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Other entries in Tumbes

The living dead

Really really really ill.

The bus arrived at Tumbes and I managed to make the gents before losing the contents of my stomache from both ends.

"Take me to the closest bed." I didn't care about how much I paid, I just needed to rest, to sleep.

So so not funny.

The taxi driver wants to make bloody small talk. I tell him I'm going to Ecuador tomorrow, but I'm sick and want to rest now. He tells me there are strikes starting tomorrow and I wont get through the border for six days. I'll miss my flight.

I'm so sick.

We go to the chemist to get some drugs then back to the bus terminal to get me a bus across the border.

I just make it to the gents in time.

I'm on another bus - thank god it's a quality one and there are working toilets. There's also three really interesting aussies who think I'm funny. I stop talking to them.

Oh god, raw fish.

My brother calls. After three months, all I can say to him is "mate, great to hear from you. Got to go now." Bugger.

I throw up before customs.

I push in front of everyone so I can get through customs quicker. Some European gives me a dirty look. I consider throwing up on his shoes.

I throw up after customs.

Some angel from Spain gives me drugs. I take them. Whatever they are, along with those I bought in Tumbes, they enable me to get to Guayaquil without throwing up again. Don't know what the aussies thought of me moaning for seven hours.

I want bed.

I get in a taxi and we drive forever. He puts my bags on the sidewalk, and I try and carry them to the hostel.

I can't get through the door. I sit down. Some poor lady has to carry my 25kg pack to a room for me. I'm in the room and then in bed. My money belt is beside me, as is my wallet, phone and watch. I should put them away.

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