It Gets Me Real Pissed Off And It Makes Me Wanna Say…

We’re in a guesthouse in Lima right now. There’s not been any toilet paper in the bathroom for the last day; the shower takes ten minutes to be warm enough to even dip a toe in; and we got three single beds instead of double in our room. We’re also just sorting out our ‘social media’ (what a fucking stupid term, it irritates me every time I hear it; it’s so obvious some middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit made it up and ordered a raft of internet-savvy employees to ‘make it happen’) which is really rosy and happy and totally a travel brag. I did say to check our blog for the behind the scenes, but even our blogs are pretty positive. So now let me give you the true behind the scenes. Let me tell you all the ugly bits…

I’m no lady
This seems like an obvious statement that could be used to describe me at any point in my life. Anyone who knows me knows I’d be a Finishing School Drop-Out. But this shit is next level. It’s been over a month since I waxed my legs (and even then it was with packaged wax strips from Target as we drove along a highway, much to Mary and Kosta’s amusement).

My hairy, bruised, scratched leg.
My hairy, bruised, scratched leg.

I’m covered in bruises and scrapes because I’m as clumsy as a drunk with an inner ear infection. We’ve been quite active being adventurous and shit but combine that with my lack of balance and I’m surprised Fish hasn’t been taken in for questioning.

While we’re talking about our extreme activities and me being the furthest from Miss World, let me fill you in on something Fish nicely neglected to mention in his post: I cried like a little baby when we were canyoning. We had to abseil down a 25m cliff and this did not mesh well with my fear of heights. I cried and cried and swore and cried and I felt no sense of accomplishment when I arrived alive at the bottom. It was the furthest thing from graceful you could imagine.

I haven’t worn make-up in ages; I more often than not wear deodorant but my perfume rolls around in the bottom of my bag neglected; I’ve worn flip flops every day and I’m not sure whether that’s a tan or caked-in dirt; and I can’t remember when I last washed my hair. Basically I look like The Crack Fox from The Mighty Boosh.

Selfie
Selfie

I’m on my way to becoming the Michelin Woman
Long term travel means adhering to a strict budget (something I’ve never been good at and for which I’ve entirely relinquished responsibility to Fish) and one of the best ways to save money is to not eat out. What a paradox: the best part about travel is experiencing the food, but to be able to keep travelling we have to cook our own budget meals. Pasta is a staple. It’s carbs upon carbs upon Nutella. I feel like I’m a uni student again, but I’m not seeing my parents once a week for a decent meal.

We’re also on holidays and, according to The Accountant, beers don’t count in the budget and we can have as many as necessary. This doesn’t help with The Spread.

My fitness is slowly but surely decreasing, too. It was quite obvious when we went canyoning that all my radiographer’s upper body strength has disappeared in two months of unemployment. A few days ago we climbed 740 steps to the top of a big rock- I nearly died and was one email away from cancelling our Inca Trail hike. Fuck a 4 day hike, I’ll take the train thanks.

Death by stairs.
Death by stairs.

Those beers aren’t Coopers
Those unlimited beers? They’re the local version of VB. I’m going to murder a pale ale when I get home. Also, the coffee is really fucking bad. How can a region that produces coffee have such a penchant for Nescafe?!

Travelling with a Boyfriend is a whole different ballgame to travelling with your Girlfriends

Don’t get me wrong, Fish is great, I really like the kid.

But, faaark, it’s a lot harder work hanging out with a partner compared to your two best girl mates.

With the girls I could truly just enjoy the moment. With Fish, I question the rest of my life frequently: can I be with a guy who doesn’t know what pesto is? What will the rest of my life be like if we never have cheese in the fridge? There’s a lot of Radiohead in his music collection, should I just run away now?!

Yesterday our taxi driver was as useless as a chocolate teapot and we were going to be late. I cried. I’d never have done that with the girls, I’d have been laughed at mercilessly, which is obviously the appropriate reaction. A partner can’t laugh at you though, they have to reassure you and pat you gently on the back, thus travelling in a relationship makes you a weakling.

With the girls I made an effort to be fun to be around and easy to get along with. With a partner you can be yourself. This is obviously a terrible idea and the beast has been unleashed. It’s completely valid that every time my mum checks in with me she asks if Fish is still around and is always surprised when the answer is ‘yes’.

Chocolate and a cute card for our two month travel anniversary, what a good egg.
Chocolate, red wine and a cute card – he know how to pacify the beast.

But really life isn’t that tough
It’s Sunday night and I don’t have to work tomorrow. That’s a wonderful consolation. And until my hormones calm down and my mood improves, there’s always $5 bottles of Chilean red wine.

(Title is from Ben Folds Five “Rockin’ The Suburbs”)

6 thoughts on “It Gets Me Real Pissed Off And It Makes Me Wanna Say…”

  1. Guys! Just had a good old update of your travels, sounds bloody spectacular. I was just pondering if it was possible for our lives to be so different, when this latest blog informed me that I’m not the only one who has developed into a pretty disgusting human; You’re not alone, Miss Lima 2015. My stomach is setting up a pretty permanent battle ground with bad coffee and carbs (although in my case it’s often rice with a side of rice), but there are times it thanks it’s lucky spleen it’s on the inside not the outside, because here in rural Cambodia I left my hygiene practices at the door (most likely already taken away but the unbelievably sized spiders that consume all that is good in the world).

    I sweat before I’ve turned the shower off and heading out for a run is the equivalent of deciding to turn your oven onto 150 and pop in for some star jumps (with a local audience completely baffled as to what the hell you’re doing, and monkeys throwing their fruit at you. Not a metaphor).

    So good to know I’m not alone! So yet again Sizzle, you’ve raced out and grabbed life by the Niagara Falls, whilst at the same time reaching into the cockles of my heart and gently caressing every single one in a knowing embrace. Thank you.

    Also just one quick personal question – Fish, did you cause a scene of pure erotic euphoria when you discovered pesto? Did you climb in the back of a car with that pesto and fog up the windows like Kate and Leo? Or would you equate it more to a quiet solo celebration one would use to mark an enjoyable life event, like motorbiking Sofia Vergara?
    A friend wants to know.

    Much love to you both, you fabulous beings,

    The Thing, (Formally Known as Bec).
    xxxxx

    PS I don’t recommend attempting to wash the thong ‘tan’ off the feet – you’ll only discover disappointment and shame.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I meant motor boating, not motorbiking.
      Didn’t mean to turn your family friendly blog into a harbour for fans of soft porn.

      Like

  2. Bec I can ONLY IMAGINE what the feeling of motorbiking Sofia Vergara would be so in this game of hypotheticals I’d have to assume that my first gob of pesto maybe didn’t equate? I’ll get my people on to her people though and god-willing will attack this in a more scientific manner.

    Like

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