(Day 20) When Sundays Go Bad

I'm not sure what I did to Sundays. I mean, granted, I haven't been to church in awhile (sorry, Jesus), but the entire history of Chavin Sundays has been one of terrible disappointment and melancholy. Obviously, 1/7th of the week is against me.

Consider this recent Sunday, the 20th. Not much of note happened - Beth fell ill, we went to Pukutay for the umpteenth time and ordered the same pollo saltado, and were treated to another sweet helping of lithics in the afternoon - a payment for the days off during the week.

By far the worst part was dinner. I brought "Love in the Time of Cholera" to while away the hours until my bistek apanado. Bear in mind, reader, that I've only carried this book, one of five, several thousand miles because of its reputation. It certainly holds its own in this regard: it has, for example, won the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Surprise ending: I hated it. Really, really didn't like it. Obviously, it's a translation, so the language is bound to be clunky, but the whole thing was just improbable and poorly thought and unsatisfying. The first sentence, for example, is: "It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of unrequited love." Less than classy.

To make it worse, I tried talking about it as dinner got underway, but was immediately shot down by one devotee and a peanut gallery of acolytes. "Well," _____ said, "have you ever read Marquez? That's just how he writes." The only other student to have read it only insisted blithely that it was the pinnacle of his reading experience, and his neighbors reminded me of what was clearly stamped on the cover - it had won the Nobel Prize.

Entirely too frustrating. It reminded me of IHUM section and every bad seminar - people opining on what they haven't read. If you are reading this, fellow travelers, I am legitimately calling you to account - your insistent parroting has... dimmed you in my eyes.

Anyway, the rest of the night was a bust too. The Peruvians really wanted to play poker, which really made me not want to play (self-preservation), but I didn't want to be anti-social. Would that I was! I lost five hands in a row to Matt, and was barren of chips thirty minutes in. The entire business reminded me of how poor I am at these sort of equivocation games, and how Sundays are, to pun a bit, chancy.