Goodbye Love, Goodbye Lima

Two days before we were supposed to leave, 183 Victor Larco Hererra hosted the party to end all parties, not in its size but in our need to find new homes for a variety of furniture, tools, brooms, bottles, and the assorted detritus of ten months of failed and halfhearted projects. Everyone we knew showed up; some stayed longer than was necessary. All in all, good cheer and good feelings began our roadtrip.

The Irish girls arrived first, lovers of fine hats and difficult slang, followed by Alex Dadok, Fulbright fellows, hangers-on, Bruceperu people and a dozen other flunkies and vagabonds. It was mostly Americans (plus Diego) and we had might be called an American Party, with American music, American drinking, and angry yelling in American voices.

At some point Alex White sally-ed out and went to sleep. This he denies, but it is well-known. I write it here.

Anyway, there were others: girls in puffy sleeves, blondes sleeping under tables, machetes, Caroline representing for Fran who had to go get a job, a whole apartment run amok.

Things looked promising, but feelings can be deceiving.

The next day, as Dave and Alex and Jeff sat mapping days on our fancy driving plan to Peru, I went to get a sandwich and some fresh air. By the time I got back, everything had changed. ´The combi wasn´t going to make it´ it was declared, ´we don´t have time,´ ´what if it breaks down?´, ´how will it all work out?´ ´How much would it be to fly?´

To be honest, I was disappointed to leave our plan behind, sell the car, and fly to Chile. Anyone can fly, maybe I just have the romance of the road. But I understand I have three months to see what I want, not three weeks, so I should be more flexible. Goodbye combi: you were a fine beast and we never gave you a chance to succeed.

Another ´what could have been´ on top of all the others.

I landed in Santiago, into the brisk midnight, and I put on my coat. South, south, south, forever south.