We arrive at the bus station late in the day as always, and negotiate for a motorbike ride. There is only one person there to negotiate with and there isn’t much of a negotiation at all… there is no where to stay here.
We pull into a line up of bikes waiting to fill their tanks in a town that feels as if it may have never seen tourists before, and we are on the road…
My driver keeps shaking my hand, and I can’t tell if he just wants to hold it or if he is just in awe of my white skin and freckles. I have two on my right hand, and they help me quickly tell left from right. I think it is hilarious that someone else finds them fascinating at all, but I can’t laugh as we are traveling at almost seventy kilometers an hour, and I’d rather he kept his eyes on the road.
We pass through villages, and roadside volleyball games. The mountains surround the road, and sunlight peaks through the clouds. We accelerate to eighty, and without sunglasses or goggles I am forced to close my eyes. My smile is still as wide as ever, and I wonder how many bugs I’ll swallow as we go whipping past.