Will’s hungover and miserable and I’m wondering why I was so nice to let him out to do whatever it is men do when they go out on their own and come home at 3am. But he redeems himself over lunch back in Jack’s by insisting that I go for a massage with ‘his’ Marisol as she was so good. At which point one of his new found friends (Yaddick) from last night wanders in and sits down with us, telling me what a gentleman Will was last night by leaving the table when two woman sat down to join them. What a sweetie, I think. And then the guy ruins all Will’s brownie points by saying that he’d left the table to play pool and I instantly know that it was just a coincidence that he got up to play pool just as the women were arriving.
I did indeed have a massage with Marisol and she was indeed very good. The buttock massage was particularly invigorating. Now I know what he meant.
Sunday mornings all over the world and there’s normally a market somewhere. This one is in Pisac where, not only are there hundreds of stalls all selling the same things but there’s also a church service at 11am, heralded by the local boys blowing on large shells and, coupled with the elaborate dress and headgear of the older men, makes for a rather memorable praise and worship.
The produce section of the market was much more interesting than the touristy bit and we see live guinea pigs being bought and sold, the biggest selection of different types and colours of potatoes and a myriad different types of sweetcorn. I even buy myself a trilby since all the women here look so cool in theirs.
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