Paro finalmente para escrever. Na sexta-feira passada voltei a adoecer. Ora está uma brasa ora está a chover tanto que esfria. Mas estou desconfiado que o meu corpo não estava a gostar do meu ritmo, ou no fundo não sentiria: Ahh.. ainda bem que adoeci. Posso descansar. Mas é sempre uma merda e aqui sozinho ainda pior.
A miss Coke veio-me apanhar. Queria tratar de mim. Eu disse-lhe que viria domingo, pois na segunda já iria estar em condições de dar aulas. Haveria um carro às 3 ou às 4 para voltar. No domingo a miss Coke atrasou-se mas disse-me para não me preocupar pois tinha visto um carro no horário às 5. Um horário que não dizia a que carro se referia.
Meio doente, lá cheguei, e claro, o último carro já tinha ido. Não iria voltar para trás ou dar a volta longa por Udon Thani. É este tipo de displicências que começo a ficar farto. Assim como com a nova casa. Quiseram que me mudasse mas tinha a certeza que me ia faltar algo importante. Lá está. Nem ventoinha, nem água, apesar de uma casa de banho muito melhor. Não conseguem pensar em tudo e isto chateia-me um bocado.
Decidi ir então à boleia. Seriam 60 quilómetros. Passados dois segundos de ter o polegar levantado, um carro parou. Pôde-me deixar seis quilómetros à frente. Deixei passar três malucos num jipe azul descapotável mas eles param e perguntaram-me para onde ia. "Ban Phue" - com a esperança que lhes fosse muito longe. "Ok" - disseram. E aí vou eu. Estavam os três bêbados. Quando souberam donde era, ficaram malucos (vocês haveriam de os ouvir a dizer Crustino Uoaldo). O menos bêbado, e que falava um pouco de Inglês, vinha ao meu lado. Os outros dois, em tronco nu, iam na frente. O mais velho, também era professor e a ia a conduzir. Quando me tentou dizer qualquer coisa em Inglês ia quase tossindo um rim. O outro era um pirata (como o Hermano noutros tempos) que só me queria tocar e tirar fotos. Mas a bebedeira não o permitiu adicionar-me no Facebook. Sem cinto, de vez em quando tocavam uma buzina a imitar os carros da polícia.
Poderia-me assustar (e claro que fui sempre com um olho na estrada) mas debaixo daquela maluquice não encontrei mal. As minhas bebedeiras também me ensinaram alguma coisa. Ah, e claro, nunca conduziram depressa.
Depois de me largarem ainda iriam fazer 50 quilómetros para trás. Acho que se lhes tivesse pedido boleia para Portugal me teriam dado.
I finally stop to write. Last Friday I got sick again. Or it's a hell of a heat or it's raining so much that it cools. But I'm suspicious that my body wasn't liking my rhythm, or deep down, I wouldn't feel: Ahh ... I'm glad I got sick. I can rest. But it's always a shit and here alone even worse.
Miss Coke came to get me. She wanted to take care of me. I told her that I would come Sunday, because on Monday I would be able to teach. There would be a car at 3 or 4 pm to get back. On Sunday Miss Coke was late but told me not to worry because she had seen a car in the timetable at 5 o'clock. A timetable that didn't mention to which car it was referring.
Half sick, I got there, and of course, the last car was gone. I wouldn't go back or do the long way by Udon Thani. It's this kind of carelessness that I start to get fed up with. Just like with the new house. They wanted me to move, but I was sure something important was missing. There you go. No fan, no water, despite a much better bathroom. They can't think of everything and it bothers me a lot.
I decided to go by hitchhiking. It would be 60 kilometers. Two seconds after my thumb was up, a car stopped. He could leave six kilometers ahead. I let three crazy guys pass through in a blue convertible jeep but they stopped and asked me where I was going. "Ban Phue" - hoping that it would be too far. "Okay," they said. And there I go. The three were drunk. When they knew where I was from, they went crazy (you should hear them saying Crustino Woaldo). The less drunk, who spoke a little of English, came by my side. The other two, bare-chested, went in the front seats. The eldest was also a teacher and was driving. When he tried to say something in English he almost coughed a kidney. The other was a pirate (like Hermano in other times) who just wanted to touch me and take pictures. But his drunkenness didn't allow him to add me on Facebook. Without the safety belt, occasionally they blew a horn that sounds like police cars.
I could get scared (and of course I always had an eye on the road) but under that madness I didn't find any wickedness. My drinking times also taught me something. Oh, and course, they never drove fast.
After they left me, they would still going 50 kilometers back. I think if I had asked them for a ride to Portugal they would have taken me.
Miss Coke came to get me. She wanted to take care of me. I told her that I would come Sunday, because on Monday I would be able to teach. There would be a car at 3 or 4 pm to get back. On Sunday Miss Coke was late but told me not to worry because she had seen a car in the timetable at 5 o'clock. A timetable that didn't mention to which car it was referring.
Half sick, I got there, and of course, the last car was gone. I wouldn't go back or do the long way by Udon Thani. It's this kind of carelessness that I start to get fed up with. Just like with the new house. They wanted me to move, but I was sure something important was missing. There you go. No fan, no water, despite a much better bathroom. They can't think of everything and it bothers me a lot.
I decided to go by hitchhiking. It would be 60 kilometers. Two seconds after my thumb was up, a car stopped. He could leave six kilometers ahead. I let three crazy guys pass through in a blue convertible jeep but they stopped and asked me where I was going. "Ban Phue" - hoping that it would be too far. "Okay," they said. And there I go. The three were drunk. When they knew where I was from, they went crazy (you should hear them saying Crustino Woaldo). The less drunk, who spoke a little of English, came by my side. The other two, bare-chested, went in the front seats. The eldest was also a teacher and was driving. When he tried to say something in English he almost coughed a kidney. The other was a pirate (like Hermano in other times) who just wanted to touch me and take pictures. But his drunkenness didn't allow him to add me on Facebook. Without the safety belt, occasionally they blew a horn that sounds like police cars.
I could get scared (and of course I always had an eye on the road) but under that madness I didn't find any wickedness. My drinking times also taught me something. Oh, and course, they never drove fast.
After they left me, they would still going 50 kilometers back. I think if I had asked them for a ride to Portugal they would have taken me.
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