We woke about 4am to the honking of car horns. Peering out our curtain, it appeared to be the normal exchange between two vehicles that had joined us. Settling back onto what was turning out to be a reasonably comfortable bed, we went back to sleep. Minutes later, a police car arrived, with its signature flashing green lights (if you have flashing lights here, you use them 100% of the time), and we started to worry. Peering out a curtain to watch the proceedings, James was noticed by a Policeman, who came over and knocked and asked what we were doing. He seemed convinced by James' topless presentation and complete lack of spanish that we weren't up to anything sinister, and so left us again. After about 10 minutes, all the cars that had joined our early morning slumber party left, leaving us still unsure what exactly had transpired. A short list includes; public drinking, threats of suicide off the lookout and major drug trafficking, we concluded the first seems most likely.
A few hours later, we woke, and it was pouring. The van was bursting with hundreds of unwashed blankets from the previous owner, atop which sat our large packs, cluttered with clothing, computer cables and every other thing we imagined we could not live without for 3 months. With barely room to move, we dresses, admired a foggy lookout and contemplated what to do. The van had, although this story appears to have been played down a little by my co-author, started leaking oil at a more alarming rate. On the upside, it was coming from the dip stick now, and appeared to have nothing to do with the engine itself. The back of the van was covered with oil that had splattered up, and it seemed too serious to continue on.
With our mobiles and computer nearing flat, no bowls to eat breakfast from, we ventured back to the shopping mall to our new favourite shop; Lidor. James headed in while I attempted to bring some level of organisation to the van. Returning with china bowels, and a chopping board suitable for an industrial kitchen, James was met with some disapproval. Despite the impending language barrier I accompanied James back to exchange them. As usual it seemed that it was not possible, although with some insistence, we returned them and selected some more appropriate plastic, kids bowls. The man next to us, who wanted to return his large cut of out-of-date meat was not so lucky. Driving to the near by beach, we dined in our tiny van, in the pouring rain. The scene was dismal; it looked like it would rain for days, the van was dirty and needed a mechanic, our stuff was everywhere and the minute you stepped out of the van you were soaked. Threatening a small OCD collapse, I suggested we find some accommodation, get the van fixed, clean and relaunch our journey.
With the van running (and haemorrhaging oil) we charged a phone, to book some accommodation. Detouring via the iconic hill-side suburbs with their brightly painted houses thanks to my ailing navigational skills, we eventually found our 18th story apartment. Removing the water containers we just squeezed under the 2.1m car park entrance. Showered, and with dry feet, we resisted the temptation to spend the remainder of the day laying in bed & headed back down to the van. Sorting through the various 'essentials' that had been left with her, we threw out even more blankets, odds & ends, empty cans and bottles.