Casting no shadow

Wednesday 30 November

Apparently there is some kind of holiday happening here.  That explains why it sounds like Helmand Province in the streets.  Some of these firecrackers are like mortars.  This is based on my extensive knowledge of mortars playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare on the Xbox.  I’m starting to get pretty pissed at the locals who think it’s hilarious when they witness me jumping out of my skin every time a rocket goes off.  Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.  Har, har har.  I feel justified staying in and locking the door.

Well now, this is interesting.  Actually it isn’t; because I’ve done nothing today at all.  NOTHING I TELL YOU!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!

‘cough’

Nothing except shuffle around eating a pork burrito.

However I am referring to a curious incident in the night time.  Remember that Frenchman I mentioned a few entries ago?  The one that society clearly forgot and was languishing in the Naked Tiger drug hostel?  The one who decided to fire into the girl I liked?  He stumbles up to me and slurs apologies.  He attempts to convey condolences for the passing of my parents.  He checks with me to see if it was OK to have bedded this girl.  He then proceeds to tell me how f**king annoying she was and he couldn’t actually stand her.  At great length he lambasts both her and her friends.  He pulls no punches.  Does he think we’ll suddenly strike up a friendship again with this banter?  Is it now; AFTER you’ve shagged the girl that “bro’s before hoe’s” applies?  What kind of moron is this?  With that awkward smile and nod you give when someone is talking total balls, I think back to the night in question.  The mind was a little hazy; but I imagine that the conversation went something like this:

“Sorry to hear about your parents.”

“No worries man, thanks, life goes on”

“Yeah…is it OK if I screw the girl you came with?”

I of course embellish with a little poetic license, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me.  You get the idea.

Now I’m no oil painting, but choosing this thing propping himself up on my shoulder over me is questionable.  Maybe it’s because I don’t have a hairy face.  Still it’s done, dusted, in the past and time to move on.  I shall labour the point no more.  I need to get plasters for my bleeding hands from playing the bongos.

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And then there was one

Tuesday 29 November

Ok so I think you’re getting the fact that I’m a glass half empty kinda guy.  You’re not so much getting it; more like you’re having it rubbed into your eyeballs and slapped round your face like a wet kipper.  I will try my best to turn that into a salmon.  I miss salmon.

That’s a nice picture of a ship isn’t it?  I took that.

I spend another day waiting for the night.  A half arsed call to my bank reveals that they can only send my card to my home address, which is actually my sisters.  It takes three to five working days for the card to come through, then the new pin follows a few days later.  By the time my darling sister manages to send it to me I’m going to be washed up on a beach somewhere, vultures pecking at the flaking, burnt red skin of my once pasty white corpse.

…Woah…where did that come from?  Apologies if you were eating.

So long story short I’m not going anywhere in a hurry.  Except to open mike night.  Which is an epic fail and should have ended a lot better than it did.  Rum and Damien Rice don’t mix.  I need to learn something upbeat; but at least I wasn’t the guy with Timmy Mallet shades, a wife-beater vest and a cooking pot on his head.  Welcome to San Juan Del Sur.

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Chalk it up to experience

Monday 28 November

I wonder if I’m running from something.  Responsibility?  Guilt?  Regret?  Is this my way of dealing with the events of the past four years?  I’m not eating well, I’m drinking too much and I’m cavorting with “the wrong crowd”.  I feel like a student again.  I long for a packet of wafer thin reformed ham and a pot noodle.

Making phone calls and getting very little success or straight answers from a country a million miles from home is enough to drive anyone loco.  That means crazy.  See?  Spanish.  No problem…(o).  Always learning.

I’m actually wandering around in a daze and it’s either got something to do with the heat, or the excessive amount of partying I have been doing.  It’s been a pretty hard cycle to get out of.  Wake up around midday, throw some clothes on, find somewhere that sells smoothies, then return to crash out in a hammock.  Finally at night I shower, change, then go out and probably make a fool of myself.  Other hostel users flit in and out through the day, bringing tales of hikes and beaches; gathering food to cook in the kitchen, and large fresh fish they have caught on a boat trip.  I simply smell in the corner; a pretty accurate depiction of UK drinking culture.  It isn’t, nor can it come to any good.
Today isn’t much different.  Yet for the most part I am enjoying myself.  There are some nice people here, the weather has been glorious and I guess I’m on holiday.  A friend tells me I should stop being so hard on myself over a local brew.  That it isn’t the destination, but the journey that counts.  It’s just a pity I’m traveling on bottles of rum.

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Delusions of grandeur

Sunday 27 November

I’m a stinking, festering mess as I try to exist in the international phone booth.  A shadow of a shadow.  A nonentity bothering the human race by breathing good air.

I’ve slept little.  My head and heart too troubled from another epic fail.  I feel like I’ve got cotton wool wrapped around my face.  And no; I don’t really know what that’s like either.

I manage to get my cards cancelled and begin the process of having new ones sent through.  I don’t think I’ll be leaving San Juan any time soon.  The voice on the end of the line cannot even humour me with a time frame, but I am informed that some little scumbag has used my credit card four times this morning.  In Rivas.  I’m guessing a local, most likely driving; two of the transactions were at a petrol station.  He’s possibly a regular in San Juan at the weekend, praying on young drunks.  I’m betting he makes a killing.

I’m suddenly overtaken by wild delusions of grandeur.  I’m going to track this guy down and cut his hands off.  And then eat him.  Actually that last part is a lie and just because I’m hungry. I’m also totally bemused as to how a dark skinned Latino man used my credit card with the name ‘Stuart Andrew Jameson’ on the front.   I become aware my voice is raised and I’m taking it out on the Indian call centre guy.  Eventually I come back to earth.  And eat a taco.  With cheese.  And pork.  Mmmmmmm.

Ok enough of this entry.  I’m off to get a cheesy pork taco.

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Does only god walk alone…?

Saturday 26 November

I suppose it had to happen at some point.  I have been pretty stupid in carrying a wallet in the first place, and keeping all my cards in it.  Some kind soul buys me a pack of cigarettes.  The nicotine does little to numb my almost overwhelming sense of self pity.  With liquor fueling the rampage, I curse the sky, long enough to get my point across, short enough to avoid the guilt.

With new found companions I enjoy a lovely start to the day.  As these things go however, and based on my run of luck at the moment, it wasn’t to last.  I should apologise for the recent negativity with my musings.  Yet I feel that until this downturn changes, I’ll continue to say what I think.  You’ll just have to put up with it.

And so it goes…lovely day, lovely (start) to the night.  New hostel buddies, a great atmosphere, some fine tunes married with hilarious card and drinking games.  We moved into town as an army.  We danced, we laughed, we partied hard.  Have you ever had one of those nights where everything is just golden?  You’re on form, everything you say is witty, smiles all around, that glance from a nice girl…?

Ok so I mentioned a girl.  Get over it.

The party spilled over onto the next bar.  Familiar faces, old and new acquaintances.  Drinks?  Yes.  Drinks for some friends.  Wait.  What?  Where?  Where is my wallet?  Is it…?  No.  Did I…? No.  What just happened?

My wallet is stolen.  Within minutes, that aforementioned epic night turns into a total train wreck.  Everything disappeared.  All the fun, all the dancing, all the spade work.  Vanished.  Pride comes before a fall.  Having my little “chat” with the man behind the curtain never really settles the issues.  Perhaps that’s because he isn’t there.

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