bad for my skin. This was the first time I’d seen a Clinique counter since July (when I was browsing around Buenos Aires airport for half a day) and it felt good.
Locked in a cupboard inside my own head
That Thursday night after the lift to Mancora fell through; I was offered a job at Kokopelli. But Victoria reminded me that I hate Lima, so why on earth would I want to work in a hostel there? She had a point. And she was leaving Lima the next day, what would I do without her? I didn’t know what to do, so I drank. Normally a happy drunk, I thought this would be a great idea.
I asked Victoria if I could see the photos from my birthday. As I skipped through the pictures on her camera I was horrified. Everyone looked happy, we were all having fun. But I looked emaciated. My shoulders were smaller than my arms and you could see the bones in my chest through my skin. I’d never seen myself like that before and it was a real wake-up call to how ridiculous things had become. During the aforementioned shopping trip I’d bought some shorts because all my clothes were too big for me. They were the smallest ones I could find – 26 inch waist – and they were baggy. I knew I’d lost a lot of weight, but that was disgusting.
Fiorella showed up at one point, as did Micaela but I consumed half a bottle of rum on my own, talked to Fiorella about Mancora, cried then passed out in a hostel bed. Nice.
Four and a half hours later I was awoken by a man. And not in a good way. This douche who obviously worked in the hostel had woken me up because he thought I might be Lydia who needed her 7:30am wake up call. I wasn’t Lydia and I didn’t need a 7:30am wake up call. Then he proceeded to wake up each girl in the room to check if they were Lydia. Now – beds in hostels have numbers and when you check in, you are assigned a specific bed. Surely he could have just checked which bed number Lydia was in, gone to her bed and JUST woken her up? Clearly not.
I was awake but tired. I couldn’t go back to sleep because the guy in the top bunk next to mine was snoring. Lucky him. Not only was he snoring but he was snoring weirdly. It was gross and kind of disturbing. Then he stopped. Then he started again. So I sat up, leaned over and whacked him round the head with my pillow and told him to shut up. See – I told you I was losing the plot. Luckily, he just looked confused and went straight back to sleep.
I got up, got my lap top and went to the empty roof bar and went online. Steph had written on my wall: where in the world is Charlotte Braoadribb. She’d spelt my last name wrong. My first response was: nowhere. My second response was: Locked in a cupboard inside my own head. Which pretty much summed it up. A location one cannot pinpoint on Google maps.
I spoke to some friends online and yet again I was offered money by a dear friend of mine in the UK. They didn’t like the idea of me being in a random country on my own with no money. I spoke to Kelly (The Team) on Skype and Victoria appeared online too. I told her to come up and speak to Kelly with me. It was nice to see her and talk but the connection was shit.
After that Victoria and I headed out for some breakfast. As I was walking down the road I walked off. When the hostel douchebag had woken me up earlier, I was having a dream about my mum. All morning I had an incredible urge to call her. So I went to a locutorio and tried to dial the number. It didn’t work. I freaked out a bit then went to find Victoria.
I went over to her table where she was sitting with 3:59 and went off on one: I can’t even speak to my own mother and no one will help me. I don’t know how to make a call I asked the guy in the locutorio and he was fucking useless. I know its ‘developing’ country, but for fucks sake.
An American lady on the next table overheard and said if I need to speak to my mother the guy she was with would let me borrow his phone to make the call. I said thanks but it was ok. Then she insisted. I went up to this guys office that was next door to the café. Discovered you have to put 00 before the 44 when dialling England (not just the one 0) and dialled.
She didn’t answer. I tried again. She answered. “Hello mum, it’s me.”
We talked for 45 minutes. After contacting The Mothership I was visibly calmer and happier.
Souvenirs
Victoria had some shopping to do. She was a month away from going home and she had to add to her suitcase full of souvenirs that she’d bought for most of the people she knew back home, so we went to a market. We’d tried to go for a tarot reading first to work out what I needed to do, but the place was closed – a sign from the universe? Or did I know what I needed to do already?
As we were walking around the huge market that sells all things genuinely Peruvian, plus a few ‘’Made in China’ imports, I was looking around at all the nice things – I’d get that for dad, that for mum… I didn’t buy anything, but I knew I was going home.
My adventure all along had been fun and exciting, I had some interesting cultural experiences and some challenges, but I learnt my most valuable lessons in the last two months. The universe made me stay in Peru and teach me about life and money. It was when I first got to Brazil that I realised how much capitalism and consumerism in the western world – particularly in the UK & US – is out of control and out of proportion.
Peru had taught me that there are people in the world, working every day of the week, every day of the year, even on Christmas day trying to earn as much money as possible to make a better life for themselves, their families and their future.
Talking to Fiorella and Luciano made me realise that no matter how I feel about ‘the system’ it’s there, this is how the world works, and at the moment there’s nothing I can do about it, so I might as well use it to my advantage.
Flight
Even though everyone at home was telling me to keep travelling, don’t come back to cold, miserable England I realised I needed to take responsibility for myself and my financial situation. Despite the economic crisis, London should still be the best place for me to earn money – good money – and sort myself out. Suddenly the idea of going home, eating good food three times a day and earning some good old fashioned Pounds Sterling didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
When we got back to Miraflores after our shopping trip, I went online again – I’d received an email from my Dad that clearly stated he’d lend me money for my flight home, but he wouldn’t lend me money to fly anywhere else – such as Rio – which I had mentioned to my mother earlier on the phone.
I looked on Expedia.com and found a cheap flight from Lima to London that flew out that night. It was only 900 and something dollars which is about £632. Nice. I decided I should take it. Once I’ve made a decision, its best that I act on it immediately, otherwise there’s room for faffing around- and there’s no time like the present. So I called my Dad and asked him to book it for me – he did.
©
I did have some money of Lorena’s that I needed to give back to her, but I could wire it to her somehow at a later date.
Lima – the city that style forgot
Peru had started to really do my head in - the retardedness of everything in Lima was getting to me - for example people’s inability to walk properly. I don’t mean disabled people. I mean people stopping suddenly in the middle of the pavement, walking all over the place, bumping in to you on purpose. Then there’s the traffic that doesn’t stop for anyone, you have to watch out or it will run you down – it’s not as bad as La Paz where they’ll actually speed up if they see a gringo crossing the road – but La Paz has redeeming features, Lima doesn’t. It’s just a polluted lump of buildings, cars and people by the sea. Void of character, soul and charm.
It was boring; the almost two weeks I spent there were mostly rubbish. But I needed to get my head straight and it worked. It reminded me of everything that I hate about cities. I hated it more than I hated London. Lima also reminded me of the good things about cities… shopping. Yes I know, it’s consumerism, I know it’s the big capitalist machine sucking me in making me buy things I probably don’t really need. But when Victoria and I had gone shopping when she first arrived and I got to the Clinique counter at Falabella, a department store in Miraflores – I spent some of my birthday money on products. Well needed skincare products. For some reason - possibly the combination of cheap make-up, dirty water, dust, poor diet, dehydration and stress - Peru was incredibly bad for my skin. This was the first time I’d seen a Clinique counter since July (when I was browsing around Buenos Aires airport for half a day) and it felt good.
Locked in a cupboard inside my own head
That Thursday night after the lift to Mancora fell through; I was offered a job at Kokopelli. But Victoria reminded me that I hate Lima, so why on earth would I want to work in a hostel there? She had a point. And she was leaving Lima the next day, what would I do without her? I didn’t know what to do, so I drank. Normally a happy drunk, I thought this would be a great idea.
I asked Victoria if I could see the photos from my birthday. As I skipped through the pictures on her camera I was horrified. Everyone looked happy, we were all having fun. But I looked emaciated. My shoulders were smaller than my arms and you could see the bones in my chest through my skin. I’d never seen myself like that before and it was a real wake-up call to how ridiculous things had become. During the aforementioned shopping trip I’d bought some shorts because all my clothes were too big for me. They were the smallest ones I could find – 26 inch waist – and they were baggy. I knew I’d lost a lot of weight, but that was disgusting.
Fiorella showed up at one point, as did Micaela but I consumed half a bottle of rum on my own, talked to Fiorella about Mancora, cried then passed out in a hostel bed. Nice.
Four and a half hours later I was awoken by a man. And not in a good way. This douche who obviously worked in the hostel had woken me up because he thought I might be Lydia who needed her 7:30am wake up call. I wasn’t Lydia and I didn’t need a 7:30am wake up call. Then he proceeded to wake up each girl in the room to check if they were Lydia. Now – beds in hostels have numbers and when you check in, you are assigned a specific bed. Surely he could have just checked which bed number Lydia was in, gone to her bed and JUST woken her up? Clearly not.
I was awake but tired. I couldn’t go back to sleep because the guy in the top bunk next to mine was snoring. Lucky him. Not only was he snoring but he was snoring weirdly. It was gross and kind of disturbing. Then he stopped. Then he started again. So I sat up, leaned over and whacked him round the head with my pillow and told him to shut up. See – I told you I was losing the plot. Luckily, he just looked confused and went straight back to sleep.
I got up, got my lap top and went to the empty roof bar and went online. Steph had written on my wall: where in the world is Charlotte Braoadribb. She’d spelt my last name wrong. My first response was: nowhere. My second response was: Locked in a cupboard inside my own head. Which pretty much summed it up. A location one cannot pinpoint on Google maps.
I spoke to some friends online and yet again I was offered money by a dear friend of mine in the UK. They didn’t like the idea of me being in a random country on my own with no money. I spoke to Kelly (The Team) on Skype and Victoria appeared online too. I told her to come up and speak to Kelly with me. It was nice to see her and talk but the connection was shit.
After that Victoria and I headed out for some breakfast. As I was walking down the road I walked off. When the hostel douchebag had woken me up earlier, I was having a dream about my mum. All morning I had an incredible urge to call her. So I went to a locutorio and tried to dial the number. It didn’t work. I freaked out a bit then went to find Victoria.
I went over to her table where she was sitting with 3:59 and went off on one: I can’t even speak to my own mother and no one will help me. I don’t know how to make a call I asked the guy in the locutorio and he was fucking useless. I know its ‘developing’ country, but for fucks sake.
An American lady on the next table overheard and said if I need to speak to my mother the guy she was with would let me borrow his phone to make the call. I said thanks but it was ok. Then she insisted. I went up to this guys office that was next door to the café. Discovered you have to put 00 before the 44 when dialling England (not just the one 0) and dialled.
She didn’t answer. I tried again. She answered. “Hello mum, it’s me.”
We talked for 45 minutes. After contacting The Mothership I was visibly calmer and happier.
Souvenirs
Victoria had some shopping to do. She was a month away from going home and she had to add to her suitcase full of souvenirs that she’d bought for most of the people she knew back home, so we went to a market. We’d tried to go for a tarot reading first to work out what I needed to do, but the place was closed – a sign from the universe? Or did I know what I needed to do already?
As we were walking around the huge market that sells all things genuinely Peruvian, plus a few ‘’Made in China’ imports, I was looking around at all the nice things – I’d get that for dad, that for mum… I didn’t buy anything, but I knew I was going home.
My adventure all along had been fun and exciting, I had some interesting cultural experiences and some challenges, but I learnt my most valuable lessons in the last two months. The universe made me stay in Peru and teach me about life and money. It was when I first got to Brazil that I realised how much capitalism and consumerism in the western world – particularly in the UK & US – is out of control and out of proportion.
Peru had taught me that there are people in the world, working every day of the week, every day of the year, even on Christmas day trying to earn as much money as possible to make a better life for themselves, their families and their future.
Talking to Fiorella and Luciano made me realise that no matter how I feel about ‘the system’ it’s there, this is how the world works, and at the moment there’s nothing I can do about it, so I might as well use it to my advantage.
Flight
Even though everyone at home was telling me to keep travelling, don’t come back to cold, miserable England I realised I needed to take responsibility for myself and my financial situation. Despite the economic crisis, London should still be the best place for me to earn money – good money – and sort myself out. Suddenly the idea of going home, eating good food three times a day and earning some good old fashioned Pounds Sterling didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
When we got back to Miraflores after our shopping trip, I went online again – I’d received an email from my Dad that clearly stated he’d lend me money for my flight home, but he wouldn’t lend me money to fly anywhere else – such as Rio – which I had mentioned to my mother earlier on the phone.
I looked on Expedia.com and found a cheap flight from Lima to London that flew out that night. It was only 900 and something dollars which is about £632. Nice. I decided I should take it. Once I’ve made a decision, its best that I act on it immediately, otherwise there’s room for faffing around- and there’s no time like the present. So I called my Dad and asked him to book it for me – he did.
©
In Limbo in Lima (Part 2)
After the birthday fun, the next day I came back down to earth. And everything was shit again. AND I was tired and hung-over.
Mario called me on Eric’s phone when I was eating lunch. He said he’s been trying to call me on my birthday but couldn’t get through. We had a chat but I couldn’t really hear him properly because there was a lot of noise in the street, he was speaking Spanish and I was feeling grumpy. He said he’d be online later to chat.
Later that day we spoke online. He was asking me loads of stupid questions. I wasn’t in the mood. I’d explained my situation and how I was feeling to him as clearly as possible and he wasn’t getting it. He was also accusing me of fucking all the boys in Lima. I was so far from wanting to go anywhere near a man at the time it was ridiculous: I felt disgusting, I was still hurting from leaving Mario and the only man I was thinking about was him.
So I got pissed off with him and told him I never wanted to see him again. He didn’t respond well to this, not well at all. He went offline. I called him, he hung up. I called him again, he hung up. I called him one more time, he hung up. Three times is enough thought so I called Luciano up, crying, and he told me to meet him at his house.
We met up, we went for a drive, we sat on a rock and had a chat. He asked me who I am. “Who is Charlotte?” I know who I am, but when I put it in to words, it sounded lame: I’m a person that always tries to learn from everything I do and every situation I come across because I constantly strive to improve myself and be a better person.....?
When you’re travelling alone, other travellers not travelling alone sometimes assume that you’re running away from something or you’re trying to find yourself. The truth is, once I’d made the decision to go travelling it was because I was ready. I’d been thinking about it for years, putting it off, waiting for Fiona or someone else to be ready to go with me. When I was ready to go, I was ready to go it alone because I knew Tamsin was in Brazil, Bella was in Mexico and I had drawn up a list of other friends that I knew in different countries around the world. But more so because I felt I had found myself already and I didn’t want to go travelling because I was running away from something, I wanted to leave England because I was emotionally and mentally equipped to do it, I was happy and ready to see the world.
I told Luciano about my career in London – the career I’d left behind, the career in Advertising and Marketing I worked so hard for, achieved, and then walked away from. But my sad little love of marketing hadn’t died. Luciano knew this better than most people I’d met since I left England – because he was my client.
That night I called Mario. I felt bad about saying I never wanted to see him again. I knew how sensitive he was and I knew that I’d hurt him. When I called he handed the phone straight to Lorena. We talked and she told me to come back to Mancora. Then I spoke to Mario and he told me to come back to Minorca. So I decided to come back to Mancora. Eric was going back the next day (Thursday) and I could get a lift with him.
Thursday arrived and the lift fell through. The car was broken. Mañana.
What was the universe trying to tell me?
A few days before, on my birthday, in an attempt to sort my life out, I decided to take my cousin up on her offer of helping me out of Peru and continuing my Latin adventure elsewhere. I’d contacted Bella and told her I’d made a decision – I would like to come to Mexico and if she could lend me the money for my flight and I’d pay her back when I could. She responded by saying she was just waiting for some money to come through and she’d buy my ticket as soon as it did. Now – I know what Mexico’s like, mainly because she’s told me – and she can wait months to get paid for something. I didn’t have months. My decision had been taken away from me.
That week I’d spoken to some people back home and once they knew my situation (skint and skinny) they started to offer me their money. Although an incredibly kind and generous offer, and a solution to my problem and a way out – it didn’t feel right. My adventure had made me realise what is most important to me: freedom and independence. I always knew these things were important to me, but I didn’t realise they were my top priorities in life. Continuing my adventure – poncing around South America now on someone else’s money - was not conducive to freedom or independence. I had to get real and weigh up my options.
©
Mario called me on Eric’s phone when I was eating lunch. He said he’s been trying to call me on my birthday but couldn’t get through. We had a chat but I couldn’t really hear him properly because there was a lot of noise in the street, he was speaking Spanish and I was feeling grumpy. He said he’d be online later to chat.
Later that day we spoke online. He was asking me loads of stupid questions. I wasn’t in the mood. I’d explained my situation and how I was feeling to him as clearly as possible and he wasn’t getting it. He was also accusing me of fucking all the boys in Lima. I was so far from wanting to go anywhere near a man at the time it was ridiculous: I felt disgusting, I was still hurting from leaving Mario and the only man I was thinking about was him.
So I got pissed off with him and told him I never wanted to see him again. He didn’t respond well to this, not well at all. He went offline. I called him, he hung up. I called him again, he hung up. I called him one more time, he hung up. Three times is enough thought so I called Luciano up, crying, and he told me to meet him at his house.
We met up, we went for a drive, we sat on a rock and had a chat. He asked me who I am. “Who is Charlotte?” I know who I am, but when I put it in to words, it sounded lame: I’m a person that always tries to learn from everything I do and every situation I come across because I constantly strive to improve myself and be a better person.....?
When you’re travelling alone, other travellers not travelling alone sometimes assume that you’re running away from something or you’re trying to find yourself. The truth is, once I’d made the decision to go travelling it was because I was ready. I’d been thinking about it for years, putting it off, waiting for Fiona or someone else to be ready to go with me. When I was ready to go, I was ready to go it alone because I knew Tamsin was in Brazil, Bella was in Mexico and I had drawn up a list of other friends that I knew in different countries around the world. But more so because I felt I had found myself already and I didn’t want to go travelling because I was running away from something, I wanted to leave England because I was emotionally and mentally equipped to do it, I was happy and ready to see the world.
I told Luciano about my career in London – the career I’d left behind, the career in Advertising and Marketing I worked so hard for, achieved, and then walked away from. But my sad little love of marketing hadn’t died. Luciano knew this better than most people I’d met since I left England – because he was my client.
That night I called Mario. I felt bad about saying I never wanted to see him again. I knew how sensitive he was and I knew that I’d hurt him. When I called he handed the phone straight to Lorena. We talked and she told me to come back to Mancora. Then I spoke to Mario and he told me to come back to Minorca. So I decided to come back to Mancora. Eric was going back the next day (Thursday) and I could get a lift with him.
Thursday arrived and the lift fell through. The car was broken. Mañana.
What was the universe trying to tell me?
A few days before, on my birthday, in an attempt to sort my life out, I decided to take my cousin up on her offer of helping me out of Peru and continuing my Latin adventure elsewhere. I’d contacted Bella and told her I’d made a decision – I would like to come to Mexico and if she could lend me the money for my flight and I’d pay her back when I could. She responded by saying she was just waiting for some money to come through and she’d buy my ticket as soon as it did. Now – I know what Mexico’s like, mainly because she’s told me – and she can wait months to get paid for something. I didn’t have months. My decision had been taken away from me.
That week I’d spoken to some people back home and once they knew my situation (skint and skinny) they started to offer me their money. Although an incredibly kind and generous offer, and a solution to my problem and a way out – it didn’t feel right. My adventure had made me realise what is most important to me: freedom and independence. I always knew these things were important to me, but I didn’t realise they were my top priorities in life. Continuing my adventure – poncing around South America now on someone else’s money - was not conducive to freedom or independence. I had to get real and weigh up my options.
©
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Groundhog Day
Picture the scene: It’s a little after midnight, I've just turned 28, I'm sitting in an almost derelict, empty house in Lima, on my own, on my make-shift bed of some old sofa cushions; with a yellow plastic coat hanger and my laptop for company - watching an animated birthday eCard my brother made me over and over again just because it makes me laugh; laugh at my own pitiful circumstances. As they say if you don’t laugh – you cry, and I’d had enough of doing that.
Fortunately a few days before I’d got talking to the doorman of the hotel opposite and blagged their wi-fi password off him so I could get free internet access for a few days. If it wasn’t for this, I would have been completely alone, offline.
Mario was due to arrive on 2nd February – my birthday. I didn’t want to see him. I’d started the healing process and I didn’t want to go in to reverse. I didn’t have the energy to go through it all over again. The distance from him had done me SOME good, I was mentally stronger in some ways – I knew what I needed.
The day before my birthday, I had started to freak out. The time had come: it was getting to me: I was losing the plot. I decided I didn’t want my birthday. I wasn’t ready for it. No – I wasn’t being all weird about turning 28, I couldn’t give a shit about that. I just didn’t want to have my birthday in a city I hated. I wanted to wait until I was somewhere I liked. However Victoria, Fiorella and Sofia between them decided that I WOULD have a good birthday and they would make sure of it.
At 8 o’clock that night, I felt like did want to see Mario after all and tried to get in touch with him via our friends. So Fiorella called him. Mario hadn’t left Mancora yet and wouldn’t be due to arrive in Lima for a few more days; he wasn’t sure when he was going to get there because he was going with his boss. He was caught up in a typical South American ‘manana’ situation. I have been on the receiving end of many of those. I understood. I was relived as well. The decision was made for me.
He’d actually been trying to call me all weekend on Luciano’s number, but I hadn’t been with him and when I got the messages from Luciano, I was reluctant to call him back. I didn’t know how I felt; I didn’t know why he was calling me. But as it turns out he was calling me to tell me he wouldn’t be in Lima for my birthday.
The girls, Eric and I starting drinking at Kokopelli hostel on the roof bar. Later on, Sofia had got us all on the free guest list of a swanky club in Miraflores. It played a suitable amount of reggaeton and other popular choons. We were all having fun.
I cut my foot and went to the bathroom to wash it, then we bumped in to some girls (skanks) we know from Mancora that live in Lima. Had a dance with them and then went back to find the others. But the other had left! So Fio and I went to find a phone. Spoke to Victoria and she thought we’d gone so they left. It didn’t matter though, the night didn’t end there.
Fio and I headed to another nearby club where we met up with some of her friends. We raved out a bit, then went back to their rather nice apartment in Lima where the well-needed debauchery continued until the early hours. Birthday done = ‘tick’.
These days the phrase "Groundhog Day" has come to represent going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it. The 1993 comedy film Groundhog Day takes place on this day. The protagonist continues to wake up on February 2nd and is forced to re-live the same day until he can learn to give up his selfishness and become a better person. After indulging in hedonism and numerous suicide attempts to escape from this, he begins to re-examine his life and priorities. Once he has truly changed, the woman he wants wants him too and he wakes up on 3rd February. Life continues, but he has left his old self behind and he has become a good man, a happier man.
However, originally Groundhog Day is a weird holiday celebrated on February 2 in the United States and Canada. According to folklore, if it is cloudy when a groundhog emerges from its burrow on this day, it will leave the burrow, signifying that winter will soon end. If on the other hand, if it is sunny, the groundhog will supposedly retreat into its burrow, and winter will continue for six more weeks.
Even though I was in the southern hemisphere, close to the equator, in the summer – my birthday was not a sunny day. It was overcast. Unusual for Lima at that time of year. Was this a sign that the bleakness was about to end?
©
Fortunately a few days before I’d got talking to the doorman of the hotel opposite and blagged their wi-fi password off him so I could get free internet access for a few days. If it wasn’t for this, I would have been completely alone, offline.
Mario was due to arrive on 2nd February – my birthday. I didn’t want to see him. I’d started the healing process and I didn’t want to go in to reverse. I didn’t have the energy to go through it all over again. The distance from him had done me SOME good, I was mentally stronger in some ways – I knew what I needed.
The day before my birthday, I had started to freak out. The time had come: it was getting to me: I was losing the plot. I decided I didn’t want my birthday. I wasn’t ready for it. No – I wasn’t being all weird about turning 28, I couldn’t give a shit about that. I just didn’t want to have my birthday in a city I hated. I wanted to wait until I was somewhere I liked. However Victoria, Fiorella and Sofia between them decided that I WOULD have a good birthday and they would make sure of it.
At 8 o’clock that night, I felt like did want to see Mario after all and tried to get in touch with him via our friends. So Fiorella called him. Mario hadn’t left Mancora yet and wouldn’t be due to arrive in Lima for a few more days; he wasn’t sure when he was going to get there because he was going with his boss. He was caught up in a typical South American ‘manana’ situation. I have been on the receiving end of many of those. I understood. I was relived as well. The decision was made for me.
He’d actually been trying to call me all weekend on Luciano’s number, but I hadn’t been with him and when I got the messages from Luciano, I was reluctant to call him back. I didn’t know how I felt; I didn’t know why he was calling me. But as it turns out he was calling me to tell me he wouldn’t be in Lima for my birthday.
The girls, Eric and I starting drinking at Kokopelli hostel on the roof bar. Later on, Sofia had got us all on the free guest list of a swanky club in Miraflores. It played a suitable amount of reggaeton and other popular choons. We were all having fun.
I cut my foot and went to the bathroom to wash it, then we bumped in to some girls (skanks) we know from Mancora that live in Lima. Had a dance with them and then went back to find the others. But the other had left! So Fio and I went to find a phone. Spoke to Victoria and she thought we’d gone so they left. It didn’t matter though, the night didn’t end there.
Fio and I headed to another nearby club where we met up with some of her friends. We raved out a bit, then went back to their rather nice apartment in Lima where the well-needed debauchery continued until the early hours. Birthday done = ‘tick’.
These days the phrase "Groundhog Day" has come to represent going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it. The 1993 comedy film Groundhog Day takes place on this day. The protagonist continues to wake up on February 2nd and is forced to re-live the same day until he can learn to give up his selfishness and become a better person. After indulging in hedonism and numerous suicide attempts to escape from this, he begins to re-examine his life and priorities. Once he has truly changed, the woman he wants wants him too and he wakes up on 3rd February. Life continues, but he has left his old self behind and he has become a good man, a happier man.
However, originally Groundhog Day is a weird holiday celebrated on February 2 in the United States and Canada. According to folklore, if it is cloudy when a groundhog emerges from its burrow on this day, it will leave the burrow, signifying that winter will soon end. If on the other hand, if it is sunny, the groundhog will supposedly retreat into its burrow, and winter will continue for six more weeks.
Even though I was in the southern hemisphere, close to the equator, in the summer – my birthday was not a sunny day. It was overcast. Unusual for Lima at that time of year. Was this a sign that the bleakness was about to end?
©
Saturday, 6 March 2010
In Limbo in Lima (part 1)
When I arrived, I had to wait for Luciano for a couple of hours. I’d slept all the way so this gave me the opportunity to reflect for the first time out side of Mancora, whilst awake. I felt positive. I felt like the adventure had recommenced. I felt good because I’d got all the way to Lima on my own, without crying.
The last two months had been mentally and emotionally draining. I felt like I’d made a bad decision: stay in Mancora instead of going back to Argentina. I know, I know – chicks before dicks, bro’s before ho’s. But in all seriousness when you’ve got a gorgeous new boyfriend who wants you to stick around – what else are you going to do but try to make it work?
I always told Mario that I wasn’t staying in Mancora for him; it was because I loved Mancora, I was done with travelling around for a while and I was running out of money. And I believed it the first time I said it, but I knew I was playing it cool. I didn’t think Mario believed me – I’d assumed he’d think I was only staying for him, I assumed he was arrogant. I was wrong, he believed me. Maybe I made him feel insecure?
The odds were against us from the beginning: the age gap, the language gap. At first none of this seemed to matter – you can bridge a gap: we were falling in love and I loved my life in Mancora. But can you use the same bridge for two gaps? No. It would seem not.
Eventually my instinct kicked in. I had that fight or flight moment - my mind and body came together to fight against my weakened heart and told me to get away from the situation. It wasn’t just Mario though; it was Mancora. The cracks began to show, the romance had gone, I’d started to see it for what it really was...
The place has a strange energy to it. You don’t notice it at first because you just think: I like this place. And it makes sense: sunshine, sea, surfers. It’s not the most beautiful place in the world, but it has a quirky rustic charm that draws you in and you THINK you never want to leave. But once you’re involved – either because you’ve been there long enough so everyone knows who you are, you’ve got a bloke there and everyone knows him so they know who you are, you live there, you have a job there, or like some people (ahem) all of the above – you still love it, but you notice that there’s something wrong...
It’s full of dodgy but interesting characters. The girls that stay there – according to the boys who are from there – are all crazy “why do all the crazy gringas stay in Mancora?” - I can see why they think that. But all the guys that live there are nuts themselves. Maybe all the crazy girls like Mancora because it makes them feel normal by comparison? Or maybe it’s because the men there drive them crazy.
Peruvian men or at least Mancorian men, have a quirky charm about them too. They’re different, they’re exotic and they’re a little bit loopy. Unlike the mulleted metrosexuals of Argentina, generally they’re not a mix of European blood – they’re a mix of Spanish and Inca blood. They’ll get in to a fight to protect your honour… or just to have a fight. When they drink they can’t handle it – it’s an indigenous thing. They’re very sensitive as well as being macho alpha males. They’re the embodiment of contradiction. At first it’s exciting, then after a while – it’s tiring. Why? Because there’s one rule for them and another for you. Once you realise this - whether you try to contest it or not - the trouble starts.
It turns out the jealousy and possessiveness isn’t exclusive to Mario. Once you start talking to other long-term local gringas with Mancorian boyfriends, you notice a pattern forming and you end up swapping stories of their bizarre behaviour.
Then there’s the rumours – I like to call these: bullshit. First you hear a rumour about your friend that’s not true. You know it’s not true, because at the time and place when it was supposed to have happened; you were with them somewhere else. These rumours aren’t even interesting – it’ll just be something like: yeah I saw (so and so) drunk last night, she was out all night and she passed out on the table.
Then Fiorella heard a rumour about me.
When Mario and I had broken up the first time apparently it was a good thing because according to Mario’s cousin, I go out every night and take coke. This is absolute bollocks. I couldn’t afford to go out and even if I wanted to I definitely couldn’t afford to buy that. The ‘ironic’ thing is it’s him who does loads of coke, and I don’t. So this rumour pissed me off. Fortunately it pissed Fiorella off too and she went off on one at the accuser and told him The Truth.
It was things like this that made me start to feel like Mancora didn’t deserve a festival and Mario didn’t deserve me. I was giving him everything – my heart and soul – on a daily basis and all I was getting in return was accusations and pain... and some sushi.
No tengo nada
Not only this, I was losing weight rapidly through not eating much. Mario was feeding me the aforementioned sushi every day, but this was all I’d eat. I couldn’t afford to buy food, especially after my bank reduced the black hole that was my overdraft by £500.
After the bank thing happened I worked my arse off, it had given me the push I needed to start making some money. But it scared the shit out of me. If they could take away £500 just like that – they could easily take the whole thing away if they wanted to.
I’d saved up some Soles (Peruvian money) to pay the rent. Instead I used this money to get to Lima.
Victoria
Just before I got on the bus Victoria slipped something in to my hand. When I got on the bus I realised it was S/200. She said she wanted to give it to me on my birthday, but I needed then so it was an early birthday present.
She’s not rich and she really couldn’t afford to do that, but a gift is a gift and it was too late to tell her it was too much.
I don’t know what I would have done without that girl - died probably. She’s an absolute diamond with true team spirit. Yes we all look after each other, we’re all girls travelling South America alone – but she always goes way beyond what you expect of a friend. Especially a friend you’ve only known for a couple of months.
Somehow, when you’re travelling you get closer to people more quickly. You spend more time together in a short space of time so you can make a judgement on whether you like someone or not, almost instantly and after a bit more time, you work out whether they’re decent, or not.
All the close female friends I made whilst travelling are strong, interesting, intelligent, kind, wonderful women that deserve a good life and a happy future. Victoria is certainly one of these girls.
More lies
My first night in Lima I stayed at Inca Wasi, Fiorella’s brother’s hostel. It used to be their family home. It was her brother’s birthday and there was a small gathering going on – Jean, Mario’s boss, was there which took me by surprise. I said hello to him but not much more as I was catching up with Fiorella at the time, then he left before I had a chance to have a conversation with him.
After my initial but short lived positivity I plunged in to sadness on Tuesday afternoon. Mainly because I’d had time to think – and all I could think about was Mario. I even wrote a poem – a new personal low. And no, you can’t see it.
By Wednesday I was feeling a bit better, but I decided I needed to postpone the festival. I needed more time, so I moved it to June. I couldn’t quite admit to myself that I simply didn’t want to do it any more – I didn’t have the energy or the inclination. But I’d promised myself only a month before that I’d finish what I started and make it happen.
In the afternoon, I went on the internet. I’d received an email from Mario in reply to an email I’d sent him when I first arrived letting him know that I’d arrived OK. The email said that Jean (his boss) had told him that I’d said I was leaving Peru forever. Yet more bullshit. Mario asked if this was true. I was about to reply when I noticed he was on Facebook chat. I told him I didn’t say that and it wasn’t true – I didn’t know why Jean had said that. Mario said he believed me. He told me he missed me. We chatted for an hour before he had to go to work. It felt nice, I felt happier.
Later Luciano showed up. We went back to his house in Central Lima, hung out, smoked weed and talked shit.
To make matters a lil worse..
The next day – I got ill. My stomach was completely fucked. I could no longer digest food.
After only 24hours of being in Lima, I decided I definitely hated it. Luciano had made promises of me making money, getting Mancora Fest sorted and staying in his beautiful house in Asia (an area just outside Lima in the countryside). By Tuesday it became apparent that none of these things were possible for one reason or another. Instead I was haemorrhaging the very last of my money, I was ill, I was losing yet more weight due to said illness, I was exhausted and I was fucking miserable. A few days later it became apparent that being in Lima was worse than being in Mancora. Especially being in a big city without a mobile phone.
But there was hope, the reggae festival was coming up that weekend – the weekend before my birthday and I was looking forward to it. Andrea (Luciano’s wife) had contacts that would mean we could get in free and be VIP’s.
Thursday was the dullest day ever. Lucian, Andrea, Luciano’s uncle and my good self just drove around in a hot car all day, around a polluted dirty city in the middle of summer. I just intermittently passed out on the back seat.
Thank god for The Team
Luckily - Victoria and Liz showed up on Friday, it was to be Liz’s last night of her travels as she was flying back to England on Saturday. And she was dreading it. They were staying at Kokopelli Hostel in Miraflores, not far from Luciano’s house.
Victoria had arrived with a new man – Eric. After the last complete fuckwit Mancorian arsehole she’d convinced herself that she liked, I approved of Eric. He was older, from Lima and he seemed normal and nice. Good news for Victoria.
I spent most of the weekend really ill. Myself, Victoria, Liz, Emily, Sofia and 3:59 (don’t know her real name, but the girls call her 3:59 because all night she sits there trout-gobbed and miserable but at 3:59 the booze will kick in and she’ll get on the dance floor and go wild) hit the town. Sofia was Victoria and Liz’s friend that they met in Mancora, I didn’t know her (yet); she’s from Lima so she showed us around.
I really tried to stay out. I really did. It was Liz’s last night I couldn’t be lame. But my stomach beat me. I didn’t even drink – that’s how ill I was but eventually I puked up in the bathroom of a club and got sent home by the team. The shame.
Saturday was reggae festival day. Luciano had been busy all week – he hadn’t even stopped to eat or sleep and by Saturday he’d finished everything he needed to do, but he was too exhausted to go to the festival and I was very ill. So it didn’t happen. I was disappointed.
Liz had reluctantly gone home to England. I hung out with Victoria and Eric for the rest of the weekend, but couldn’t go out at night – I didn’t want a repeat of the Friday night vomiting extravaganza and it wasn’t worth it.
Victoria and I spoke a lot about what I should do and where I should go and everything that was going on in my head. She clarified everything for me: “The problem is you’re emotionally and financially fucked. You can handle one of those things but not both at the same time.”
She was almost 100% right.
Why ‘almost’?
Because politely, she’d missed out ‘physically fucked’.
So that was me in a nutshell. I’d gone from being a reasonably attractive, fairly successful, strong, confident woman – to a complete mess, in a month. My travels were going so well. But it couldn’t last. I wanted it too. Financially - it could only work in Mancora – and that would mean going back to everything I’d run away from: the bullshit, the lies and the emotional turmoil. But I could make money there, try to save up and carry on.
My cousin had offered me the option of going to Mexico – but that would be without any money and relying on someone else to look after me. Even though Bella's my cousin I didn’t feel completely comfortable with the idea, but it was an option that I was considering.
©
The last two months had been mentally and emotionally draining. I felt like I’d made a bad decision: stay in Mancora instead of going back to Argentina. I know, I know – chicks before dicks, bro’s before ho’s. But in all seriousness when you’ve got a gorgeous new boyfriend who wants you to stick around – what else are you going to do but try to make it work?
I always told Mario that I wasn’t staying in Mancora for him; it was because I loved Mancora, I was done with travelling around for a while and I was running out of money. And I believed it the first time I said it, but I knew I was playing it cool. I didn’t think Mario believed me – I’d assumed he’d think I was only staying for him, I assumed he was arrogant. I was wrong, he believed me. Maybe I made him feel insecure?
The odds were against us from the beginning: the age gap, the language gap. At first none of this seemed to matter – you can bridge a gap: we were falling in love and I loved my life in Mancora. But can you use the same bridge for two gaps? No. It would seem not.
Eventually my instinct kicked in. I had that fight or flight moment - my mind and body came together to fight against my weakened heart and told me to get away from the situation. It wasn’t just Mario though; it was Mancora. The cracks began to show, the romance had gone, I’d started to see it for what it really was...
The place has a strange energy to it. You don’t notice it at first because you just think: I like this place. And it makes sense: sunshine, sea, surfers. It’s not the most beautiful place in the world, but it has a quirky rustic charm that draws you in and you THINK you never want to leave. But once you’re involved – either because you’ve been there long enough so everyone knows who you are, you’ve got a bloke there and everyone knows him so they know who you are, you live there, you have a job there, or like some people (ahem) all of the above – you still love it, but you notice that there’s something wrong...
It’s full of dodgy but interesting characters. The girls that stay there – according to the boys who are from there – are all crazy “why do all the crazy gringas stay in Mancora?” - I can see why they think that. But all the guys that live there are nuts themselves. Maybe all the crazy girls like Mancora because it makes them feel normal by comparison? Or maybe it’s because the men there drive them crazy.
Peruvian men or at least Mancorian men, have a quirky charm about them too. They’re different, they’re exotic and they’re a little bit loopy. Unlike the mulleted metrosexuals of Argentina, generally they’re not a mix of European blood – they’re a mix of Spanish and Inca blood. They’ll get in to a fight to protect your honour… or just to have a fight. When they drink they can’t handle it – it’s an indigenous thing. They’re very sensitive as well as being macho alpha males. They’re the embodiment of contradiction. At first it’s exciting, then after a while – it’s tiring. Why? Because there’s one rule for them and another for you. Once you realise this - whether you try to contest it or not - the trouble starts.
It turns out the jealousy and possessiveness isn’t exclusive to Mario. Once you start talking to other long-term local gringas with Mancorian boyfriends, you notice a pattern forming and you end up swapping stories of their bizarre behaviour.
Then there’s the rumours – I like to call these: bullshit. First you hear a rumour about your friend that’s not true. You know it’s not true, because at the time and place when it was supposed to have happened; you were with them somewhere else. These rumours aren’t even interesting – it’ll just be something like: yeah I saw (so and so) drunk last night, she was out all night and she passed out on the table.
Then Fiorella heard a rumour about me.
When Mario and I had broken up the first time apparently it was a good thing because according to Mario’s cousin, I go out every night and take coke. This is absolute bollocks. I couldn’t afford to go out and even if I wanted to I definitely couldn’t afford to buy that. The ‘ironic’ thing is it’s him who does loads of coke, and I don’t. So this rumour pissed me off. Fortunately it pissed Fiorella off too and she went off on one at the accuser and told him The Truth.
It was things like this that made me start to feel like Mancora didn’t deserve a festival and Mario didn’t deserve me. I was giving him everything – my heart and soul – on a daily basis and all I was getting in return was accusations and pain... and some sushi.
No tengo nada
Not only this, I was losing weight rapidly through not eating much. Mario was feeding me the aforementioned sushi every day, but this was all I’d eat. I couldn’t afford to buy food, especially after my bank reduced the black hole that was my overdraft by £500.
After the bank thing happened I worked my arse off, it had given me the push I needed to start making some money. But it scared the shit out of me. If they could take away £500 just like that – they could easily take the whole thing away if they wanted to.
I’d saved up some Soles (Peruvian money) to pay the rent. Instead I used this money to get to Lima.
Victoria
Just before I got on the bus Victoria slipped something in to my hand. When I got on the bus I realised it was S/200. She said she wanted to give it to me on my birthday, but I needed then so it was an early birthday present.
She’s not rich and she really couldn’t afford to do that, but a gift is a gift and it was too late to tell her it was too much.
I don’t know what I would have done without that girl - died probably. She’s an absolute diamond with true team spirit. Yes we all look after each other, we’re all girls travelling South America alone – but she always goes way beyond what you expect of a friend. Especially a friend you’ve only known for a couple of months.
Somehow, when you’re travelling you get closer to people more quickly. You spend more time together in a short space of time so you can make a judgement on whether you like someone or not, almost instantly and after a bit more time, you work out whether they’re decent, or not.
All the close female friends I made whilst travelling are strong, interesting, intelligent, kind, wonderful women that deserve a good life and a happy future. Victoria is certainly one of these girls.
More lies
My first night in Lima I stayed at Inca Wasi, Fiorella’s brother’s hostel. It used to be their family home. It was her brother’s birthday and there was a small gathering going on – Jean, Mario’s boss, was there which took me by surprise. I said hello to him but not much more as I was catching up with Fiorella at the time, then he left before I had a chance to have a conversation with him.
After my initial but short lived positivity I plunged in to sadness on Tuesday afternoon. Mainly because I’d had time to think – and all I could think about was Mario. I even wrote a poem – a new personal low. And no, you can’t see it.
By Wednesday I was feeling a bit better, but I decided I needed to postpone the festival. I needed more time, so I moved it to June. I couldn’t quite admit to myself that I simply didn’t want to do it any more – I didn’t have the energy or the inclination. But I’d promised myself only a month before that I’d finish what I started and make it happen.
In the afternoon, I went on the internet. I’d received an email from Mario in reply to an email I’d sent him when I first arrived letting him know that I’d arrived OK. The email said that Jean (his boss) had told him that I’d said I was leaving Peru forever. Yet more bullshit. Mario asked if this was true. I was about to reply when I noticed he was on Facebook chat. I told him I didn’t say that and it wasn’t true – I didn’t know why Jean had said that. Mario said he believed me. He told me he missed me. We chatted for an hour before he had to go to work. It felt nice, I felt happier.
Later Luciano showed up. We went back to his house in Central Lima, hung out, smoked weed and talked shit.
To make matters a lil worse..
The next day – I got ill. My stomach was completely fucked. I could no longer digest food.
After only 24hours of being in Lima, I decided I definitely hated it. Luciano had made promises of me making money, getting Mancora Fest sorted and staying in his beautiful house in Asia (an area just outside Lima in the countryside). By Tuesday it became apparent that none of these things were possible for one reason or another. Instead I was haemorrhaging the very last of my money, I was ill, I was losing yet more weight due to said illness, I was exhausted and I was fucking miserable. A few days later it became apparent that being in Lima was worse than being in Mancora. Especially being in a big city without a mobile phone.
But there was hope, the reggae festival was coming up that weekend – the weekend before my birthday and I was looking forward to it. Andrea (Luciano’s wife) had contacts that would mean we could get in free and be VIP’s.
Thursday was the dullest day ever. Lucian, Andrea, Luciano’s uncle and my good self just drove around in a hot car all day, around a polluted dirty city in the middle of summer. I just intermittently passed out on the back seat.
Thank god for The Team
Luckily - Victoria and Liz showed up on Friday, it was to be Liz’s last night of her travels as she was flying back to England on Saturday. And she was dreading it. They were staying at Kokopelli Hostel in Miraflores, not far from Luciano’s house.
Victoria had arrived with a new man – Eric. After the last complete fuckwit Mancorian arsehole she’d convinced herself that she liked, I approved of Eric. He was older, from Lima and he seemed normal and nice. Good news for Victoria.
I spent most of the weekend really ill. Myself, Victoria, Liz, Emily, Sofia and 3:59 (don’t know her real name, but the girls call her 3:59 because all night she sits there trout-gobbed and miserable but at 3:59 the booze will kick in and she’ll get on the dance floor and go wild) hit the town. Sofia was Victoria and Liz’s friend that they met in Mancora, I didn’t know her (yet); she’s from Lima so she showed us around.
I really tried to stay out. I really did. It was Liz’s last night I couldn’t be lame. But my stomach beat me. I didn’t even drink – that’s how ill I was but eventually I puked up in the bathroom of a club and got sent home by the team. The shame.
Saturday was reggae festival day. Luciano had been busy all week – he hadn’t even stopped to eat or sleep and by Saturday he’d finished everything he needed to do, but he was too exhausted to go to the festival and I was very ill. So it didn’t happen. I was disappointed.
Liz had reluctantly gone home to England. I hung out with Victoria and Eric for the rest of the weekend, but couldn’t go out at night – I didn’t want a repeat of the Friday night vomiting extravaganza and it wasn’t worth it.
Victoria and I spoke a lot about what I should do and where I should go and everything that was going on in my head. She clarified everything for me: “The problem is you’re emotionally and financially fucked. You can handle one of those things but not both at the same time.”
She was almost 100% right.
Why ‘almost’?
Because politely, she’d missed out ‘physically fucked’.
So that was me in a nutshell. I’d gone from being a reasonably attractive, fairly successful, strong, confident woman – to a complete mess, in a month. My travels were going so well. But it couldn’t last. I wanted it too. Financially - it could only work in Mancora – and that would mean going back to everything I’d run away from: the bullshit, the lies and the emotional turmoil. But I could make money there, try to save up and carry on.
My cousin had offered me the option of going to Mexico – but that would be without any money and relying on someone else to look after me. Even though Bella's my cousin I didn’t feel completely comfortable with the idea, but it was an option that I was considering.
©
Monday, 8 February 2010
And then it all started to go horribly wrong...
He’s not going to be in Mancora for my birthday. But when I first found out about it, I decided to be cool about it. He has to go to Lima with his boss on 1st February – the day before my birthday. I’d been looking forward to having my first summer birthday since I arrived in South America and realised the seasons were the opposite to ours. So at first it ‘kinda sucked’ but then I started thinking that some peace and quiet for a week or so would do me good.
So I think I took this piece of news rather well considering, until he proceeded to make things worse. We were on his motorbike and he thought that was a good place to discuss the situation. I said let’s stop and talk, he said we’d talk when we got back to Mancora. When we got to Mancora we went to his house where I started chatting to Victoria. Mario disappeared. For 3 and a half hours.
We’d made a date to cook meat at my neighbour’s house but by the time it got to 9:30pm, I was hungry and he still hadn’t reappeared. Selene invited me to Punta Bellanas Inn (Kasian’s hotel) for dinner so I thought fuck it, I’m done with waiting for that douchebag. I got to Punta Bellanas and Mario’s motorbike is outside. Hmmm... What’s he doing here?
As I walked in I saw him through a doorway up ahead. I walked towards him “what are you doing here?” - “what are you doing here?” - “NO! What are you doing here?” He said he was looking for me. How did he know I was there? Apparently he’d just been to the house and Karine told him I’d gone there for dinner. He went in to Kasian’s room where a couple of other people were lying around watching TV and smoking weed.
“Mario we can either talk about this here in front of your friends or we can talk about this outside”
“5 minutes”
I graciously waited the 5 minutes. “Right outside, now.”
We then proceeded to have the best argument ever. Why was it the best? Because it was all in Spanish.
I. Was. Amazing. I was so proud of myself I carried it on way longer than necessary.
These days, when speaking to the male half of our species – if I need to make a point I talk in bullet points. Like no more than 3. They can’t take in too much information at any one given time and if you go on and on about the same thing or just say the same thing in 7 different ways, they stop listening 5 minutes in. If you condense your thoughts in to 3 simple bullet points – sometimes 1 is enough, then you get a far better result. This kind of – I’m going to call it wisdom - comes with experience and let’s face it, age.
This was an exception to the rule however, this discussion was in Spanish. I even insulted him – “suerte con las chicas en Lima puto, porque to peni es muy pequeno ellas no siente nada”. Luckily he laughed.
My point was: I wasn’t happy with the idea of him going away for my birthday but I was understanding about it – so why make matters worse by not talking to me about it properly, then disappearing and worsening things further? Needless to say, after 30-45 minutes of epic international arguing – we made up.
The week Mario and I moved in together...
The next day - the day we moved in together - he tried to refuse signing the contract. Now I don’t like contracts either – I don’t even have a contract phone when I’m England so I wasn’t massively enamoured with the idea of signing my life away for 3 months.
Moving in together was his idea anyway, not mine. Obviously I was happy at the suggestion but being a sensible adult, I did triple check with the teenager that he was still up for it before the big day and he always said yes.
So I told him to take responsibility and sign. So we signed it, paid half each and moved in to the room I’d been waiting for, for weeks.
Then after a couple more days of bullshit and fighting and arguing and him creating ludicrous problems out of nowhere...
He dumped me and ran away. It was the same night that I met his mother for the first time – coincidence? I think not.
It was Thursday (4 days in) after accusing me of flirting with his friend & my neighbour, who's also my client for the marketing agency - Luciano - in front of him. He said I was lifting up my skirt at this guy. Please also bear in mind that not only am I with Mario, but Luciano’s married with a kid, his wife’s pregnant and I know her. So it's like: what the fuck? Who does that?
I was pretty stoned when this bizarre accusation was thrown at me. I couldn't chase after him as I'd left the door open and he disappeared. I got back to my house and called Luciano out and asked him if I was doing that - he said no. Luciano tried to find him to talk to him man to man, but Mario had already gone back to his house.
So the next day I woke up and I was pretty angry with him for accusing me of being a tart and then dumping me and running away. So I stopped speaking to him. I went for a walk on the beach and I saw him. I just walked straight past him and didn’t say anything. I went and lay down on the sand. After about 5 minutes or so he came over and said: “why charlotte why?” (In English) – I couldn’t believe he was still carrying this on in to a new day. I just said: no tengo la palabras en Espanol para ti ahorita (I don’t have the words in Spanish for you right now) no pasa nada (nothing happened) estas loco (you’re crazy).
Later that day was the wedding of Danni (gringa I don’t know very well) and Marco (some Peruvian guy I don’t really know). I wasn’t going to go, then Fiorella asked me to go with her and I was already Karine’s plus one so I thought fuck it, I’ll go.
So I went, alone – and everyone was asking me where Mario was. I said I didn’t know, probably at work. I did tell a few of our mates what he’d accused me of doing, and that he then dumped me and ran away. Why did I do this? Because in Mancora gossip gets around and I didn’t want them to make up their own version of events – so they got the truth.
He turned up at the wedding at like 11:30pm (after he finished work). We didn’t acknowledge each other. I continued to ignore him and he ignored me back. I found out the next day he got in to a big fight that night along with his friends, punched loads of guys and hurt them – nice way of dealing with emotions.
I continued to ignore him on Saturday morning, I had quite an enjoyable hangover which always heightens my sense of humour. By the afternoon, it sunk in – I was sad and I got upset on the beach. I couldn’t stop myself from crying so I went a bit further down the beach away from people, still couldn’t stop so I took myself home so no one would see. Unfortunately – someone did see: Gato. His cousin. He must have reported back to Mario because I’d been at home for about 45 minutes when Mario appears in my/our room.
He tells me that he’s moving back in as he’s paid for half the room and his name is on the contract. I really didn’t like the idea. How was I supposed to get over him and move on if he’s in my face – in my room – in my bed!!!??? So in the end I told him ok, just don’t touch me.
So that night I went to bed early. Even though it was Saturday night, I just wanted to sleep and start the process of recuperation. At 5:30am he came in wasted and got in to bed. I turned on the light and thank him for waking me up. He starts heaving as if he’s going to puke on the floor, so I turn off the light and angrily go back to sleep.
Now – Mario’s not a big drinker; I’ve never actually seen him drunk before, so it was unusual to say the least. Plus he’s normally bored by 4am.
The next morning he tried to cuddle me. I wasn’t having any of it.
Sunday night, he’s out drinking again, not as pissed as the night before but he still comes in late smelling of booze trying to cuddle me. No, I don’t think so.
The next couple of days he gets nothing from me. Except if he cuddled me, I started to let him, but I always resisted the urge to cuddle him first. I win.
Plus I was still getting free sushi from his brother Jhonathon. I win again.
The situation – sleeping in the same bed as me but getting nothing - was driving him crazy, I was in control and he was forced to face his feelings. Then on Wednesday morning he asked me what I wanted. So I asked him what he wanted. So he asked me if I’d like to be his chica again. (Never answer a question with a question). I told him I’d think about it. He said yes or no charlotte – I said maybe, I’d get back to him. Then I instigated some well needed sex.
As he left our house on his motorbike, he whispered in my ear: I love you charlotte, I love you. I told him: no creo.
Karma?
Then on Wednesday evening Luciano tells me he’s off to Lima that night and do I want to come with him. Now – this isn’t a random invitation, I told him that when he goes I want to come with him so I can speak to some DJ’s and bands for the festival. Andrea (his wife) had told me about a reggae festival that was happening at the end of the January and her cousin was something to do with it – they’d invited me previously and I really wanted to go – especially as that would be my birthday weekend.
It was all a bit sudden so I wasn’t keen on the idea of just fucking off to Lima. I have responsibilities in Mancora don’t you know. There’s the marketing agency and now the boutique – Dio Mio. But after speaking to Luciano a bit more, it motivated me to go to Lima, get the festival organised and make some goddamn money.
So I went off in to town to tie up my lose ends, dropped in to the Sushi bar to let Pedro know that Luciano wanted to speak to him and mentioned to Puto (Mario) that I was off to Lima that night. His response was: what? With Marco? I said yer and Luciano. I told Mario and Ped I’d meet them back at the house. And I did.
All was fine back at the house, but as soon as we were alone together in our room Mario got all weird and jealous about it even though I said I didn’t want to go alone with the two guys without Karine. So after talking about it with Mario for six hours and Karine decided she couldn’t go and as I didn’t want to go without her, I decided not to go that day.
After being asked what I want after such an epic romancing from the teenager (if you can count moving in to my bed and forcing me to deal with him as romance) I gave Mario another chance. After all, I’ve always been given second, third, fourth chances by everyone in the past, so it’s only fair.
After all that drama, we fell asleep. Woke up and everything was kind of normal. I think.
That night I headed out with Karine, Scrappy and Salvador. Who the hell are Scrappy and Salvador? Scrappy is Karine’s dog – he’s a big black street dog with one ear. That’s right, one ear. It’s kind of disturbing to look at sometimes but he’s very very sweet. Karine rescued him as a puppy and he lives in our house on and off. Unfortunately when he’s not at our house or at the beach – he hangs out at Loki of all places.
Salvador is half dachshund, half Pitbull. For those of you who don’t know – a dachshund is more commonly known as a sausage dog. Salvador is the best dog in the whole world (sorry Bob). He’s Luciano & Andrea’s dog really, but he follows me around everywhere so they’ve said I can borrow him. He looks like a sausage dog with slightly longer legs, but he feels like a Pitbull.
Anyway, I digress. The four of us headed straight for the sushi bar to say ‘word up’ to my puto. Got some free sushi – standard, then Karine and I headed for the beach, dogs in tow. The beach was pretty lame so Karine, me and a couple of other chicas headed for a sneaky beer in Hula Hula.
Mario shows up, sees that it’s a girl’s conversation and disappears. Then he comes back at 1:49am and tells me to be home by 2am.
WHAT???
Obviously even if I wanted to be home any time soon, I couldn’t possibly show my face for a few hours now that he’d said that. I would be back some time before 8am. After everything that’s happened in the last week, he can’t even last 24hours without being a douchebag.
I got in at 7am. He came storming down the stairs as I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom. I was greeted by: “You know it’s over don’t you?”
I replied: “Again?”
Definitely karma
After more talking it wasn’t over. Yet. Well not for him anyway. I told him I am not being told to be in by a certain time. I will not be controlled by a man. He said he was joking. I said I didn’t care; I don’t like being spoken to like that. He got the point.
Later on I walked past the Sushi bar and popped in to say hi as always. He fed me and closed the restaurant. Once everyone else had left I got accused of ‘talking to boys on the beach’ the night before. Interesting. Yes indeed, words were uttered to males on the beach, but in this instance – barely more than 5 sentences. But that is beside the point: what’s wrong with TALKING to boys? Since when was that a crime?
Who? Nick? No. Jake? No. Finn? Yes him.
The night before I’d been in Hula Bar for 90% of the night and went to the beach twice, both times for about 15 minutes. We left Hula at one point to go to the beach to get people to come to the bar for a lock-in. However as we were leaving the bar, we bumped in to Finn. Finn’s an English boy from London and he ‘tawks a lil bit loike this loike – coz eez proper Laandan loike’. I’ve spoken to him a few times and I always thought he was ‘awite’ and it’s nice to hear the London accent again – you don’t hear it too often in Peru.
Anyway, Finn was on his own and ‘ee was a lil bit alf cut loike’ and I remember he touched my waist. In a moment of self-preservation I actually said to him: don’t do that. I explained that if anyone sees, they’ll tell Mario and he’ll get beaten up. Finn was not impressed and said no he wouldn’t. I assured him he would, but he was pissed off by the suggestion. I felt ashamed that my life had come to a new low – ‘don’t touch me or my boyfriend will beat you up’. Urgh.
Anyway, he came to the beach with us and I saw the girls - Victoria and Liz – and had a chat with them. They were sitting at a table and I was bending over to speak to them and Nick came up behind me and smacked me on the arse. I didn’t bother saying anything to Nick at that point but Finn called over from a few tables away and said: you’d better not talk to her mate or you’ll get beaten up.
It’s alright, they know each other – but I still felt like a twat.
We all went back to Hula Hula but both Nick and Finn left within 20 minutes, Karen kicked Finn out for asking her for coke and Nick wasn’t digging the vibe after that so he left. So it was just me, Karine and Belen (a girl from Lima that I met that night). Belen left – I took her home in a cop car. Then it was just me and Karen for the next few hours.
Hence why I told Mario I was with Karine all night and didn’t really see much need to mention anyone else. It was a pretty uneventful night.
Once Mario had calmed down he sat me down at a table in the Sushi restaurant and explained: “people in Mancora are bad. They think bad. And if they see you talking to any guys they will tell me.” He said if I go out without him, the next day I have to tell him everyone I spoke to the night before so when people come to him the next day he already knows about it.
What. The. Fuck. Shouldn’t he just trust me and if someone tells him I was talking to a boy the night before he should just say: so what? I trust her. This pissed me off but I appreciated him explaining things to me calmly. I asked him who told him ‘I was talking to boys on the beach’. He said 6 different people told him. How pathetic.
I’m not stupid; I know how the boys in Mancora work. They’re all jealous – it’s not just Mario – so they all feed each other jealousy by pretending they’re looking out for each other, when really because they’re lonely, single or not getting any – they’re jealous. And one thing I know about jealousy is: people who are jealous are jealous of people that don’t get jealous. Seriously.
Where the love is
I put the bullshit behind me once again. I’d had enough of it all and apart from the new bout of jealousy, possessiveness, insecurity and paranoia he had started making an effort to listen and understand. The rest of the day was lovely, I gave myself the day off work so we spent the entire afternoon together.
We went up to his land and watered his plants. The terrano is looking good now. As I was watching him with his plants, I saw him admiring the individual beauty of all the different types. He told me he loves his plants because they’re beautiful and he wishes he could give up working in the Sushi bar and just spend the whole day up on his land, watering them 3 times a day. It was that moment when I fell in love with him all over again.
The terrano is where the love first started. The first week we didn’t talk much, the second week we started getting to know each other and he took me up to his land and slept in the tent for the first time. We were always happy together when we were up there. The land has good energy, even better now the plants are there. We’d always wake-up happy and have a good start to a good day. Ever since I moved in to the house, we started having more problems and bad moods.
We still went up there after I moved in to the house. In the day and sometimes in the night; when we didn’t have a bedroom we’d sleep in the cabin with the night watchman (Victor). Not ideal, but still we were still happy. We’d climb up near to where the tent used to be and Mario would ask me where I thought he should build his house. I’d always say: in exactly the same place as the tent used to be.
We left the terrano that afternoon and rode back to his house on the back of his bike. I held on tight like I used to, tighter than I needed to. As we got closer to his house, I whispered behind his ear: I love you.
We were happy again. In an instant, out of nowhere when I least expected it - all the love came flooding back.
The last straw
Then the next morning he insulted me. I will not repeat what was said.
Over the last few weeks, I had spent hours and hours talking to him, helping him and trying to make him understand that being jealous, paranoid, insecure and possessive is a waste of time. I had tried so hard to make our relationship work because I love him, I understand him and I respect him. I had given him another chance... and within 24 hours he’d thrown it back in my face and due to more insecurity he had really insulted me.
I spent the rest of the day thinking about it and decided I’d had enough. That was the last straw. I’ve never in my life been spoken to like that.
On Saturday afternoon he popped by Dio Mio. I was dealing with some customers; he was on his motorbike and didn’t bother coming in to talk to me so I didn’t bother stepping outside to talk to him. He rode off.
Later that night I went out with my girls. It was a pretty standard Saturday night in Mancora. Lots of reggaeton and South American music. Victoria and I had a good old boogie. Mario sort of came over to join us but I wasn’t too fussed. I was still feeling insulted.
I thought he’d gone home, but much later on he appeared upstairs at the beach bar and asked me why I was being weird. I told him I wasn’t. Then I said: I’m going to Lima tomorrow with all my stuff. I also told him: My cousin has offered to pay for me to go and work in Mexico City with her. I said I might do that. I reminded him about the last time I left my stuff somewhere (La Paz) and I ended up in Argentina for the best part of two months.
(See - I learn from my mistakes. But in saying that – I wouldn’t have gone to Peru if I didn’t leave my luggage in La Paz. And I wouldn’t have met Mario... hmmm!)
Leaving Mancora
On Sunday someone came in to the shop and asked if I designed flyers – word was getting around. People I don’t even know are becoming potential clients. So when I left Mancora on Sunday evening I just felt like I wasn´t ready to leave forever: leaving my home, my house, my dog, my friends, my business, my job - all because of a silly boy.
In Mancora I just had so much to do and I wanted to get on with so many things but it was all impossible with all that Mario bullshit going on. It was taking 5 hours out of my day on average which meant I couldn´t do all the things I needed to do.
There is a whole lot of love between me and Mario. He told me on Sunday before I left that I’m the best girl he’s ever met and that’s why we’ve been together for ‘such a long time’.
Despite everything I am in love with him and he’s in love with me. I do understand him. I´ve been there man. All his actions are out of insecurity. He pushes me away because he can´t handle his feelings. He says there´s something bad in him that makes him say bad shit to me - but I know he just has a problem that he needs to sort out. He´s not ready for real love yet. Not until he learns the hard way and that can take years.
And I have to look after my head - I don´t want to regress backwards. But even I wasn’t that bad – I didn’t cause trouble for my ex-boyfriends every day. I actually checked with one of them and he concurred he did have the odd day off. No in all seriousness I admit, when I was younger, I was so jealous sometimes because I was insecure. And it was horrible, I hated feeling like that. And yes my ex-boyfriends suffered because of it and that’s why i think this is karma.
Egotistically I have always wanted to meet the boy version of me; and now I have met the boy version of me when I was about 22 - I’m horrified and slightly traumatised. Thank you universe.
What now?
Sunday was so hard. I got my bus ticket and said goodbye to Mario (twice) for ages. We were both really upset. I was a mess right up until the moto taxi arrived at the house. I was so scared of getting on the bus - I just thought I´d cry all the way to Lima. But I didn´t. I didn´t cry once. I slept.
So that´s it in a coconut shell.
I promised myself before New Year that I’d finish what I started. I didn’t want Mancora Fest to become yet another good idea that I don’t see through to the end. That’s why I told you about it. I wanted to make sure that I at least tried to do it. Now if I don’t, you lot will all think I’m a twat and I can’t come home with my head held high.
I´ve only been in Lima for a few days so I need to give things a chance here for a bit. But yer, I have all my luggage with me - not that I like any of it anymore, so I´m ready to get a flight to Mexico City if I want, or maybe I’ll go back to Mancora. No pressure.
I love Mancora - I made a life there and a business there. I just need to work out whether it´s worth going back there for it, despite Mario. Or whether to just get away from him forever. As I say - I´m in love with him, he´s not a bad person. He´s amazing in so many ways. He´s just not experienced in love or relationships because he´s 19 - he´s jealous, insecure and paranoid. But it´s so hard to deal with because it’s such a huge waste of time and it´s so unnecessary.
©
So I think I took this piece of news rather well considering, until he proceeded to make things worse. We were on his motorbike and he thought that was a good place to discuss the situation. I said let’s stop and talk, he said we’d talk when we got back to Mancora. When we got to Mancora we went to his house where I started chatting to Victoria. Mario disappeared. For 3 and a half hours.
We’d made a date to cook meat at my neighbour’s house but by the time it got to 9:30pm, I was hungry and he still hadn’t reappeared. Selene invited me to Punta Bellanas Inn (Kasian’s hotel) for dinner so I thought fuck it, I’m done with waiting for that douchebag. I got to Punta Bellanas and Mario’s motorbike is outside. Hmmm... What’s he doing here?
As I walked in I saw him through a doorway up ahead. I walked towards him “what are you doing here?” - “what are you doing here?” - “NO! What are you doing here?” He said he was looking for me. How did he know I was there? Apparently he’d just been to the house and Karine told him I’d gone there for dinner. He went in to Kasian’s room where a couple of other people were lying around watching TV and smoking weed.
“Mario we can either talk about this here in front of your friends or we can talk about this outside”
“5 minutes”
I graciously waited the 5 minutes. “Right outside, now.”
We then proceeded to have the best argument ever. Why was it the best? Because it was all in Spanish.
I. Was. Amazing. I was so proud of myself I carried it on way longer than necessary.
These days, when speaking to the male half of our species – if I need to make a point I talk in bullet points. Like no more than 3. They can’t take in too much information at any one given time and if you go on and on about the same thing or just say the same thing in 7 different ways, they stop listening 5 minutes in. If you condense your thoughts in to 3 simple bullet points – sometimes 1 is enough, then you get a far better result. This kind of – I’m going to call it wisdom - comes with experience and let’s face it, age.
This was an exception to the rule however, this discussion was in Spanish. I even insulted him – “suerte con las chicas en Lima puto, porque to peni es muy pequeno ellas no siente nada”. Luckily he laughed.
My point was: I wasn’t happy with the idea of him going away for my birthday but I was understanding about it – so why make matters worse by not talking to me about it properly, then disappearing and worsening things further? Needless to say, after 30-45 minutes of epic international arguing – we made up.
The week Mario and I moved in together...
The next day - the day we moved in together - he tried to refuse signing the contract. Now I don’t like contracts either – I don’t even have a contract phone when I’m England so I wasn’t massively enamoured with the idea of signing my life away for 3 months.
Moving in together was his idea anyway, not mine. Obviously I was happy at the suggestion but being a sensible adult, I did triple check with the teenager that he was still up for it before the big day and he always said yes.
So I told him to take responsibility and sign. So we signed it, paid half each and moved in to the room I’d been waiting for, for weeks.
Then after a couple more days of bullshit and fighting and arguing and him creating ludicrous problems out of nowhere...
He dumped me and ran away. It was the same night that I met his mother for the first time – coincidence? I think not.
It was Thursday (4 days in) after accusing me of flirting with his friend & my neighbour, who's also my client for the marketing agency - Luciano - in front of him. He said I was lifting up my skirt at this guy. Please also bear in mind that not only am I with Mario, but Luciano’s married with a kid, his wife’s pregnant and I know her. So it's like: what the fuck? Who does that?
I was pretty stoned when this bizarre accusation was thrown at me. I couldn't chase after him as I'd left the door open and he disappeared. I got back to my house and called Luciano out and asked him if I was doing that - he said no. Luciano tried to find him to talk to him man to man, but Mario had already gone back to his house.
So the next day I woke up and I was pretty angry with him for accusing me of being a tart and then dumping me and running away. So I stopped speaking to him. I went for a walk on the beach and I saw him. I just walked straight past him and didn’t say anything. I went and lay down on the sand. After about 5 minutes or so he came over and said: “why charlotte why?” (In English) – I couldn’t believe he was still carrying this on in to a new day. I just said: no tengo la palabras en Espanol para ti ahorita (I don’t have the words in Spanish for you right now) no pasa nada (nothing happened) estas loco (you’re crazy).
Later that day was the wedding of Danni (gringa I don’t know very well) and Marco (some Peruvian guy I don’t really know). I wasn’t going to go, then Fiorella asked me to go with her and I was already Karine’s plus one so I thought fuck it, I’ll go.
So I went, alone – and everyone was asking me where Mario was. I said I didn’t know, probably at work. I did tell a few of our mates what he’d accused me of doing, and that he then dumped me and ran away. Why did I do this? Because in Mancora gossip gets around and I didn’t want them to make up their own version of events – so they got the truth.
He turned up at the wedding at like 11:30pm (after he finished work). We didn’t acknowledge each other. I continued to ignore him and he ignored me back. I found out the next day he got in to a big fight that night along with his friends, punched loads of guys and hurt them – nice way of dealing with emotions.
I continued to ignore him on Saturday morning, I had quite an enjoyable hangover which always heightens my sense of humour. By the afternoon, it sunk in – I was sad and I got upset on the beach. I couldn’t stop myself from crying so I went a bit further down the beach away from people, still couldn’t stop so I took myself home so no one would see. Unfortunately – someone did see: Gato. His cousin. He must have reported back to Mario because I’d been at home for about 45 minutes when Mario appears in my/our room.
He tells me that he’s moving back in as he’s paid for half the room and his name is on the contract. I really didn’t like the idea. How was I supposed to get over him and move on if he’s in my face – in my room – in my bed!!!??? So in the end I told him ok, just don’t touch me.
So that night I went to bed early. Even though it was Saturday night, I just wanted to sleep and start the process of recuperation. At 5:30am he came in wasted and got in to bed. I turned on the light and thank him for waking me up. He starts heaving as if he’s going to puke on the floor, so I turn off the light and angrily go back to sleep.
Now – Mario’s not a big drinker; I’ve never actually seen him drunk before, so it was unusual to say the least. Plus he’s normally bored by 4am.
The next morning he tried to cuddle me. I wasn’t having any of it.
Sunday night, he’s out drinking again, not as pissed as the night before but he still comes in late smelling of booze trying to cuddle me. No, I don’t think so.
The next couple of days he gets nothing from me. Except if he cuddled me, I started to let him, but I always resisted the urge to cuddle him first. I win.
Plus I was still getting free sushi from his brother Jhonathon. I win again.
The situation – sleeping in the same bed as me but getting nothing - was driving him crazy, I was in control and he was forced to face his feelings. Then on Wednesday morning he asked me what I wanted. So I asked him what he wanted. So he asked me if I’d like to be his chica again. (Never answer a question with a question). I told him I’d think about it. He said yes or no charlotte – I said maybe, I’d get back to him. Then I instigated some well needed sex.
As he left our house on his motorbike, he whispered in my ear: I love you charlotte, I love you. I told him: no creo.
Karma?
Then on Wednesday evening Luciano tells me he’s off to Lima that night and do I want to come with him. Now – this isn’t a random invitation, I told him that when he goes I want to come with him so I can speak to some DJ’s and bands for the festival. Andrea (his wife) had told me about a reggae festival that was happening at the end of the January and her cousin was something to do with it – they’d invited me previously and I really wanted to go – especially as that would be my birthday weekend.
It was all a bit sudden so I wasn’t keen on the idea of just fucking off to Lima. I have responsibilities in Mancora don’t you know. There’s the marketing agency and now the boutique – Dio Mio. But after speaking to Luciano a bit more, it motivated me to go to Lima, get the festival organised and make some goddamn money.
So I went off in to town to tie up my lose ends, dropped in to the Sushi bar to let Pedro know that Luciano wanted to speak to him and mentioned to Puto (Mario) that I was off to Lima that night. His response was: what? With Marco? I said yer and Luciano. I told Mario and Ped I’d meet them back at the house. And I did.
All was fine back at the house, but as soon as we were alone together in our room Mario got all weird and jealous about it even though I said I didn’t want to go alone with the two guys without Karine. So after talking about it with Mario for six hours and Karine decided she couldn’t go and as I didn’t want to go without her, I decided not to go that day.
After being asked what I want after such an epic romancing from the teenager (if you can count moving in to my bed and forcing me to deal with him as romance) I gave Mario another chance. After all, I’ve always been given second, third, fourth chances by everyone in the past, so it’s only fair.
After all that drama, we fell asleep. Woke up and everything was kind of normal. I think.
That night I headed out with Karine, Scrappy and Salvador. Who the hell are Scrappy and Salvador? Scrappy is Karine’s dog – he’s a big black street dog with one ear. That’s right, one ear. It’s kind of disturbing to look at sometimes but he’s very very sweet. Karine rescued him as a puppy and he lives in our house on and off. Unfortunately when he’s not at our house or at the beach – he hangs out at Loki of all places.
Salvador is half dachshund, half Pitbull. For those of you who don’t know – a dachshund is more commonly known as a sausage dog. Salvador is the best dog in the whole world (sorry Bob). He’s Luciano & Andrea’s dog really, but he follows me around everywhere so they’ve said I can borrow him. He looks like a sausage dog with slightly longer legs, but he feels like a Pitbull.
Anyway, I digress. The four of us headed straight for the sushi bar to say ‘word up’ to my puto. Got some free sushi – standard, then Karine and I headed for the beach, dogs in tow. The beach was pretty lame so Karine, me and a couple of other chicas headed for a sneaky beer in Hula Hula.
Mario shows up, sees that it’s a girl’s conversation and disappears. Then he comes back at 1:49am and tells me to be home by 2am.
WHAT???
Obviously even if I wanted to be home any time soon, I couldn’t possibly show my face for a few hours now that he’d said that. I would be back some time before 8am. After everything that’s happened in the last week, he can’t even last 24hours without being a douchebag.
I got in at 7am. He came storming down the stairs as I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom. I was greeted by: “You know it’s over don’t you?”
I replied: “Again?”
Definitely karma
After more talking it wasn’t over. Yet. Well not for him anyway. I told him I am not being told to be in by a certain time. I will not be controlled by a man. He said he was joking. I said I didn’t care; I don’t like being spoken to like that. He got the point.
Later on I walked past the Sushi bar and popped in to say hi as always. He fed me and closed the restaurant. Once everyone else had left I got accused of ‘talking to boys on the beach’ the night before. Interesting. Yes indeed, words were uttered to males on the beach, but in this instance – barely more than 5 sentences. But that is beside the point: what’s wrong with TALKING to boys? Since when was that a crime?
Who? Nick? No. Jake? No. Finn? Yes him.
The night before I’d been in Hula Bar for 90% of the night and went to the beach twice, both times for about 15 minutes. We left Hula at one point to go to the beach to get people to come to the bar for a lock-in. However as we were leaving the bar, we bumped in to Finn. Finn’s an English boy from London and he ‘tawks a lil bit loike this loike – coz eez proper Laandan loike’. I’ve spoken to him a few times and I always thought he was ‘awite’ and it’s nice to hear the London accent again – you don’t hear it too often in Peru.
Anyway, Finn was on his own and ‘ee was a lil bit alf cut loike’ and I remember he touched my waist. In a moment of self-preservation I actually said to him: don’t do that. I explained that if anyone sees, they’ll tell Mario and he’ll get beaten up. Finn was not impressed and said no he wouldn’t. I assured him he would, but he was pissed off by the suggestion. I felt ashamed that my life had come to a new low – ‘don’t touch me or my boyfriend will beat you up’. Urgh.
Anyway, he came to the beach with us and I saw the girls - Victoria and Liz – and had a chat with them. They were sitting at a table and I was bending over to speak to them and Nick came up behind me and smacked me on the arse. I didn’t bother saying anything to Nick at that point but Finn called over from a few tables away and said: you’d better not talk to her mate or you’ll get beaten up.
It’s alright, they know each other – but I still felt like a twat.
We all went back to Hula Hula but both Nick and Finn left within 20 minutes, Karen kicked Finn out for asking her for coke and Nick wasn’t digging the vibe after that so he left. So it was just me, Karine and Belen (a girl from Lima that I met that night). Belen left – I took her home in a cop car. Then it was just me and Karen for the next few hours.
Hence why I told Mario I was with Karine all night and didn’t really see much need to mention anyone else. It was a pretty uneventful night.
Once Mario had calmed down he sat me down at a table in the Sushi restaurant and explained: “people in Mancora are bad. They think bad. And if they see you talking to any guys they will tell me.” He said if I go out without him, the next day I have to tell him everyone I spoke to the night before so when people come to him the next day he already knows about it.
What. The. Fuck. Shouldn’t he just trust me and if someone tells him I was talking to a boy the night before he should just say: so what? I trust her. This pissed me off but I appreciated him explaining things to me calmly. I asked him who told him ‘I was talking to boys on the beach’. He said 6 different people told him. How pathetic.
I’m not stupid; I know how the boys in Mancora work. They’re all jealous – it’s not just Mario – so they all feed each other jealousy by pretending they’re looking out for each other, when really because they’re lonely, single or not getting any – they’re jealous. And one thing I know about jealousy is: people who are jealous are jealous of people that don’t get jealous. Seriously.
Where the love is
I put the bullshit behind me once again. I’d had enough of it all and apart from the new bout of jealousy, possessiveness, insecurity and paranoia he had started making an effort to listen and understand. The rest of the day was lovely, I gave myself the day off work so we spent the entire afternoon together.
We went up to his land and watered his plants. The terrano is looking good now. As I was watching him with his plants, I saw him admiring the individual beauty of all the different types. He told me he loves his plants because they’re beautiful and he wishes he could give up working in the Sushi bar and just spend the whole day up on his land, watering them 3 times a day. It was that moment when I fell in love with him all over again.
The terrano is where the love first started. The first week we didn’t talk much, the second week we started getting to know each other and he took me up to his land and slept in the tent for the first time. We were always happy together when we were up there. The land has good energy, even better now the plants are there. We’d always wake-up happy and have a good start to a good day. Ever since I moved in to the house, we started having more problems and bad moods.
We still went up there after I moved in to the house. In the day and sometimes in the night; when we didn’t have a bedroom we’d sleep in the cabin with the night watchman (Victor). Not ideal, but still we were still happy. We’d climb up near to where the tent used to be and Mario would ask me where I thought he should build his house. I’d always say: in exactly the same place as the tent used to be.
We left the terrano that afternoon and rode back to his house on the back of his bike. I held on tight like I used to, tighter than I needed to. As we got closer to his house, I whispered behind his ear: I love you.
We were happy again. In an instant, out of nowhere when I least expected it - all the love came flooding back.
The last straw
Then the next morning he insulted me. I will not repeat what was said.
Over the last few weeks, I had spent hours and hours talking to him, helping him and trying to make him understand that being jealous, paranoid, insecure and possessive is a waste of time. I had tried so hard to make our relationship work because I love him, I understand him and I respect him. I had given him another chance... and within 24 hours he’d thrown it back in my face and due to more insecurity he had really insulted me.
I spent the rest of the day thinking about it and decided I’d had enough. That was the last straw. I’ve never in my life been spoken to like that.
On Saturday afternoon he popped by Dio Mio. I was dealing with some customers; he was on his motorbike and didn’t bother coming in to talk to me so I didn’t bother stepping outside to talk to him. He rode off.
Later that night I went out with my girls. It was a pretty standard Saturday night in Mancora. Lots of reggaeton and South American music. Victoria and I had a good old boogie. Mario sort of came over to join us but I wasn’t too fussed. I was still feeling insulted.
I thought he’d gone home, but much later on he appeared upstairs at the beach bar and asked me why I was being weird. I told him I wasn’t. Then I said: I’m going to Lima tomorrow with all my stuff. I also told him: My cousin has offered to pay for me to go and work in Mexico City with her. I said I might do that. I reminded him about the last time I left my stuff somewhere (La Paz) and I ended up in Argentina for the best part of two months.
(See - I learn from my mistakes. But in saying that – I wouldn’t have gone to Peru if I didn’t leave my luggage in La Paz. And I wouldn’t have met Mario... hmmm!)
Leaving Mancora
On Sunday someone came in to the shop and asked if I designed flyers – word was getting around. People I don’t even know are becoming potential clients. So when I left Mancora on Sunday evening I just felt like I wasn´t ready to leave forever: leaving my home, my house, my dog, my friends, my business, my job - all because of a silly boy.
In Mancora I just had so much to do and I wanted to get on with so many things but it was all impossible with all that Mario bullshit going on. It was taking 5 hours out of my day on average which meant I couldn´t do all the things I needed to do.
There is a whole lot of love between me and Mario. He told me on Sunday before I left that I’m the best girl he’s ever met and that’s why we’ve been together for ‘such a long time’.
Despite everything I am in love with him and he’s in love with me. I do understand him. I´ve been there man. All his actions are out of insecurity. He pushes me away because he can´t handle his feelings. He says there´s something bad in him that makes him say bad shit to me - but I know he just has a problem that he needs to sort out. He´s not ready for real love yet. Not until he learns the hard way and that can take years.
And I have to look after my head - I don´t want to regress backwards. But even I wasn’t that bad – I didn’t cause trouble for my ex-boyfriends every day. I actually checked with one of them and he concurred he did have the odd day off. No in all seriousness I admit, when I was younger, I was so jealous sometimes because I was insecure. And it was horrible, I hated feeling like that. And yes my ex-boyfriends suffered because of it and that’s why i think this is karma.
Egotistically I have always wanted to meet the boy version of me; and now I have met the boy version of me when I was about 22 - I’m horrified and slightly traumatised. Thank you universe.
What now?
Sunday was so hard. I got my bus ticket and said goodbye to Mario (twice) for ages. We were both really upset. I was a mess right up until the moto taxi arrived at the house. I was so scared of getting on the bus - I just thought I´d cry all the way to Lima. But I didn´t. I didn´t cry once. I slept.
So that´s it in a coconut shell.
I promised myself before New Year that I’d finish what I started. I didn’t want Mancora Fest to become yet another good idea that I don’t see through to the end. That’s why I told you about it. I wanted to make sure that I at least tried to do it. Now if I don’t, you lot will all think I’m a twat and I can’t come home with my head held high.
I´ve only been in Lima for a few days so I need to give things a chance here for a bit. But yer, I have all my luggage with me - not that I like any of it anymore, so I´m ready to get a flight to Mexico City if I want, or maybe I’ll go back to Mancora. No pressure.
I love Mancora - I made a life there and a business there. I just need to work out whether it´s worth going back there for it, despite Mario. Or whether to just get away from him forever. As I say - I´m in love with him, he´s not a bad person. He´s amazing in so many ways. He´s just not experienced in love or relationships because he´s 19 - he´s jealous, insecure and paranoid. But it´s so hard to deal with because it’s such a huge waste of time and it´s so unnecessary.
©
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Hello 2010
After the first week of January, things calmed down. Yes there had been a lot of people in Mancora which is great for local business, but URGH – the people. They weren’t even good people, just moody looking people that stand in the street waiting for something to happen which doesn’t create a good atmosphere; it just creates trouble.
This made me start to have doubts about Mancora Fest. I didn’t like Mancora when it was really busy, plus things weren’t really moving along either - I was doing all the work without any help. My neighbours (Luciano & Andrea) had translated the proposal in to Spanish for me so I could approach businesses with it and get them on board. I’d asked Mario to take me to the municipality to get permission to have the festival in the Quebrada but he didn’t. Everyone was too busy to help.
There was a big party planned for 2nd January at Punta Ballenas. After New Year being predictably average as usual, we were up for it and Micaela was involved in selling tickets for it.
The day beofre I needed to do some printing for a client. Being in Mancora means this is no simple task, as always I had to go on a mission to find a decent photocopier which meant walking around all day in the sweltering humidity. I went in to every locutorio in town and failed miserably in finding the quality that I needed to achieve.
But still, every cloud... I went in to one place where this dwarf-like creature suggested that I get my flyer printed in colour, in Lima. He handed me an example that he seemed particularly proud of – it was a flyer printed in colour, but the quality was pretty bad – it looked like it had been done on an old-school colour photocopier. I looked at the flyer it read: Mancora Fest, 2nd January, Punta Ballenas Inn.
WHAT?
You can guess what happened next: BEEF!
So after a confrontation with Micaela about stealing the name of the festival for some crappy one night party that could be called anything, she denied all knowledge and begged for forgiveness. So after having further confrontations with Chicho (the dwarf-like creature) about how immoral it is to steal from the people of Mancora (oh yes) and then going to the party with the intention of telling everyone he stole the name of the festival for this party until... we got there and it was absolutely shit.
Chicho was DJ-ing and it was that progressive techy house that doesn’t progress and is totally unsuitable for anything other than some grubby ketamine-fuelled after-party in Brixton. So I decided to keep schtum.
After a week or so of more ‘nothing happening’ I started to think: maybe I should just give up?
Until one day in the sushi bar Luciano said we should get on the case. I didn’t think we had enough time to get it all done by March, but he said we could go to Lima and do it in 10 days if necessary. Suddenly I was motivated again; I now have a dynamic business partner with a can do attitude... and lots of contacts.
Plus I’d promised myself at New Year that I would finish what I started and see this project through to the end.
Back to school
After communication issues with Mario and the need to be able to discuss relationship stuff in Spanish, I decided it was time for some more Spanish lessons. I’d picked up a lot just from talking to him and some other people, but I felt it was time to educate myself further and maybe start using the past and present tense properly - rather than just beginning a sentence with: en passado / en futuro and then continuing to speak in the present tense.
Why is it that when someone can’t speak English properly it’s kind of cute, but when I don’t speak Spanish fluently a Peruvian said to me: please Charlotte, speak in English, your Spanish is so shit. Thanks Daniel - way to boost my confidence in practising my Spanish, buddy.
Mario had offered to pay for my Spanish classes but I decided I should pay for them as it didn’t seem right. Plus it puts pressure on me to improve faster if someone else is paying. However, after my first lesson, I improved a lot. I started speaking to more people in Spanish and I was experimenting with new words. However, the past and future tense is still a bit of a problem – too many goddaamn verbs to conjugate.
I had three lessons in total. I had planned to have 3 a week for four weeks but my bank decided otherwise.
Long and boring story but the punch line is: I now have no more £’s. However I do have work: Lorena wanted to get the shop open ASAP but she had to go to Colombia to get checked out as she was still ill. Fiorella and I said we’d look after the shop for her and between us we’d open every day and sell her stuff for her.
The Mothership
One quiet evening I was hanging out in the sushi restaurant. Mario had to zoom off somewhere with Luciano but he said he’d be back in a minute. I was just chilling, smoking a cigarette - I’d eaten my sushi and was ready to head home but Mario asked me to wait for him, so I did.
Mario’s cousin came in with another woman whom I’d assumed was an aunt. I said “hola, que tal?” to his cousin, kissed her on the cheek and did the same to the other woman.
Then Jhonathon smiled in his usual mischievous way and said – “Ella is mi mama.”
GULP. EEEK.
I instantly put the cigarette out. I needed time to collect my thoughts and re-group, so I went to the shop for some well-needed, chilled water. I came back, took down 3 glasses off the shelf poured one for the mum, the cousin and me; then sat down at the table with them.
The sushi bar was empty apart from a guy at the bar, Pedro and the aforementioned family members. Needless to say, it was a little bit awkward. Especially as I knew she didn’t like the idea of me:
On the morning of new years day before we went to sleep, Mario told me that his mum doesn’t like gringas – she thinks they’re all bitches. (Well, you’re almost right there Mrs H). So she doesn’t like the idea of him being with me, she wants him to be with a nice Peruvian girl. Plus she’s seen me though the window of their house (and I was probably wearing something short and beachy).
After he told me that I decided it wasn’t necessary for the meeting to take place any time soon. But suddenly I was faced with it when I least expected it. She was here, in front of me and I simply had to make a good impression.
And I did.
I very much led the conversation in terms of finding new subject matters to talk about. My Spanish took a turn for the worst due to nerves but I managed to communicate and have a proper conversation and promote myself as a decent human being.
She told me she misses Mario. I didn’t know what to say to that. He’s not ALWAYS with me. Granted we see each other between 2 and 4 times a day, but most of the time he’s either working or sorting out his terrano.
Half way through the conversation Mario reappears. He was just as startled to see me sitting at a table in his restaurant talking to his mother as I was. But he played it cool and went behind the counter and pretended not to be trying to listen to everything we were saying.
After a long while, she left and Mario gave me a round of applause. I’d done it and it wasn’t that bad. I don’t know if she liked me, but she definitely didn’t seem to hate me AND she didn’t ask me how old I was. I win.
©
This made me start to have doubts about Mancora Fest. I didn’t like Mancora when it was really busy, plus things weren’t really moving along either - I was doing all the work without any help. My neighbours (Luciano & Andrea) had translated the proposal in to Spanish for me so I could approach businesses with it and get them on board. I’d asked Mario to take me to the municipality to get permission to have the festival in the Quebrada but he didn’t. Everyone was too busy to help.
There was a big party planned for 2nd January at Punta Ballenas. After New Year being predictably average as usual, we were up for it and Micaela was involved in selling tickets for it.
The day beofre I needed to do some printing for a client. Being in Mancora means this is no simple task, as always I had to go on a mission to find a decent photocopier which meant walking around all day in the sweltering humidity. I went in to every locutorio in town and failed miserably in finding the quality that I needed to achieve.
But still, every cloud... I went in to one place where this dwarf-like creature suggested that I get my flyer printed in colour, in Lima. He handed me an example that he seemed particularly proud of – it was a flyer printed in colour, but the quality was pretty bad – it looked like it had been done on an old-school colour photocopier. I looked at the flyer it read: Mancora Fest, 2nd January, Punta Ballenas Inn.
WHAT?
You can guess what happened next: BEEF!
So after a confrontation with Micaela about stealing the name of the festival for some crappy one night party that could be called anything, she denied all knowledge and begged for forgiveness. So after having further confrontations with Chicho (the dwarf-like creature) about how immoral it is to steal from the people of Mancora (oh yes) and then going to the party with the intention of telling everyone he stole the name of the festival for this party until... we got there and it was absolutely shit.
Chicho was DJ-ing and it was that progressive techy house that doesn’t progress and is totally unsuitable for anything other than some grubby ketamine-fuelled after-party in Brixton. So I decided to keep schtum.
After a week or so of more ‘nothing happening’ I started to think: maybe I should just give up?
Until one day in the sushi bar Luciano said we should get on the case. I didn’t think we had enough time to get it all done by March, but he said we could go to Lima and do it in 10 days if necessary. Suddenly I was motivated again; I now have a dynamic business partner with a can do attitude... and lots of contacts.
Plus I’d promised myself at New Year that I would finish what I started and see this project through to the end.
Back to school
After communication issues with Mario and the need to be able to discuss relationship stuff in Spanish, I decided it was time for some more Spanish lessons. I’d picked up a lot just from talking to him and some other people, but I felt it was time to educate myself further and maybe start using the past and present tense properly - rather than just beginning a sentence with: en passado / en futuro and then continuing to speak in the present tense.
Why is it that when someone can’t speak English properly it’s kind of cute, but when I don’t speak Spanish fluently a Peruvian said to me: please Charlotte, speak in English, your Spanish is so shit. Thanks Daniel - way to boost my confidence in practising my Spanish, buddy.
Mario had offered to pay for my Spanish classes but I decided I should pay for them as it didn’t seem right. Plus it puts pressure on me to improve faster if someone else is paying. However, after my first lesson, I improved a lot. I started speaking to more people in Spanish and I was experimenting with new words. However, the past and future tense is still a bit of a problem – too many goddaamn verbs to conjugate.
I had three lessons in total. I had planned to have 3 a week for four weeks but my bank decided otherwise.
Long and boring story but the punch line is: I now have no more £’s. However I do have work: Lorena wanted to get the shop open ASAP but she had to go to Colombia to get checked out as she was still ill. Fiorella and I said we’d look after the shop for her and between us we’d open every day and sell her stuff for her.
The Mothership
One quiet evening I was hanging out in the sushi restaurant. Mario had to zoom off somewhere with Luciano but he said he’d be back in a minute. I was just chilling, smoking a cigarette - I’d eaten my sushi and was ready to head home but Mario asked me to wait for him, so I did.
Mario’s cousin came in with another woman whom I’d assumed was an aunt. I said “hola, que tal?” to his cousin, kissed her on the cheek and did the same to the other woman.
Then Jhonathon smiled in his usual mischievous way and said – “Ella is mi mama.”
GULP. EEEK.
I instantly put the cigarette out. I needed time to collect my thoughts and re-group, so I went to the shop for some well-needed, chilled water. I came back, took down 3 glasses off the shelf poured one for the mum, the cousin and me; then sat down at the table with them.
The sushi bar was empty apart from a guy at the bar, Pedro and the aforementioned family members. Needless to say, it was a little bit awkward. Especially as I knew she didn’t like the idea of me:
On the morning of new years day before we went to sleep, Mario told me that his mum doesn’t like gringas – she thinks they’re all bitches. (Well, you’re almost right there Mrs H). So she doesn’t like the idea of him being with me, she wants him to be with a nice Peruvian girl. Plus she’s seen me though the window of their house (and I was probably wearing something short and beachy).
After he told me that I decided it wasn’t necessary for the meeting to take place any time soon. But suddenly I was faced with it when I least expected it. She was here, in front of me and I simply had to make a good impression.
And I did.
I very much led the conversation in terms of finding new subject matters to talk about. My Spanish took a turn for the worst due to nerves but I managed to communicate and have a proper conversation and promote myself as a decent human being.
She told me she misses Mario. I didn’t know what to say to that. He’s not ALWAYS with me. Granted we see each other between 2 and 4 times a day, but most of the time he’s either working or sorting out his terrano.
Half way through the conversation Mario reappears. He was just as startled to see me sitting at a table in his restaurant talking to his mother as I was. But he played it cool and went behind the counter and pretended not to be trying to listen to everything we were saying.
After a long while, she left and Mario gave me a round of applause. I’d done it and it wasn’t that bad. I don’t know if she liked me, but she definitely didn’t seem to hate me AND she didn’t ask me how old I was. I win.
©
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