I wake up, I look over my bed, and see a putrid pile of black and purple vomit sprung forth from the guy on the second level of the other bunks. It has covered his pillow, his sheets, himself. It has spilled onto his friend below (who is blissfully unaware), his pillow, his sheets, and pooled on the floor of the dorm. I try to go back to sleep. I hear him get up, strip just his own sheets, ignore the rest of the mess and go back to sleep. He stays asleep for the rest of the day, while the poor cleaner comes in and mops the floor. The fellowship of the dorm is rapdily splintering.
After the excitement of the last few days, we took the day very easy (and avoided our room), calling into Mick and Kelly’s around lunch to find everyone still asleep. A message had also come through that our Inca Trail trek in March had been cancelled, so we spent the day completely rearranging our travel plans, scrambling to get in touch with airlines, my Uncle Peter in Bogota, hostels and to rebook our Inca trail trek. So instead of the original plan to fly to La Paz, we were now off to Columbia and working our way from there for the trek in early April.
After catching up with the others for some beach time in the late afternoon, we somehow managed to crack a beer or two, which rapidly escalated when Claudia and Dane’s Portuguese friend Teresa arrived from Argentina and promptly bought a few cases of beer. We all worked our way through the pain barrier and ended up drinking beers down at the beach till around 1am.