Biker HM

Biker had been riding around Lima for almost an hour, completely lost. The problem wasn't the roads. The problem was the people.

A woman passed by and smiled.

"Joven, ¿va a comprar o solo está mirando?"

Biker stared at her.

"..."

The woman waited.

"..."

More waiting.

"...What?"

She sighed and walked away.

A few minutes later he stopped near a food stand.

"Excuse me. Hotel?"

The vendor blinked.

"¿Hotel? Ah, por allá nomás, causa."

"..."

"Por allá."

"..."

The vendor pointed.

"Por allá."

"...What the hell is a por allá?"

The vendor looked confused.

Biker looked confused.

Neither learned anything.

After wandering for another twenty minutes, he approached a group of teenagers.

"Hotel."

One of them nodded.

"Mano, sigue de frente, volteas en la esquina, luego donde está el Tambo, de ahí preguntas."

Biker stared confused.

"English?"

"No mano, no sé Inglés."

"What?"

"Ya fue."

The group left.

Biker stood there in silence.

"This country is trying to kill me."

An old man nearby laughed.

"Gringuito perdido."

Biker turned.

"You speak English?"

"No jove, Lo siento."

"Of course."

An hour later, tired and annoyed, he entered a small store.

The cashier greeted him.

"Buenas tardes."

"Hotel."

"¿Cuál?"

"I don't know."

"¿Dónde?"

"I don't know."

"¿Cómo?"

"I DON'T KNOW."

The cashier stared for a second.

Then he slowly pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps.

Biker nearly cried.

"Finally. Someone with a brain."

The cashier smiled.

"Turista, ¿no?"

"...Sure."

Five minutes later Biker was finally heading toward a hotel.

As he walked away, he heard two people talking nearby.

"Pobrecito."

"Sí, no entiende nada."

Biker sighed.

For the first time all day, he actually understood one word.

"Pobrecito."

"...Yeah. Probably."