The people you meet...

The rooftop patio where all the action happened.  Such a beautiful setting with Volcano Misti in the background.

“Oh, Kiwis, I love Kiwis. Which part of New Zealand are you from?” This is about the seventh time the 73 year old has asked us this. At first we thought he had amnesia but we have since discovered that he has cataracts and sees things in blurs.
“Auckland,” we say.
“Oh wow, there is another couple from Auckland staying here too, you Kiwis sure get around.”
We don’t have the heart to tell him that the other couple is most likely us - when we were wearing different clothes.

We meet Ricardo, otherwise known as Richard from California, at our hostel in Arequipa, Peru. Even though his eye sight is failing him, he seems to be doing ok for an old dude in his seventies, especially considering the amount he smokes and drinks. The other day a French guy offered him a joint, and he tried to swipe it clean out his hand, almost crushing it.
“Oh, it’s one of those,” he says, eyeballing it closely this time as he takes a puff. God knows what he thought it was the first time.

Ricardo’s attempt at cooking became a source of entertainment. One day he returned with a big piece of disgusting sausage, shoves it into Nick’s hands and says, “you know what we call that in The States? Horse cock.” Nick looks as if a horse‘s genitals has actually been placed in his hand before he discards it as quickly as possible. Ricardo puts his face centimeters away from the meat, presumably to make sure he doesn’t cut off his fingers as he hacks away at it, chucks it into the frying pan with a few token pieces of onion and capsicum, puts it on maximum heat then leaves it in favour of drinking beer on the rooftop patio outside. When he finally came back to check on it, it is a shriveled, charcoal version of its former self. But instead of turning the element off he stirs it then goes back outside. Scared that Ricardo was going to burn the whole place down, Nick turned the heat off almost gagging at the sight and the smell.

Another guest told us how Ricardo cut up some onions, went to pour it into a pot but didn’t realise that the lid was still on. The onions spilled all over the floor, but Ricardo didn’t notice (or pretended not to) and walked away unaware.  

He is traveling with Roberto, or Bob from California. Roberto has been living in Mancora, Peru for the past five years with his Peruvian wife and is currently on the run from her. According to Bob, his wife stole $4000 from him, and then took his expired passport to the police to try and get him deported. After knowing Bob for a week, I believe his wife had her reasons, because as it turns out, Bob is a bit of an arsehole.

“Sometimes you have got to cut your loses,” Ricardo slurs at us in the communal kitchen, drunk and dropping ash from his cigarette everywhere. Ricardo lent Roberto $1000USD and will most likely never get it back. Roberto has also been swindling other backpackers to pay for his beers and meals with false promises of compensation. His misfortune has turned him into a con artist, or perhaps he has always been one.

He cons people by hinting that he is gong through a rough patch. Once on the rooftop he swung his leg over the edge which prompted everyone to be concerned. He then says he doesn’t want to talk about it, then proceeds to talk about it, then asks for money. We saw it a lot while we were staying there, and the only one who hit him up about it was Ricardo.

The screaming matches between the two would begin after a few hours of drinking - normally around 2pm. It was kind of like being in a Jerry Springer live audience.
“You’re a screw up, you’ve always been a screw up, and you will always be a screw up!” We heard Ricardo lay into Roberto.

We didn’t see Roberto again after he finally went to Lima to sort out his passport but when we arrived at the sister hostel in Cusco, Bob’s reputation was well established. There was a Canadian there waiting for Roberto to return and repay money he had lent him, anxious for any news about him. The owner told us of Bob’s debauchery which included being incredibly rude to the staff and showing people naked photos of his wife. They were both degenerates but I often wonder what ever happened to Bob and Richard from California.

It’s amazing who you meet in hostels.