Happy hour in Cusco is a great thing. Most bars offer two for one
mixed drinks, and so three nights ago, Cara and I decided to
engage in a demonstration of the elasticity of alcohol sales.

For those of you who have not had a course in microeconomics, the
following translation should suffice: we wanted to get rip
roaring drunk for cheap.

Anyhow, after polishing off 4 gin and ginger ales in the space of
an hour, we managed to slightly intoxicate ourselves. Just for
good measure, I drank another two (albeit at full price (US $2
each)).

After stumbling home and laying in bed for a few minutes, Cara
decided she wanted to engage in a cleansing purge of her
gastrointestinal system. Since we didn't have a garbage can, she
was forced to find various plastic bags (which she doubled
bagged) into which the vomitting occurred. She ended up filling
two of them, and left them for me to dispose of the next morning.

We enjoyed a few chuckles about that one the next day. Or rather,
I had a good time laughing at her, since I -- clearly the drunker
of the two -- didn't have to puke at all.

Which brings us now chronologically to two nights ago, wherein I
engaged the Peruvian delicacy of cuy. Cuy is how the Peruvians
write guinea pig.

Just in case you weren't paying attention, I am indeed talking
about GUINEA PIGS.

Now I've got a pretty strong stomach, and I've eaten some damn
strange things in my life, so I thought I had a decent chance at
eating this thing. But when it came, skinned and baked on my
plate, with its head intact, ears clearly visible, claws curled
up, and internal organs falling out, I could only think one
thing: this thing is disgusting.

I managed to choke down a few bites, but had to stop after that.
The taste was initially similar to chicken, but then right
afterwards, turned into a foul rodent sort of taste. Not that
I've eaten many rodents before, but just imagine what a rat
tastes like, and there you go.

Yesterday, we took a bus to Puno, which is a town on the shore of
Lake Titicaca. The eight hour bus ride could only be described as
hellish, as the cuy from the previous night came to take its
revenge.

Let's just say that I also had gastrointestinal problems,
although from the other end of the digestive tract.

Of course, this would not have been so bad had there been a
working toilet on the bus. Alas, there was not.

And so, that is how I found myself, in a moment dripping with
karma and irony, shitting into a plastic bag on a decrepit bus in
the middle of Peru.

Hope you weren't reading this during your lunch break or
something.

/Alex