Eight Feet in the Andes by Dervla Murphy

Author:Dervla Murphy [MURPHY, DERVLA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: TRV000000, TRV024050, TRV010000
ISBN: 9781468305319
Publisher: The Overlook Press
Published: 2012-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Stable in Hamlet on Mountain. 30 October

I hadn’t been long asleep last evening when someone stood on my head: a novel experience. We each swore, in divers tongues, as Isabel appeared with the smoking lamp – followed by three other jostling men, redolent of pisco and demanding bed-space. When Isabel had shooed them out into the downpour, as though they were so many contrary hens, two of the three beds were occupied by Katie and numerous children, the younger ones whining and snuffling. As I was drifting back to sleep three sober bus passengers entered, shook their wet ponchos over me, climbed fully clothed into the vacant bed and switched on Katie’s Russian trannie. Frightful punkish noises then woke the platoon and contrapuntal wailing and sobbing ensued. All of which acted like a lullaby on the newcomers and when they began to snore Katie switched off. Some time later I had a most vivid dream. We were circus lion-tamers, rearing cubs in our Irish home, and the neighbours, who were all Peruvian, were charging us with some unspecified crime in the European Court of Human Rights. I woke (it was 2.15) to find that two large pups had curled up between our flea-bags (a nick-name that daily becomes more apposite) and one of them was making pre-vomiting noises in my ear. I hastily knelt and flung him towards the door with a sort of scrum-half movement. He achieved his vomit a moment later – and returned to base, his wagging tail tickling my nose. At 4.10 he repeated the performance. This time Katie woke too and having sympathised with my problem embarked on an animated discussion about the ideal age for marriage. The three passengers then joined in – they hadn’t much alternative, poor devils, Katie’s bed being less than a foot from their’s – and in the uninhibiting darkness the conversation became quite frank. Very frank, in fact. One had the impression all four habitually study American sex-manuals. I was rivetted, being of a generation that only knows two ways of doing it. Travel is so educational!

I rose at 5, like everyone else in Tingo Chico, and went with Isabel’s eldest to cut Alf. On hearing our approaching voices Juana greeted us cheerfully, as she always does, so we were unprepared for what we saw on entering the corral. Rachel gives a crisp description – ‘In the morning when we went to give Juana her breakfast Alfalfa we got an awful shock. There was a nasty cut on her withers. We looked around and saw a sharp piece of flint stickying out of the wall with blood on it. She had bled a lot from the cut and it had dripped down onto her hoof.

Sick with anxiety, I dashed off to fetch our Crown Wound Powder and a basin of salted water. Juana’s continuing to munch contentedly while I washed, dried and sprayed reassured me. Despite the depth of the wound, and the amount of blood lost (there was a pool on the ground), she was obviously not feeling too bothered.

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