The Travel Auction

by Mark Green

  “I feel stubble Jonny. What would the first Kate Thornly have to say about that?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “You must be pretty glad about that after the way she treated you.”

  I wondered if KT2 was aware that she might have gone a bit far, crossed the line? Just when we’d started to relax and enjoy each other’s company as mates, she was now really turning me on.

  “I’ll check again in a week’s time,” she said, pulling her fingers away.

  “Don’t stop, that feels nice…”

  The fingers touched me again, carried on caressing my face, circling my nose, then pinched it.

  “HOONNKK!” she shouted, pulling back and laughing wickedly.

  “Yeeooww! What was that for?”

  “Those dirty thoughts! Wash your mind out with soapy water.”

  I exhaled in a sort of agitated sigh but found myself struggling for breath. I swore and turned over, in a huff.

  I lay facing away from her, calming down but shocked at the electricity pulsating through me. What the hell was she doing to me?

  * *

  KT2

  Oh God what had I done? I’d played a dangerous game and had pushed him a bit too far. But it was unintentional. Or at least I think it was.

  I lay there facing his back, trying to make sense of how I felt. But what was he thinking?

  You’re a tease KT2, probably. And right now I would agree with him. What was I doing?

  “I’m sorry,” I said, waiting for a reply that didn’t come.

  * *

  The uneasy atmosphere was still floating around at breakfast, despite finding the best cafe in Cusco, “The Real McCoy.” We sat on the balcony after an amazing full English cooked breakfast and tip-toed around last night.

  Wondering how to spend the day, we got talking to the English cafe owners, who suggested a trip to Pisac market, a mini-adventure which turned out to be an excellent distraction.

  Rather than join an organised whistle stop tourist bus excursion, we caught the local bus for less than a pound each and spent over five hours wondering amongst the endless sea of brightly coloured market stalls. Jonny was suitably amazed by the size and energy of the market to enthusiastically describe everything he could see.

  * *

  Me

  I’d not been thrilled at the thought of a day traipsing around market stalls, but that started to change as soon as we climbed aboard the rickety old bus, crammed with Peruvians all on their way to the market. I smiled at a toothless lady in a brightly coloured skirt and bowler hat as we sat down, wondering about the fate of the two chickens perched on her lap in a wicker cage.

  The twisting hairpin road was not for the faint hearted; it felt like we were on a Dakar rally stage! As we clung on, KT2 leant over towards me.

  “A roller coaster ride too, bonus!”

  Our sense of excitement grew as we followed the crowd through the uneven cobbled street until a sea of vibrant colours opened up. The market must have been the size of five football pitches! I decided we should ease ourselves in gently and led KT2 up to a cafe balcony for a cup of coca tea so I could describe the scene from a suitable vantage point.

  These stalls were selling almost anything you could think of. All of them had brightly coloured produce with canopies over the stalls. Vegetables, spices, clothes dye, fresh meat, flowers, beans, clothes... everything you could possibly want was all here. There was no way I could do justice to the incredible sea of colour, but I gave it my best shot, acutely aware of how much KT2 was missing out on.

  * *

  KT2

  Jonny did a brilliant job of describing the visuals, but it was also the sounds and smells that impressed on me the scale of the market. Happy, vibrant haggling, sales pitches, hard bargaining, yet all carried out enthusiastically, without any hostility.

  After a couple of hours wondering from stall to stall through the crowds, my stomach was rumbling. Mesmerised by a fantastic food smell, I tugged on Jonny’s arm.

  “What’s that stall cooking? It smells amazing!”

  “Looks like chicken, potato and vegetable stew. Its bubbling away in a huge cooking pot. There’s about a dozen people on benches tucking in.”

  “Fantastic, lets give it a go!” I said.

  Jonny wasn’t keen at first, I think he was worried about food poisoning, but my nose and tummy decided it smelt too good not to risk it. I’m so glad I managed to persuade Jonny to give it a go, although he waited for me to taste it first, just to make sure it was nut free. He told me later it was the best meal of the trip so far!”

  By the time we finally tore ourselves away from the market and caught the bus home we were exhausted from such a brilliant day out. I even managed to fall asleep on Jonny’s shoulder for some of the roller coaster bus drive home!

  * *

  Me

  After a perfectly nice dinner that was still no match for the market stall chicken stew, we headed back to the hotel, deviating slightly to buy some bottled water. I was about to lead KT2 away from the shop by the square, but I was intrigued by the gathering crowd. They were watching tall rickety wood climbing frame structures being wheeled into position beside the grand town hall building.

  The precarious structures were around thirty feet high and looked like they’d been constructed out of giant lolly sticks, wired together with an impossible amount of fireworks; fountains, Catherine wheels, spark spraying spinning merry-go-rounds, rockets exploding overhead and showers of bright sparks. It seemed each firework tower had been built by rival groups, all vying for the enthusiastic handclapping and cheering appreciation of the large crowd, many of them far too close to the exploding towers of fire! The flimsy structures twisted and bent with the energy of the fireworks. One frame even caught fire!

  What an incredible way to finish a brilliant day! I felt the excitement drain away as we wondered back to the hotel and reality took a grip once more. We’d had a fantastic day and it had served to mask other issues.

  I glanced over at KT2, smiling happily on my arm. I wondered how she felt about last night. We were due to start the Inca Trail in a couple of days time and I wanted to make an effort to enjoy it with a positive attitude. But that meant either facing up to my feelings and discussing them with KT2 in a mature, cards on the table kind of way, or ducking the issue completely and withdrawing into myself.

  Like a coward, I chose the second option.

  Fifteen

  KT2

  The next day we sat in an internet café catching up with the folks back home. I still didn’t know how to start the conversation with Jonny. It was driving me crazy, not knowing how to broach the subject. So I plugged into my music and stuck my head deep into the sand.

  His silence was the worst punishment. I wondered how long it would last. What if there wasn’t good news in the e-mails?

  I racked my brain, trying to think what I could do to ease the tension between us.

  And then I knew. I fumbled around with the MP3 player controls and turned it off — dance music isn’t the easiest to sing along to. Despite being blind, I still find I need to close my eyes to concentrate, so I did. Now, how did the song go?

  “Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans, way back up in the woods among the evergreens, there stood a log cabin made of earth and wood, where lived a city boy named Jonny be good…”

  * *

  Me

  I turned and looked over my shoulder at KT2, along with every other person in the café. For a moment I was confused, then uncomfortable and finally embarrassed. But then I found myself relaxing and I broke into a grin. Instinct told me to get up and steer her out onto the street, but I didn’t. For some inexplicable reason I joined in, impromptu karaoke style.

  “…go, Jonny go, go…go, Jonny be good…” we sang.

  God we were terrible, but if KT2 didn’t care, why should I? I saw her grinning between the pauses where normally the music would have carried the song. I quickly shut my co
mputer down and wandered over to her, ignoring the bewildered faces of other travellers. I was about to break into another chorus when I felt KT2’s hand on my arm.

  “I think that will do Jonny, we’ve made our point.”

  “That we can’t sing?”

  “No, stupid. That it’s beer time.”

  “Right.”

  I suddenly became self-conscious as the moment ended and we were left standing there surrounded by inquisitive faces.

  “Should we wait for applause?” I said, starting to chuckle nervously. I was strangely stuck there, like a rabbit mesmerised by approaching headlights.

  “Do they look like they are an adoring crowd?” KT2 asked, starting to flush slightly. It was the first time I’d seen her embarrassed.

  “Not exactly.”

  I snapped out of my frozen state and clasped KT2’s hand.

  “Ready for a hasty exit?”

  I rummaged in my pocket and dropped a larger than necessary note on the counter and led us through the bemused silence.

  Once safely outside in the narrow alleyway, we both broke into laughter, snorting for breath as we tried to reprise our duet, without much success.

  * *

  How do you describe Mama Africa? A dinghy first floor terrace bar overlooking the square? Better I think to let the people sum it up. The Russian toilet ‘attendant’ — “twenty Soles a tab, good shit man”... the cocktail juggling barman who also did a turn strutting his Ricky Martin stuff on the bar with his impossibly quick hipped Coyote Ugly female dance partner. The mix of drinkers was vast. Young hip Peruvians, international travellers, a few older hippy types, all getting wasted. There were open dope deals on the balcony, local prostitutes draped over the bar trying to catch the eye of the tourists, lethal pisco sour cocktails and an eclectic mix of 70’s, 80’s and 90’s world music intercut with pulsating Spanish numbers, all pounding out to the delight of the hard partying travellers.

  “Are we sure this is a good idea, mixing alcohol and altitude?” I shouted over the music, toying with the pisco sour.

  “We’ll just have the one,” KT2, shouted back.

  I shrugged my shoulders and touched my glass against hers, then took a gulp. The atmosphere in Mama Africa was vibrant, in your face and kicking every living moment out of life. It was definitely preferable to awkward silences.

  KT2

  “What time is our alarm call in the morning?” I said during a brief lull in

  the music.

  “Five, sorry. Cinco.”

  “We’d better get our drinking in early then.”

  I took a slug at the cocktail, then relaxed back, a thought occurring to me.

  “I think we need a strategy. For toilet stops.”

  I heard him chuckling from across the table.

  “I’m serious. Fail to plan, plan to fail and all that. Now, I reckon we need to rely on people’s good nature, take some pressure off you. I know about your perversions towards ladies toilets! So I propose letting Henry give us a hand.”

  “Henry being your imaginary friend?” said Jonny.

  I reached down and rummaged in my bag, producing a bundle of white rods about the length of a ruler.

  “Meet Henry Fonda, my magic wanda.”

  His chuckle developed into a deep belly laugh, drowned out by the loud intro to a recent number one, accompanied by cheers from the dance floor. I felt around the edge of the table with my free hand, then traced an arc below with my foot and flicked my wrist, feeling Henry unravel to a full length white stick.

  “I thought I’d left Henry behind, but it turns out Maria isn’t a complete sadist after all,” I shouted across the table at Jonny.

  I tapped the end of Henry around the table, scoping out the immediate surrounding area.

  “People react differently to me, because I’m much more obviously in need of assistance, whether I want it or not. So the first time I need the banos, you show me the way. Next time, Henry will find me some help. It’s amazing, he pulls every time.”

  “Not bad for a little fella,” said Jonny.

  “He does better than you, I’m sure,” I said, cringing as I realised what I’d said, but I heard Jonny laugh over the music.

  Me

  I had to hand it to KT2, she was a resourceful, gutsy girl. Full of mischief too. She’d snapped me out of my mood and despite my reluctance, she’d achieved it so easily. Kate Thornly the 1st would simply have lost her temper.

  Predictably, one drink turned into two, then three and many more. The more we drank, the more we got into the music and atmosphere and laughed at my descriptions of this crazy bar. There was no po-faced I think you’ve had enough, you’re becoming loud and are making an arse of yourself expression to hold me back. We just went with the good humour between us, carried along with the infectious buzz from everyone around us. It was effortless. And so far we’d managed to avoid having that conversation.

  I can’t remember much of our stagger back to the hotel, just snippets; the rush of fresh air outside the bar, tripping on the cobbled pavement and almost pulling KT2 with me, warding off the local drug dealers in Gringo Alley and finally collapsing on top of the bed, staying awake long enough to say what a great evening I’d had.

  The next thing I remember was the bloody phone SCREAMING next to me, its ring vibrating on the wooden table, a sledge hammer POUNDING on my temples. I heard KT2 groan beside me as I rolled over and scrabbled to answer it.

  “Buenos dias Senor…”

  The rest of the receptionist’s greeting was lost in an early morning haze of dehydration and hangover. I think I managed a gruff “Gracias” before replacing the phone and sinking back under the covers, groaning.

  “You awake KT2?”

  “Mmm. Perhaps beer time wasn’t such a great idea,” she said, pushing herself up in bed.

  I managed a mumbled reply, sleep was drawing me back and I was losing my struggle to stay awake.

  “Um, Jonny? I don’t want to freak you out, but you know we still need to pack, and if that was a five o’clock alarm call, then we only have half an hour to be ready for the Inca Trail, and that’s without breakfast…”

  Shit!

  My eyes opened wide and I sat bolt upright.

  Talk about speed packing! I’m afraid we weren’t the quietest of hotel guests that morning, it was just a case of grab whatever we could, stuff it into our packs and hurry out as fast as possible.

  * *

  Thirty minutes later we were standing outside in the square, waiting for the coach to arrive. I glanced around me, pie-eyed. All the amazing architecture was lost on me. I winced as a dull ache developed behind my eyes.

  It had been a mad dash to get here. We were dressed in long hiking trousers, the type with the zip removable legs and several thin breathable tops. Oh, and a hat each. KT2 looked quite attractive in hers, in a schoolgirl kind of way. But that’s as far as that train of thought went. It was approaching five forty-five in the morning, it was chilly and I was red-eyed and seriously hungover. It was hardly the time to be considering why I hadn’t made a pass at my travel companion. But then again…

  “You still there Jonny? Are you sleeping on your feet?”

  “I feel like terrible.”

  “I know, you look like shit! I’m not sure if I can bear to share a bed with you again…”

  I had to laugh. KT2 must be feeling as rough as me, yet she still had her sense of humour. I was about to reply when I heard the rumble of an ancient diesel engine and our bus rounded a tight corner.

  “We go, the adventure begins!” said Bob, our ‘Peru Treks’ guide. He was a stocky, powerfully built Peruvian chap in his mid to late thirties who had a permanently happy smile on his face. He’d apparently been named by his parents after Bob Hope, the American comic.

  I remembered to hook my arm around KT2’s to help her on board the coach, much to Bob’s amusement.

  “Big night before Inca Trail eh? Tough later my friends.”

  Bob w
as grinning, he must have seen this so many times before, gringos overdoing the grog, then paying for it later on the trail. I couldn’t sum up the energy to explain, so I just pointed to my eyes, then pointed at KT2 and shook my head.

  “Ah, okay I understand. Miss Katie, I look after you, please put your arm in mine,” said Bob, gently guiding KT2 towards the coach door and up the steps. I smiled my thanks at him and he clapped me on the shoulder. I liked him immediately.

  * *

  KT2

  My head was pounding! The hangover from hell and altitude are not the best mix. On the plus side, the mood between Jonny and I had improved and we seemed to be back to normal, as things had been before that night.

  I felt better sitting still on the coach, but then we set off through the narrow twisting cobbled streets of Cusco and onto the winding gravel mountain roads. I started to feel sick. This wasn’t the time or place for a repeat of the whale watching episode, so I closed my eyes and sank back into the seat, concentrating on not throwing my guts up.

  “You’re quiet, are you okay?” Jonny said after half an hour or so.

  I woke up from my dozing — that sort of sporadic sleep where your head lurches forwards and you jerk yourself awake after what seems like only a few seconds.

  “Felt pretty rough for a while back there,” I said, attempting a smile.

  “Take some layers off. Might make you feel better.”

  I nodded and started to shrug my jacket off, not easy in the confined space of our seats. I felt Jonny’s hands helping me, gently tugging my arms out of the sleeves. It didn’t feel odd or intrusive.

  “Better?” he said as the last fleece came off over my tee-shirt and I felt my breathing become easier.

  “Much, thank you Jonny.”

  I smiled and patted his thigh, then glanced to my left towards the brightness that I guessed had to be the window.

  “What’s it like out there, is it a nice day?” I said, wishing for the millionth time that I could see the countryside whizzing past. I missed colours the most and I wondered how pretty this foreign land really was.