April
The classic tummy bug, it finally hit
In many ways, it's been really shit
A crippling blow, I've been restricted to rice
A shame really, as dinner looked rather nice
My stomach sounds like the whirlpool at the end of a bath
I have no control, I can't help but laugh
A bit of horizontal time, it's not all bad
A drink then, to a fallen comrade
Playing futsal with the locals is an absolute treat
They laugh fiercely and freely and speak with their feet
Their surprise that a gringo loves football just as much,
Turns to embarrassment when I make a silky touch
I love the way they refuse to make an ordinary pass
They flick the ball in the air, as though the court is filled with glass
When the battle is over, we gather for some beers
Sitting on newspaper stacks outside a corner store: cheers
I started my first real Spanish book
(Ok they're short stories, I'm still a spring chook)
I surprised myself with how much I could follow
Given that my lexicon is still painfully hollow
'Poco a poco' as my friend Jean Karlo would say
So far the book's good, a tasty entree
There are characters, some themes, a twist and a plot
Your classic book really, what what.
The boy looked at my phone, wide-eyed in wonder
As though disbelieving at a spell I was under
I was texting in English, what is the sorcery!
He kept peering up close, unable to help his curiosity
I was equally bemused about him scratching at his wrist
He was unhappy with his fake tattoo, perhaps afraid he might get dissed
I thought of reassuring him, it didn't look all that bad
But he was quite persistent so I thought good on you lad
I have a newfound respect for those who are bilingual
Language, as it happens, is crucial if you want to mingle
At first it's easy to bob your head and laugh from time to time
But without sufficient vocab, conversation turns into pantomime
To make a real connection you simply need to learn more words
Else you're cackling away at inappropriate times like a flock of birds
I think I'm getting better but there's more work in me yet
It's when I write a Spanish poem that I'll know I'm set
Peru is the home of the humble potato
A taste more complex than the teachings of Plato
A potato is what I was served for breakfast one day
A single potato - I was blown away
Here they like carbs with a side dish of carbs
Potato, bread - they jab at me like barbs
There are more than 3000 potato species in Peru
That's quite enough for me, upon review
I was chewing the fat with a taxi driver
After we had agreed on a fiver
I passed a comment about the crazy weather
His retort, I thought, was rather clever
'The weather here, is a woman, it's always changing its mind
It's impossible to read - and so you will find'
I chuckled away, then quickly fell silent
The woman had heard me and the lightening grew violent
I was told to meet a friend at a futsal court
I rocked up, ready to dominate some sport
My friend didn't show, but the rest of the guys did
They only spoke Spanish so hello's were limited
It turns out football doesn't require much talk
By the end of the game I could hardly walk
Playing at altitude for two hours straight
Is something that I highly rate
Myself, a Peruvian family, a friend and a dog
We made our way up, it was a bit of a slog
Into the mountains, with picnic basket in tow
To a place reserved for people in the know
We explored ancient tombs from the Incan empire
Then ate Peruvian cuisine in what felt like the Shire
A phone was lost, cards were played
A tremendous day and my week was made
Today had a distinct lack of fools
A shame really, it's almost against the rules
I charged around with the kids at the local playground
No learning on Fridays, unleash the sound
Then on to a home-cooked dinner with friends
These veges are disturbing the strictly carb trends
And how I have missed them! So much I take for granted
The meal left me positively enchanted