[TRAVEL COMEDY] A misplaced land mine!

Heeeyho Readers! Have you ever had any embarrassing situation?

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I bet you have flashbacks of that one embarrassing situation from years ago. It always comes to mind before bed time. You can't erase it from your mind. Ever!

I certainly have plenty and am not afraid to bring them up to crack some laughs. And before you judge me: I'm not accountable for a drunken brain in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of a Patagonian town. Alright? In the end, there's a lesson to be taken.

A little context: I met a bunch of hitchhikers in Patagonia and we decided to camp on the outskirts to prepare for a long hike up the mountains the day after. We were four. Our preparation included cooking, resting, chatting, and... well let's start from here.

This is an extract from Tales of a Patagonian Journey

^{Me after the incident}

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When you plan to hike for several hours the next day, the most sensible idea is to camp and rest. Just don’t buy wine… For dinner, we cooked plenty of rice, pre-cooked beans, fried eggs, and that cheap wine in a box, which meant a pint-sized dose for each one of us―enough to lift the spirit. As we shared plans and mused about life, the two buck chuck went down. More talking, more wine. More talking, and some tobacco appeared. Why not? We were supposed to rest. Well, not today. Tobacco, wine. Wine, tobacco.

“I'll bring more wine!” Louis enthused.

Oh, my dear life. What should’ve been a day to rest before exhausting uphill trails turned into a get-wasted party. Tobacco and wine all the way into moonlight. Without ceremony, each of us fainted into the tents. The sky immediately revolved round and round, as if the whole world moved. Shit, I’m sweating. I felt a gelid sensation running down my arms and my guts roared. I had to take a dump. Going to the bushes to relief, without a flashlight, became an adventure of itself. I may have spent long minutes walking to find the best bush, away from everyone. Or was it one minute? Maybe more like five? I can't remember. After meandering for hours and definitely feeling better, I made my way back to the sleeping bag and settled. The next day promised.

♦

February 3rd, 2017. Wine… lots of wine. Chugging down alcohol before a trail was not the wisest idea ever conceived in life. Sure, it'll not be the last unpleasant experiment, though I'll try to find a better timing next time.

On that fateful morning, the smallest amount of light through the pupils forced an involuntary and nauseating grimace, dividing the head in two while the brain pulsed for mercy. Ah! The delightful effects of cheap wine and tobacco. The group mumbled from their tents in mutual desperation, justifying our delayed departure. The simple-most tasks, such as stowing gear, neared the war efforts before moving forward after a battle. Morning routines required every bit of strength present, which was not much. A handful of glacial water to the face helped restoring the spirit, but the spirit doesn't carry a twenty-kilo backpack uphill, does it? That day we had planned to hike from Villa Cerro Castillo to the campsite Los Porteadores, somewhere about ten to fifteen kilometers uphill, to an elevation of nine hundred meters. Nothing difficult for those who know the trails and enjoy a head free of wine.

“Ready?” I asked. The group looked beaten up.

Isidora pulled the smashed paper map she’d drawn. The piece of paper provided general directions, altitudes, and distances. No mention of access points, as if the circumstances weren’t challenging enough. Just as we were about to leave I remembered I’d taken a drunken poop in the middle of the night. Fuck! The turd.

I remember finding a hidden bush to relief the guts, but apparently I was to drunk to realize I pooped in the middle of our path. Everyone saw it, but neither could figure out who was the criminal. I waved a goodbye to my remains and never ever ever touched the subject ever again.

Lesson

Don't drink and poop. And if you poop, cover it; preferably far far far away from everyone. I've learned my lesson and remain constipated to this day after such embarrassment.

What's you story?

Share in the comments.

Peace.

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~Love ya all,

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Disclaimer: The author of this post is a convict broke backpacker, who has travelled more than 10.000 km hitchhiking and more than 5.000 km cycling. Following him may cause severe problems of wanderlust and inquietud. You've been warned.

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I'm Arthur. I blog about Adventure Stories, Brazil, Travel, Camping, & Life Experiences.

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