Breakfast on the Road

Ignacio loved the photos. How cool was it for me to walk into the very expensive hotel lounge where he was playing and have him call out to me to thank me for the photos and tell me how good they looked? The gig was excellent and much appreciated by the more up-market crowd but lacked the vitality of the previous night’s gig. It ended sooner than I anticipated, but it was another special night all the same.

I met some ladies who wanted to see my pics; when I showed them, they wanted a copy. This has been happening a lot here. I’ve used up most of my CDs giving people copies of my photos, and I’m thinking this might be a good way to boost my budget while I’m travelling. I just have to learn to charge. We’ll see …

I rose early the next morning, needlessly; due to mechanical failure, the shuttle bus was 45 minutes late. I was the only one to board and was thankful that I would at least have all that extra space to spread my legs and perhaps lie down should the bumpy roads and scorching heat take their toll on my recently satiated stomach. But there were more passengers to come. We bounced around the cobbled streets, stopping and starting for what seemed like an eternity while we criss-crossed the city, picking up more Monterrico-bound travellers. After an hour of breakfast-churning bumps and potholes, we picked up our last passenger—just two blocks from where I got on an hour or so earlier. My stomach was not amused, and my head began spinning in sympathy.

I tried to enjoy some polite conversation with my friendly fellow shuttlers, but my mind was on other things; namely, getting my head out the window. I rudely ignored my new amigos and rested my forehead in the crease of my elbow, a buffer against the jarring window frame. It seemed to be working. For an hour I kept motionless like this so as to avoid the otherwise inevitable, with my face down, head out the window … and in the full glare of the late morning sun.

It was the heat that finally got me. My salivary glands gave the signal, lining my mouth to protect from the impending stomach fluids. I prayed no one could see me as I projected my now liquid breakfast-bagel-with-cream-cheese in short bursts along a half-kilometre stretch of the Antigua—Monterrico highway.

As we alighted at the launch that would take us along the lagoons and canals to our final destination, the driver joked about the green gringo greeting the searing daylight with blinkered eyes and vomit splattered t-shirt and chin. I accepted with a contained nod my status as the least cool person on the bus and headed for some canalside shade to await the boat.

One always feels a little better after ridding one’s stomach of unwanted contents, so I partook of the seaside air and observed a sweet-looking and thin young, female dog resting in the shade. What I saw next had me incredulous: a skinny, white-and-tabby young cat came and snuggled up to the dog and began kneading her teats. The dog then stretched out and allowed the cat to suckle what little milk she must have been able to provide. I’d heard about such misplaced fostering but never before witnessed it first-hand. It was beautiful to watch this unselfish and loving act; it became even more aah-inducing when the young dog turned to rest her head on the suckling feline.

I took this as an omen that my stay at Monterrico would be an interesting and enjoyable one as I boarded the launcha that would take some of my fellow travellers and me into Monterrico.