The devil makes work for idle thumbs

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Colombia  , Quindío,
Wednesday, March 28, 2012

I'd managed just under a week of no boozing when all of a sudden I find myself awake at 3am trying to build a bonfire in the middle of a field by a hostel with an Aussie, a Canadian, an Irish and an English girl.  It had to be some kind of joke.  I have honestly no idea how mankind managed to start fires thousands of years ago.  We were struggling with a ton of wood, three bic lighters and copious amounts of toilet roll.  I'm guessing the drink was getting in the way of success.  I'm lucky it ends reasonably early, due to running out of cigarettes and desperately needing a hamburger.  Salento isn't one of those places you can stagger home eating a scooby snack.  I help myself to a slice of reformed cheese back at the hostel.  I'm not proud of it.  It was necessary.

That was the result of last night anyway.  One wee dram in memory of dad turns into another debaucherous evening of liver and lung damage.  I was meant to get up early today to attempt this glorious trek I've heard so much about, but I am actually surprised to still see daylight.  The early risers return in the afternoon with tales of intrepid exploration, which only serves to enhance my deep regret and loathing at the previous evenings self abuse.  I'll get there eventually.

The internet is down in the hostel.  I'm ready to kick off.  Steak and peppercorn sauce at the local eatery does little to enhance my disappointment at the lack of dot com.  I recognise the serious problem I've developed if I don't have my internet fix.  It's not good.  Imagine what it's like for the rest of the planet.  If it ever seriously went down, how would we talk to people?  How could we contact our friends?  What would we do without You tube?  Once again I'd be forced into secretly taping soft porn from late night German channels.  I need to stalk people.  I need to send sex pest messages to randoms.  I need some web cam action.  On a chilly evening in a quiet dorm room, it's all I have to keep me sane.  Perhaps I should learn to read.  Nothing to do but Microsoft paint and defragment the disk.

I'm pleased with myself in staying put for the night.  I could go back out to see if it's got any livelier, but this is Salento, it's not Vegas.  The twenty Swedish virgins are not going to turn up at the Speak Easy cafe in my absence, even though my mind is playing havoc convincing me that they are.  I throw my clothes in a heap and dive under the covers before I succumb to the argument.  I've a small collection of photographs that'll help me take the edge off things before I finally get to sleep. 

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