by Mark Green
I had a shower and by seven o’clock that evening I felt I was ready to brave the outside world without needing the comfort of a toilet less than ten yards away. I dressed and shook my head at having to use an extra notch on my belt.
This time I studied the Lonely Planet for a restaurant recommendation and we ended up at a little place called 100% Natural. The food was excellent, but Angel was right, bread and soup was all I could manage. She on the other hand ate for Scotland. I watched her stuff her face, feeling slightly envious, hoping I’d be well enough to eat properly again soon.
Having had some food, my first in thirty-six hours, I suddenly felt exhausted.
“I’m going to have to go to bed Angel, I’m shattered,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open.
“I’m not surprised. You body has been through hell. Now it’s had some energy, it wants to shut down everything non-essential so it can start repairing the damage.”
We picked up some more bottled water on the way and stopped by reception to collect the key. Was it my imagination, or did the lady behind the desk give us a strange look? No matter, I was too tired to register it as a problem and escorted Angel back to the room.
I suggested she go to the bathroom first, just in case… and that was the last thing I remember until the morning.
* *
Angel
I smiled at JC’s light snoring, which guided me into bed. I wasn’t surprised he’d crashed out, that was a really nasty bout of food poisoning and he was lucky to have got through the worst of it so quickly. I slipped into bed next to him and lay awake for a few minutes, fighting my own tiredness to think about the build-up over the last few weeks.
I wondered where we went from here, how strong the feelings really were and how they might change if our pasts came back to haunt us?
I suppose we’d need to be together first, I reasoned, my last thought as I too drifted off into a deep sleep.
Thirty Two
JC
I slept in late the next morning, dangerously close to checking out time. I woke with a pounding headache and realised I needed to keep drinking as much water as I could. But the good news was I hadn’t needed to get up in the night and although I still had a dull ache in my stomach, I put this down to hunger and soreness rather than the food poisoning. Angel was already up and dressed, listening to her headphones.
“Morning Nurse. Top of the morning to you,” I said, propping myself up in bed.
“Wow, you look so much better!” she said in an overly loud voice.
I chuckled and climbed out of bed to find a bottle of water.
“How you feeling, man of steel?”
I drained the water as I wondered around to her side of the bed and gently pulled the earphones out of her ears.
“Not so loud Angel, feels like a sledgehammer battering the inside of my head.”
“Oh, sorry. Water is what you need, lots and lots.”
I grinned at the empty plastic bottle in my hand, which of course she couldn’t see and bopped her on the head with it.
“Ah, I see you’re ahead of me. What’s the plan today, you feeling up to a wander around?” she said.
“I reckon that’s a good idea. Fresh air, maybe check out an internet café…”
“Hang on, are you standing there naked?”
“I am.”
“All dangly jangly? I’m not sure that’s appropriate after not even half a first date. You should be mindful of your manners Superman.”
I laughed, which made my stomach twinge, prompting me to head off to the bathroom.
“If you were a lady you wouldn’t be asking those sorts of questions.”
“Like you were a gentleman and didn’t look that first night?” she said, her voice muffled through the bathroom door.
I opened my mouth to answer then thought better of it.
* *
I smiled at the receptionist as she looked up from the desk and I passed her our key.
“Gracias. Senor Cork, follow me please?” she said, with a sheepish look. I frowned, leading Angel into the small dining room, where the receptionist shut the door behind us. I’d not noticed before, but she held a newspaper in her hand.
“Please, excuse. You are eBay couple, no? Kate Thornly, yes?”
I felt Angel squeeze my hand as I watched the receptionist open the Bolivian newspaper and spread it out on the nearest table.
“Be careful amigos.”
The receptionist traced her finger over the newspaper headlines and the first few lines of the story underneath. I could see a grainy photograph of me on a boozy night out and Angel’s infamous shower picture.
“Twenty thousand Bolivianos. Blind girl taken by English um, how you say, thief, no, er…”
“Con artist. Trickster. Bad man,” said Angel, in a playful tone.
“Bad man, yes. Report you, this telephone number.”
It seemed we now had a price on our heads!
“Simon’s off my Christmas card list,” said Angel.
I shook my head, bemused. The world had gone mad.
“But I see you. You no bad man. Look after Kate, smile much. Bolivian people good people, but poor. This much money. You understand?”
I nodded.
“Passports. Don’t give Kate Thornly to hotels. That how I know. I not know you blind Kate. I am sorry.”
Shit! How bloody stupid can you get? We’d thought about the credit card, paying only in cash and had disguised ourselves, but had forgotten about our passports. It was so obvious we’d both completely overlooked it.
“Thank you Senora. Muchos gracias,” I said, holding eye contact with this lovely kind lady. Angel offered her open arms and hugged her.
I paid the outstanding amount for our room in cash together with a sizeable tip and left Angel in reception while I took the key and packed up our room. It was a shame to be moving on so soon, particularly as I wasn’t feeling great, but it didn’t look like we had much choice.
* *
Angel
“I wish I could remember which bank we robbed, Butch,” I said as we stepped out of the hotel into the street.
“They all merge into one when you’ve hit as many as we have, Sundance.”
We both laughed.
“Fugitives again. You’re a bad influence JC.”
The only plan we had now was to find an internet café to check in with friends back home, and pick up the latest news on the search for us. Then we’d decide where to go next. Preferably somewhere well off the beaten track.
JC led us to Oliver’s Travels, a bar and restaurant serving the best English breakfast in Bolivia, where we quietly discussed our next destination.
“What about the jungle?” he suggested, reading me snippets from the Lonely Planet guide on Bolivia.
“We could fly there in an hour. Ordinarily that would be better than the bus, but they would definitely have to check our passports.
“How long by road?”
“Fifteen to eighteen hours, depending on the weather,” he said.
Not an especially appealing option, but if it meant escaping capture for another couple of weeks, then it was worth considering.
“Why the hell not, let’s bus it to the jungle and meet some of your ancestors!” I said, making JC splutter, mid-mouthful.
* *
JC
We had a new system for our visit to the internet café. I rented a terminal and
Angel perched behind me on a stool, leaning over my shoulder, staring into space in the general direction of the screen while I went through both our e-mail accounts. Our theory was that to a casual observer we were just like any other travelling couple on a tight budget. Not that it was expensive, this was Bolivia after all.
I logged into Angel’s account first, wondering what would be waiting for us in cyberspace. I scanned down the list of messages and printed off anything that looked interesting. If nothing else it would help to pass the time during our bus journey to the jung
le. There were a couple of messages from Maria in Angel’s inbox and one from Pete. I hesitated, wondering if I should delete that one, then stopped. It was a matter of trust.
“Do you want all of them printed off, including ex-husbands?” I said, deciding to play the game fair and square.
“Might as well get the whole picture on what’s happening back home,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. I nodded and tabbed down through the list, printing off relevant messages, then closed down Angel’s account. I logged onto my e-mail and watched as sixty messages appeared.
“I’ve never been so popular.”
“Especially with that new hairdo!”
“You’re not wrong. Old friends creeping out of the woodwork, work colleagues, the press of course…”
“Any other Kate Thornlys?” she whispered, her voice sending shivers down my spine, despite my still delicate state.
“Let’s see… yup, one or two. And Kate Thornly the 1st. It seems the plumber might not be doing it for her anymore.”
“No longer able to clear her U bend?” said Angel, making me laugh out loud.
“Lovely turn of phrase.”
“You know me.”
I turned back to the screen, printed off messages from Justin and one or two others that seemed interesting, then shut the system down. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Thirty Three
JC
The bus journey was a bugger! Cheap as chips for the distance, but we were jammed into the back of a small minibus. Our knees were tight against the seats in front as we bounced on the back axle over every pothole and rut. Clearly we were sitting in the seats that no local wanted.
At least there were no passport checks, but it didn’t get away from the fact that it was bloody uncomfortable. We didn’t even get a chance to read the e-mails, firstly because I’d stuffed them in my pack, which was under a tarpaulin on the roof, and secondly because even if I’d had them on me, I’d feel sick reading them in this hot, cramped roller coaster.
“I’m sure the SAS use these very stress positions as part of their escape and evasion training,” I said, making no attempt to disguise the grump in my voice.
“No, I think we’re missing the thumb screws,” said Angel.
Another reason for my less than impressed state of mind, was that this environment wasn’t exactly conducive to re-establishing a romantic air between us. I hoped we’d get it back, but this really wasn’t the time or place to lean across and start whispering sweet nothings in her ear!
I tried my best to describe what I could see, but soon gave up shouting over the road noise and hot air blasting in from the open window. I vaguely remember reading that part of the journey to the jungle town of Rurrenabaque was along a stretch of the infamous ‘world’s most dangerous road’ — they weren’t joking. The loose grit track looked barely wide enough for one vehicle, let alone two being driven at speed. I peered over the edge of one mountain pass as we inched past a cattle truck. We had maybe three inches of road on my side before we’d plummet five hundred feet to the dense jungle below. Car and truck wrecks littered the side of the road every few miles. Out here there were no crash barriers, no street lights and no speed limits. I was quite glad Angel hadn’t pestered me for a detailed description of our surroundings — perhaps she’s picked up on the tension in my voice and had decided she was better off not knowing!
There were stops every few hours to stretch our legs, visit the toilet or grab a bite to eat from the small village stores. The trouble was, having taken ten minutes to get the blood moving, the thought of having to squeeze ourselves into the bus again wasn’t pleasant.
* *
Sixteen uncomfortable, hungry and miserable hours later, we finally arrived in Rurrenabaque. It was one of those times when the first hotel with a room would do. We crashed out under a whirring fan that just about kept the stifling heat and humidity at bay, long enough for us to drift into a fitful sleep. Something told me the journey here was an ominous omen for our time in the jungle...
* *
Angel
According to JC, we’d lucked out with The Oriental Hotel. There was a central outdoor courtyard with half a dozen hammocks strung up under shelter. Our room was big, had a really comfortable bed, proper deep pillows and a bathroom bigger than many a previous hotel room. The journey here should have prepared me for the stifling heat of the jungle, but stepping off the bus it still hit me. We’d thought we’d be more comfortable here at sea level, but the humidity is sky high. It’s sticky and uncomfortably hot all of the time. Wearing shorts and tee-shirts instead of fighting off the cold was a novelty that soon wore off!
The smell of the jungle heat is weird, it exaggerates everything — rancid trash smells, two stroke motorbike fumes and B.O. And the whole place resonates with a high pitched squawk from untold bugs that made my skin shudder, despite the heat. But the worst sound was the scream of incoming mosquitoes, buzzing around my face, freaking me out — little bastards!
Despite my normal enthusiasm and energy, I struggled from the very start in the jungle. It was such an alien environment, riddled with hazards. I felt my confidence dip as I realised I had to be so much more careful than normal. It also meant I wasn’t as relaxed around JC. I’d have to rely on him even more and we wouldn’t be on the reasonably level ground that we had been.
An invisible force field seemed to descend between us and I felt powerless to do anything to dissolve it. But this was only the start. We’d planned to spend a few days up river away from the town at a jungle village lodge with even more heat, insects and hardcore hiking.
For the first time since starting out on the trip, I felt a sense of gloom.
* *
JC
Jesus it was hot! Like being in a furnace, sauna and steam room all at the same time. It didn’t take me long to realise that even once we’d managed to recover from the bus ride here, neither of us was going to cope that well. And we hadn’t even got to the jungle lodge yet!
We got up the first morning after a poor night’s sleep. Both of us had been restless in the heat and were unable to settle because of the noisy whirling of the ancient overhead fan. We sat at a table outside one of the few shack-type buildings open for breakfast and fended off the bugs. We were both jaded and not in the best of moods. Usually when one of us was a bit low or quiet, the other would be upbeat and would be able to lift the others spirits. But here we were both struggling.
I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to read the e-mails, so I left that delight for another time. Instead, I ran through a mental list of things we had to do, including confirming our booking with the jungle lodge.
“You’re quiet this morning JC,” Angel said, an edge to her voice that I hadn’t heard before.
I looked over at her, seeing her agitation as she swatted buzzing insects away from her face. Normally I might have felt sorry for her; not being able to see the mozzies but hearing their high pitched ‘Stuka’ scream can’t have been very pleasant. But I didn’t allow her any latitude.
“Yeah, making a list of things to do. Starting with…”
“You and your bloody lists.”
Ouch.
“Sometimes they’re necessary to get things done.”
My tone could have been reeled in a notch or two, but unfortunately I was also tired and irritable. Blind or not, if looks could kill I’d be well and truly six feet under. We sat there in stony silence for the rest of breakfast.
“Come on, let’s go and pay for the jungle lodge. We’ve come all this way, we might as well experience the whole travel thing. Good, bad or bloody awful.
“That was a barbed comment.”
I sighed and stood there for a moment looking down at her. I wondered what else was going on, but doubted I’d get a straight answer.
“I know it’s bloody hot and there are lots of insects, but let’s just try and make the best of it. We’re here now.”
I offered my hand, leaning dow
n to slip it into hers. She reluctantly accepted and stood, sighing for effect.
Rurrenabaque is built on a grid layout, with wide straight mud roads and mostly single storey terraced buildings in bright colours; cream, turquoise, yellow and green. It’s a fledgling tourist resort located beside a wide fast flowing muddy brown river. All around the edge of the town is dense jungle — bush trees right up to the water and lush green ferns. There weren’t many cars here, the odd jeep or Nissan Patrol dodged two stroke motorbikes that were usually driven flat out — their screechy engines and smoky exhausts hanging in the thick air. There were loads of hardcore travellers milling around and one or two European residents who looked like they’d come to visit in the seventies and never left. One made a living selling banana cake from a flatbed trike, another ran jungle tours.
I checked the directions in the Lonely Planet and took a left past an elegant modern building which was the town’s only bank.
“Nearly there, Angel,” I said, squeezing her hand, but she barely responded. It looked like I’d have to jolly things along for the both of us.
* *
The lady in the San Miguel del Bala office was very enthusiastic about our four day trip and passionate about the villagers. Apparently this was a community-based project that had evolved five years ago after the government declared much of the village’s hunting ground a national park. This meant they had to look for other ways to sustain themselves and future generations, so the growing tourist trade was an obvious opportunity. I was really impressed with the whole set up and asked lots of questions that Danni, the Dutch volunteer seemed to revel in.
“Would you like to see some photographs? I’ll just be a moment,” said Danni, as she disappeared into the back of her office.
“I bet she’s early thirties, blond and has big tits,” Angel hissed.
“That’s actually not a bad description.”
I’d not seen Angel in a bad mood before, and it wasn’t pretty. Her face was angry, all humour and energy had drained away.