Fifteen minutes down the line, clouds made the sky gray. Everyone started running hysterically. I felt the wind coming towards me. The streets are not paved and dirt started getting on my face and into my eyes and mouth. I heard someone screaming “The first storm in two months is coming!” I mean, really? The only storm in two months and it has to happen during my two-day-long stay?
I tried to make my way back to the hostel and suddenly, rain poured. And by poured, I mean really POURED. Hard.
Soaked and angry, I realized I had no idea HOW to get back to the guesthouse exactly. I had been walking mindlessly and paying little attention where I was going. Wonderful.
I made it back eventually, of course (after going into an internet Café and typing in the hostel’s name and looking it up on Google Maps). Look, I am not proud of it. I was young, and it was one of my first ever trips alone, so give me a break.
But let’s get back to the story. I headed out again the following day, determined not to let anything ruin my day. I managed to make it to the river, of which banks were filled with a myriad of offices selling not-so-budget-friendly tours. I kept looking, until I realized I would have to fork out some money in order to get something worth remembering.
I headed into a lodge, but to my deception, they only offered tours for at least two persons.
– “But how am I supposed to find someone to join me? I’m here alone. Can’t I just pay for two?”
– “Sorry, miss, we can’t do that”
– “Screw you!” (I didn’t actually say it out loud)
I had the exact same conversation over in at least ten more agency stalls.
