Friday, 28 March 2008
Monday, 10 March 2008
so check it, loaded with my telephone making calls. On the bus headed past the centre. Past the sweetened side. Past the part that got niced up. Along the peripheries before the shantyvilles. Right in the thick of dodge.
The shanties are even safer cos its full of families.
It didnt click where I was going. I was following Rafael, the anarko dreaded long-bearded Spaniard. Him and his gimpy American-Peruvian sidekick, a walking neon light lollypop . I was carrying my walet with 20 dollars, and 70 seventy soles. And my natwest card. Eeeejiot. The whole idea of the day was to take pictures of some backward market the Spaniard had taken pictures of before. He had described it as ’el mercado del infierno’.
We get off the bus. Gimpy’s looking gimpy. Anarko takes his top off. Some guy shouts out a Combi (them squashed buses). ’Oye Gringo Huevón....!’ It was as if he was calling one of us dickhead. I turn round and say ’Y que fue cholo de mierda’. A good comeback I thought. Nothing the bus moves on.
We turn onto the street. Headless dolls being sold. Transvestites trying to sell batteries. Bits and Bobs. Clanky metal with soot covered telephones. Smirking Drunks trying to sell any retarded shit they just made up. And then the meat arrive. Thats us. Gimpy and me, and anarko. We flapping little gold fish in the mouth of the lobo wolf.
Now I thought being here now almost six months might make a difference. You know one of the boys. But even the whities, pitucos, dont venture to these places. And I can see the reason. So obvious. No Sooner than in three minutes I had different hands on me, one with a machete, another with an empty beer bottle, others with clenched fists. The hands did all the work. The phone plopped. The wallet came out. They gave me back my keys and my journo pad. Piranhas wearing caps. Strangely it was all done in good nature. All great role playing. One of them even gave me the thumbs up! like as if he was saying ’safe’.
’At least give me back my chip innit’. They told me to fuck off. But as we were walking around the corner a transvestite shouts ’ ohh chico lindo, de quien es esto’ running with my chip, giving it me back.
Gimp had his money and little confidence knicked. Anarko avoided shit somehow, something do to with his camo, all the while with a camera his pocket. We then walked around like dumb idiots provoking more stares and random shouting. Felt like I was on a catwalk and Me and the fuckin gimp were looking nice. By now you might have realised that Gimp, Marco is his name, is my scapegoat in all of this, because Im sure in hell not accepting that I might also be a lollypop. See in the end, as cheap ass you are or plan to be, you still a gringo, so you best give away the soup, the merk, yours shoes, the works or something.