"Better," I said.
"Do you think you can make it to the airport?"
"Yeah... I think so."
"Alright go hop in the shower, you have thirty minutes to pack."
It was roughly 5:45am that Tuesday morning when I hopped in the shower. Pulling off my clothes that smelt strongly of sweat infused with garlic, I felt like Hercules compared to the day before.
During the previous night I came down with some sort of sickness. Possibly a bad case of Montezuma's Revenge or even Salmonella. Perfect timing for my flight leaving the next morning. I laid in bed that day too sick to stand. Too weak to talk. It was the sickest I'd ever been in my life.
I wasn't the only one however. The entire town seemed to be getting sick at varying degrees. Many of the surfers in the Mexi Log Fest were getting sick too; some even had to go home early. So when I was well enough to shower that morning I felt like I was somehow escaping the zombie apocalypse.
Still feeling weak, I carried my bags down the dimly lit street to the bus station at the edge of town. Setting my backpack in the dirt, I paid the thirty-five pesos to take the bus to Puerto Vallarta then shuffled into my seat. Looking around the interior of the bus, the faded teal paint was slightly pealing off. At the front of the bus was a stencil of Jesus' face and two stars.
The diesel Mercedes engine lurched to a start. The bus rocked gently between shifting gears. Noticing speed bumps ahead in the dim halogen headlights and trying to process the current speed of the bus, I concluded that we weren't slowing down. Hitting the speed bump the bus jumped and the shocks squeaked. The bus was getting air. No one seemed to be phased and we continued to hit speed bumps in the same manner. Leaning back in my seat, I looked out the window and watched the sunrise as I made my way to Puerto Vallarta thankful that I was feeling good again.
No comments:
Post a Comment