, , ,

“The bike was more or less fixed and we had decided to leave the following day, so we thought we’d throw caution to the wind with some new pals who invited us for a few drinks. Chilean wine is great and I was drinking it unbelievably quickly, so much so that by the time we went on to the village dance I felt ready to take on the world. The evening progressed pleasantly as we kept filling our bellies and our heads with wine. One of the particularly friendly mechanics from the garage asked me to dance with his wife because he’d been mixing his drinks and was not feeling very well. His wife was hot and clearly in the mood and, full of Chilean wine, I took her by the hand and tried to steer her outside. She followed me meekly but then noticed her husband watching us and told me she would stay behind. I was in no state to listen to reason and we began to argue in the middle of the dance floor. I started pulling her towards one of the doors, while everybody was watching, and then she tried to kick me, and as I was pulling her she lost balance and fell crashing to the floor.
         Running back towards the village pursued by a furious swarm of dancers, Alberto mourned the loss of the wine her husband might have bought us.”

My goodness, what a scene, what an embarrasment. I feel sorry for Alberto. He always seems to be the one who suffers most from Guevara’s crazy antics. Blame it on the wine, Che, like most of us would do!