Marcos had diarrhoea in the desert and we pelted him with rocks.
OK, so we all have things in our lives that we’re ashamed of. But you have to understand, it was a different time, on the cusp of the last decade of the last century… (cue time travel graphic overlay…)
South America was being ravenged by Cholera.
Americans love camps. It’s like their national pastime or something. When they’re not eating individual portions designed for entire Catholic families or shooting each other under the loving embrace of the Bill of Rights,* they go on camps. Americans have camps for everything. Summer Camps, High School camps, Wilderness Camps. Girl Scout Camps.
Remember when you’re a kid, and there’s always some older guys at your school that you look up to? Not just because you were 2ft nothing. But you know the ones. The embodiment of everything you wanted to be? Purveyors of coolness and suave-erity?* Despite appearances, being fully aware of the amazing mullet, John and Walter, sadly, were not those guys.
Years after my damaging MK experiences I spent much of my holidays in Sydney convalescing with my cousins. They lived near the beach, which was a plus. We were all lazy and never actually went to the beach, which was a minus. After dinner out one night we were walking home and happened upon a 2-foot long Tasmanian Atlantic Salmon in one of the salt water 25-mitre swimming pools built along the shore.
Ah… where to start with Abi? The beginning I suppose. That’s a good place to start things. Let me take you back through the murky mists of time to Grade 5…
I know this will be hard for most of you to believe, but when we first arrived in Bolivia I was pretty dorky and not much of ‘the cool’ at all.