Sunday is our day of rest. Original, no? Anyway, I took it literally. Everyone got all excited after breakfast to go hiking. Not me: I am quite aware that we are here to exert ourselves for 40 hours a week, and I’m not about to be peer-pressured into heart-pounding Everest attempts.
So… I stayed in the courtyard, and read Lamb, by Christopher Moore, which, incidentally, was excellent. Three things happened as a result of my noonish slump:
- I was stung by various flying insects, none of which responded to my excellent Spanish cursewords
- The dueña, whose name is, apparently, Teresa, complemented my on my muscles. And my farmer’s tan.
- I was as bored as I have ever been in my life.
I am a social being – like the rest of us. Being away from my Peru Peeps sucked. I ate dinner alone, and wandered around the town, stepping in some pretty ripe horse poo. It was bad times.
Then, everyone came back, and we went out to a restaurant so they could eat. Marcus ate a guinea pig. I ate a Peruvian pepper. Both were terrible ideas. Like Sundays.
After dinner, we went to the site, and perpetrated some heinously cheesy things, like silhouette pictures, and contorting ourselves to spell “P-E-R-U.” These were great ideas. Then we went to bed.
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