That Tuesday morning we'd booked a three day tour to the south, going to Ica, Huacachina and Las Islas Ballestas at a travel agency we passed that morning. By 5.00 p.m. that day, I didn't know whether I'd be able to travel on a bus for the necessary hours with the violent diarrhoea and the projectile vomiting that had taken over my body. Alex walked back to the travel agency to ask whether we could put off the departure for a couple of days, perhaps to Friday, until I was well enough to travel.
By the time he'd arrived and started negotiating, I had thrown up my lunch and evacuated my bowels completely, and I was feeling a lot better. Eddy, the travel agent, said that we couldn't leave on Friday because bookings were so heavy for the weekend, but we could go on Monday. That decided me; I was not going to spend one day longer than necessary in Lima. I wanted to flee as far away as possible. I told Alex to cancel the postponement. I would travel the next morning, at 7.30 as per the original plan.
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