Illness

This post will be really short as I am knocking on deaths door. Yes, the excesses of perhaps a few too many cervezas last night, the time difference, the altitude, and the pollution (will I ever get used to inhaling vapourised oil?) have all combined to produce a rather ill Hilary.

T and I have spent most of the day sleeping, with one foray out to find some painkillers, and another, with some American pals to a place called the Alcemista, a fabulous cafe high on the hillside of Quetzaltenango with astonishing views of the city nestling among a circle of enormous mountains. If I had been anywhere near conscious, it would have been quite nice!

Anyway, my sick bed calls. More when I recover.