Thursday, April 15, 2010

A string of bad luck

Maybe it’s a sign I should be leaving. Maybe it’s a way of making leaving this amazing country harder whatever reason I have been having a string of bad luck. There is the saying that everything happens in threes and after the first two events I was hoping a third wouldn’t happen but sure enough Tracy got shit on yet again.

The first incident: I started to experience really strong pains in my stomach. I thought it was female pains but it was so bad I couldn’t walk or even move for that matter. The fetal position didn’t even work. I felt like my stomach was going to explode. Eventually one of my boss’ at the hostel decided it was best to see a doctor. I got in his girlfriend’s car in my pyjamas and his sandals as mine are always left someone randomly in the hostel. Two really nice Colombian girls joined us to help out as well. We went to one clinic that was too much money then Miguel’s girlfriend Marjorie took me to her friend’s house who is a doctor. She examined me and told us to go to the hospital where she works. She pulled some strings and got me in right away. I was put in a room to get blood work done but there was nowhere to sit and the pain was so much that I sat on the floor much to the doctor’s disgust. My Spanish wasn’t so good in the state I was in, I yelled at them, “no Puedo!” They put me on a bed and the pain got so bad I felt nauseous and I yelled “necesito lie down! Necesito lie down!” once they got me laying down then I began to vomit. After which I felt a bit better. My friends left me and I spent the entire night in the hospital where I couldn’t sleep and I was very thirsty but they wouldn’t give me anything to drink. They did more blood tests and an ultra sound in the morning but couldn’t come up with what was wrong with me. I felt better and was let go. I hailed a taxi with cotton balls attached to my arm and hand, in my pyjamas.

The second incident:
Two days later it was my last night in the hostel I had planned on having a nice dinner with my hostel staff and friends that were staying there and after we were going to party it up in Rodadero, my favourite spot in the area for a rumba. A friend had borrowed my jacket and left it in a cafe in the centre so before going out I had to go to Santa Marta to retrieve it and I was working on a secret present for my friend’s birthday in Bogota that needed me to go into town as well. I wanted to get there quickly so I got a mototaxi instead of a bus. The mototaxi driver was really annoying me because he wouldn’t shut up and I couldn’t hear a word he was saying in the wind. I kept on having to say, “Como? Como?” He was really nice though and wanted to chat. He asked if it was ok to take a different route because of the traffic and I said it would be fine. I got to town quickly went about my errands then hailed another mototaxi to return. I made sure to get the right price before getting on. He wasn’t chatty which was nice I wanted to be left in peace. This one took a different route as well but didn’t ask me. I figured he also wanted to avoid all the lights and traffic. I know the area well and felt like we were going in the wrong direction. I asked him where we were going and he said Mamatoco so I stayed quiet. We then got onto the highway to Rodadero which is not the right way at all it’s completely out of the way. I was demanding to go to Mamatoco and he said we were. This wasn’t right I got a bit panicky when we went down a dark road way past Rodadero where there were no lights. I knew something bad was going to happen. He kept on asking what time it was and I didn’t have a watch so I said I don’t know. I then started screaming at him, “Where are we?! Where are we going?!” He just kept asking the time. Eventually I found my cell and told him. He said something that I didn’t heard and started grapping at my bag while he was still driving the motorcycle. I then yelled at him and hit him on the head several times with my phone and pushed him. He slowed down which enabled me to jump off and run. I was able to save the present for my friend but in the fight I dropped my jacket, the reason I went into the centre. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere on a new highway where buses or taxi don’t enter. Eventually I was able to get a friend from Rodadero come in a taxi to get me with the help of a really nice family that lived on the side of the highway. I have no idea what this mototaxi driver guy was thinking but he knows now not to mess with Tracy Gaudreau.

The third incident:
I was emotional about leaving my amazing friends and job in Santa Marta excited to go to Bogota to see my friend and go on vacation with him and his university friends for Semana Santa. I was in need of a little romance and what better time than a vacation in the hot land by a pool with a hot man. My first night in Bogota was fantastic then I was ignored for the next three days. I started to notice strange things, first his red sun glasses matched his running shoes and when we went for a run in the city with his friend they were sharing the same IPod. He dresses way too well and told me how he wants to put a full length mirror in his room to view himself while he dresses. After getting locked out of his room, avoided and discovering a Madonna CD, I came to the conclusion with the help of my close friends that my Colombian romance is gay and doesn’t know it. I was stuck on this vacation with a sexually confused guy who is too afraid of girls to spend the entire night with them. I walked the streets of Bogota cringing to myself thinking of all the signs I should have seen before. How blatantly obvious this should have been. He listens to Queen and the Village People!
I was thinking of a nice way to confront him about his sexuality when the actual truth came out, He starting seeing another girl and that’s why he was avoiding me. He is just extremely metro with another love interest. I was told this information right before we left on a 7 hour journey to Armenia where we were going to spend the weekend with all his in love coupley friends. I sat in the car where anger, hurt and frustration went through me in a cycle. I felt like clawing the windows and yelling, “I’m stuck in a glass case of emotion” like Ron Burgundy in Anchorman.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog directory