Sometimes things don’t quite go to plan. Sometimes your guide might cancel your trip at the last minute. Sometimes that leaves you in an armpit of a town with nothing to do.
Sometimes you find yourself in a bus station at midnight, waiting for the taxi the hostel had promised. Sometimes you realise that taxi isn’t going to turn up. Sometimes you think, sod it, we’ll find another hostel.
Sometimes, when this happens, you laugh it off. You remember you’re in Argentina, and everything’s fine.
We had found a new hostel and slept well. The alarm woke me up. Nadia slipped out of her bed and into the bathroom. Moments later she came out, gagging.
It hit me. The stench of raw sewage was unbearable. It shows how barely lucid Nadia and I are the morning that we waited until after showering to complain.
Might we possibly change rooms? we asked. Only this one smells like a sewer.
The hostel keeper shrugged. If you like, he said. Try room three. We did. There was a distinct lack of anything but fresh air. As we moved our bags across the hostel keeper found his wife and told her the drains needed cleaning.
She rushed to fetch the plunger, he shuffled off to have a shave.