Week 15 – My Wheelchair Is F***ed

So I arrived in Buenos Aires, got off the bus, and started looking for a hostel.
Then the spring in the joystick bit you use to move the wheelchair broke. It was bare jokes, you could let go of it and it keeps going, like it´s some crazy magic wheelchair or something!
But once I found a hostel, and switched it off, it wasn´t coming back on.
Allow.
This so bad.
If it was to happen in any city, I suppose this would be the best.  Buenos Aires does at least have a banging bus system.
My plan was to try and walk as far as the main street, but then I remembered an idea I had earlier, but before my wheelchair had broken had dismissed as a bit pointless.
Just to get on a bus, without any plan, and see where it takes me.
So the first bus stop I got to, this is exactly what I did.
I got off at some kind of park, and contemplated what had happened whilst lying on the grass.  And then went to get another bus in the opposite direction.  At this bus stop, I saw a woman rummaging through her bag and walking forwards so I thought one was about to arrive.  But then she pulled out a two peso note…
“For you, for you…” she started saying.
“No.”  I replied.  In English, the answer would´ve had a lot of bad words in it.
But she carried on.  So, I swiftly pulled out a ten peso note…
“For you, for you…” I mimicked, laughing.
“No, no, no, no…”
“Why not?”
“Sorry?” I said, not catching her response.
“No, I am sorry.”
And I did get to a bigger park, and in the blazing sunshine of a Sunday afternoon, there was bare stuff going down.  Bands were playing music, people putting on shows, and one guy was juggling with fire.  My brother would love this place.
A lady gave me a free fruit smoothie from her stall, which went down so well.
And I lay there for hours.
Sometimes you can get a long way without a plan.
As the afternoon melted away into the evening, I decided to head back to the hostel.  A young guy selling native instruments directed me 100 metres up the road, where I could catch the 67.
But unlike this morning, when I felt determined and energetic, I´d now been going around the city on foot for close to seven hours, and my legs were gone.  100 metres was a mission.  And seeing two buses simultaneously drive past didn´t do much to boost my morale.
So the wait for another was substantial.  I made a point to not go and sit down on the bench because I knew the bus driver would boy me out and not stop or something.
When it did finally arrive, it stopped a few metres down from the stop.  A couple of people had time to run and jump on it, but I definitely didn´t.
As my Teta (that´s Arabic for Grandma, see you learn something new every week) put it in a comment on last week´s blog, I must be entering “civilized territory”.
For the first time since I got to the top of Machu Picchu, I felt like crying. Only a few tears came, but it could have been more.  I was physically and emotionally drained.  My plans of partying throughout the night no longer seemed on the cards.
Well…not for tonight.  Tomorrow is another story.

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