Foreign Ennui

I’ve been sick for a week now, a sinus infection followed by a cough. For the first time, I feel like I can breathe a bit. These moments happen. Then an hour or two later, I feel ill again. 

I’m staying in a large, dusty house–perhaps a hotel at one time–somewhere near the outskirts of Arequipa. There are enough beds for ten people, I think. And each room has its own bathroom, which makes me suppose at one point travelers use to rent rooms here. I visited each bathroom, vainly wishing for hot water, pulling levels and following complicated plumbing structures to realize my mistake, but nothing. No hot water just the same cool air pouring from the windows and the same cold water dripping on my hand. I hear a burst of water from a near bathroom. Perhaps G-d has given me a miracle? I place my hand underneath the water and my hand turns blue instead of red. 

I return to my bed to sit at a particular spot near the window that receives Internet. Then I read my first Jorge Luis Borges short story, “The Gospel According to Mark” about a cosmopolitan Buenos Aires man who goes to the countryside where he pretends to understand the Bible and reads it to country people. In the end, they crucify him.  

Another girl spent the night in this mansion. She’s British with a friendly smile and a contagious laugh. We spoke for five minutes, quick fluent English, and then she left to work on one of the projects for the children.  Besides that, I have spoken the young man hired to clean.  I felt awkward watching someone else clean the house while I eat bread with honey and tea. So, I played Maná. Then Amy Winehouse. He loved Amy Winehouse and asked what the meaning of the songs, “Rehab” and “You Know I’m No Good”.  I studied Spanish while he worked. Nonetheless, I don’t care what country I visit. I doubt I will every get use to other people working.  

I suppose I don’t feel like I’m in a foreign country. Of course, the bathroom remains a bit of a reminder, but for the most part with my computer, a stolen wireless connection, and my books I feel at home in Peru. At least, until I speak.