The Summer before my senior year, James hatched a plan to hike the Inca Trail with his brother Jeremy and they invited me along. It had been done before. Some of the grades at school had traversed it for their camps on previous years. The whole region was littered with white kids’ bodies.
For a short period before returning home to Australia, I was part of Cochabamba’s Mac Club. I’m not proud of it. For those with social lives, girlfriends and healthy tans from time spent outdoors, it was in fact a club for Apple Macintosh enthusiasts. I felt sorry for any Windows clubs around town, because they must have been so NERDY.
Writing about this stuff really helps bring back the memories. Most of the time you try to forget. Shivering naked at night in the closet usually helps. But now that I’m jotting this all down, even more keep flooding back. After a brief stopover in Buenos Aires, which I don’t remember at all, these are my memories of the first couple of days after coming ashore in Bolivia, aged 10.