Day 352 Rainbow Hat

Sunday 26 July 2009

We turn off our computers and go to sleep at 1:30 and are up at 7:00. After desayuno and after Yobani leaves for a day with her sister we check online BCP and Gustavo again—nada—five days to get our 868 bucks back.

We test pack after pulling four hard suitcases from under the bed and wiping off a year’s worth of dust. As soon as I get one of mine packed I know I can easily get all my stuff into two hard cases and one carryon with laptop in the carryon. Teri is not so sure after her first try; she has a lot more stuff. She makes soup for almuerzo and we enjoy a couple of glasses of red wine which sets us up perfectly for an early afternoon nap.

Tonight is the night Rob and Maureen are leaving Peru and we’re disappointed that we haven’t heard from them. Teri tries to contact Maureen with her cell phone, but Maureen probably doesn’t have hers on—she’s as bad as I am with a cell phone. Hey! Just because technology is available doesn’t mean we must avail ourselves of it, slave ourselves to the machine—not for Maureen and not for Leroy—screw that! We decide at 5:00 to cleanup and head to their apartment in a taxi. We get a six pack of beer and chips at the gas station market near their apartment and try to raise them by banging on the door to the stairs at the first floor but are unsuccessful; we shout their names toward yonder second floor window and in a few minutes we hear Rob coming down the stairs. We invite them to dinner, but they don’t have time, they’re still packing. While they calmly finish I open four beers and Teri and I sit on their little couch and munch chips with ours. They ask about our trip to Ecuador and the Galapagos and we ask about their trip to Cuenca in Ecuador. I mention the Panama hat I bought and Rob runs to the bedroom and returns wearing a smallish rainbow-colored Panama hat perched high on his head; it seems too small—it looks ridiculous, and I have to smother a laugh. It looks like a pork-pie hat, the kind worn by Popeye Doyle in The French Connection, but I decide, on Rob it looks great, fitting even, and we share warm laughter together in their cramped front room. I so much like these two people and so does Teri; we’re going to miss them. After they’re packed we finish our beers along with empty phrases and imitation gaiety in a room full of suitcases and boxes.

We help them carry their luggage outside around 7:30 for the 8:30 all-night bus to Lima on Cruz del Sur. Monica, their landlady, shows up and Rob takes off in a taxi with the luggage while Maureen, Teri and I ride in Monica’s Toyota, with shocks that do not ease the jarring from the huge potholes; I suspect a month of driving the streets of Piura makes all shocks worthless.

When we get to the station they learn their bus won’t be arriving until 9:00. Rob checks their luggage and we chat awhile about how much we like each other with promises to see each other again in the future, perhaps in Oregon, or England, where they’re returning until they can find another place in the world to volunteer their time. A small TV high on the dingy wall shows a volleyball game between Peru and Brazil which the latter win easily in three. The tears welling in my eyes are not for the losing team.

Teri and I leave our friends at 8:15 and head to Adelita Anticucheria for meat. I have the lomo and Teri the anticucho. I have beer and Teri chicha morado—we raise a toast to friends in a future world and to Rob’s rainbow hat.