Oranges and Lions

The Linger Loco!

Chapter 3: Oranges and Lions

A large bus swings into the Colonia bus station and

screeches to a halt close to the platform. The driver, who is

dressed smartly in a white shirt and navy blue tie, skips

down the steps and begins loading our bags into the luggage

compartment.Waiting for him to tear our tickets in two, we

climb aboard and find our seats at the back of the bus. It’s

not a luxury coach to the standard we had heard about in

Argentina, but the seats are comfortable and there’s plenty

of legroom. Chris tucks into a sack of snacks and before

you can say, ‘cheese puffs’, we find ourselves hurtling

along the seafront towards the main highway that will

carry us north through the tranquil grasslands of the

Uruguayan countryside. Reclining my seat, I feel completely

relaxed with the warm sun shining on my face. It feels like a

Sunday afternoon at home in England, relaxing in the conservatory

after a nice roast dinner. Between catnaps, I catch

glimpses of the Uruguayan life outside my window; young

men on horseback gallop across the gently rolling hills,

kids kick a ball around a dusty football pitch and women

sell colourful fruit and vegetables at the roadside.

Occasionally, we pull into a small town or village and

stretch our legs, and eat a milanesa (veal cutlet) sandwich

while observing the bustling street life. During the heat of

the day people sit quietly in the tree shaded plazas drinking

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maté. No one appears to be in any particular hurry, and I

smile at a pace of life that has long been forgotten in the

busy consumerist lives of the Western world.

We arrive at the Salto bus terminal in the late evening. The

bus jolts sharply and my eyes flick open, it’s dark outside.

I wearily follow Chris off the bus and collapse into a taxi

that takes us through the dimly lit streets to a small hostel

in the guidebook called the Hostel Jardin. It’s a cute little

place in the quiet back streets of town, and consists of a

row of bungalows alongside a small patch of grass. The

owner is an unbelievably friendly guy, and we spend a few

minutes chatting to him at the reception desk with some

other dude sat nearby watching a high-speed car chase on

TV. The owner can’t do enough for us. He slides around

the hostel in his slippers like an excited child, collecting

towels, a fan and even a tatty map of Salto town centre for

us to use. You would expect this high standard of service

at a 3 or 4 star hotel not in a £1.50 a night hostel. Feeling

completely exhausted we crash out.

Rising early in the morning feeling fresh and ready for

action, we head out into the lively town in search of breakfast.

Hot dogs seem to be the peoples’ choice, so we order

a couple from a guy on the corner of the street and wash

them down with some freshly squeezed orange juice.

Wandering around the town, we stumble across a rundown

park and watch a group of young guys dressed in

tracksuits practicing some kind of martial art. They’re

exceptionally fast and each one delivers wicked combat

punches and kicks. It looks like they’re doing a mixture of

Thai boxing with capoeira and taekwondo mixed in. I’m

no martial arts expert, but I know for sure I wouldn’t want

to be in a pub brawl with these Bruce Lee wannabes. We

follow the path through the park and arrive at an orange

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plantation. There’s a sweet smell of citrus fruits in the air,

and peering over a hedge we see rows of orange trees and

crates of the brightly coloured fruit stacked high beside a

big warehouse. We push on and explore the crumbling

back streets of the city and find more old vintage cars

parked up on driveways. Some are completely corroded

with gaping holes in the bodywork – others are a mishmash

of parts with a blue wing here and a green bonnet

there. It seems almost unimaginable to believe that these

vehicles can move, let alone stay in one piece when

hurtling at speed along the bumpy potholed roads. I imagine

the cars have been handed down from father to son for

generations like a family heirloom, and suggest a time of

prosperity that has faded away. There are very few new

cars on the road; maybe the economic instability in

Uruguay has made purchasing such an expensive item out

of the reach of the average worker. In England in recent

years, cars have become practically disposable with the

banks and finance companies being given the freedom to

give more people access to loans. The huge abundance of

fairly decent secondhand vehicles in England kept us both

on the road, in a consumerist society where people have

bought into the ‘credit-slave’ culture. Thankfully, the new

and fashionable had never really appealed to us. We took

the more alternative view that at least if you drove a

banger you stood out, and the freedom the extra disposable

income allowed us had become a necessary means to

maintaining our flexible new lifestyles. At times it seemed

wrong relying, to some extent financially, on the system

we had rejected, but I truly believe even without it we

would have found a way to pursue our passions and

explore the world.

Passing a row of shops with cases of oranges piled up

outside, we buy a sack of the delicious tasting fruit and

suck the vitamin C out of them all the way to the gates of

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the Salto zoo. Passing through the entrance barrier we’re

surprised to discover that it’s free. Chris dumps a sack of

orange peel in a rubbish bin shaped like a panda and we

head over to a cage of monkeys. We peer through the bars

and watch the animals leap around inside.

‘I’ve come to the conclusion that zoos are cruel!’ Chris

announces, leaning forward and wiggling his finger

through the bars.

‘I thought you loved zoos?’

‘Yeah, San Diego Zoo or Singapore Zoo maybe, but this

joint is a little too dirty for my liking. I mean, these little

fellas should be farting around in the wild.’

A small angry-faced monkey grips onto the bars and

rocks slowly from side-to-side.

‘The wild is cruel too, Chris.’

‘It’s better than being in here.’

‘But imagine the constant battle against other monkeys

for territory, and the daily threat of being hunted by predators.

It’s a tough world out there. At least they’re safe in

here.’

‘What, in a small dirty cage? Get real, numb-nuts. The

wild is their freedom – they thrive off that danger. The

natural instinct for any animal is to survive and battle

against the elements, isn’t it?’

I laugh. ‘How would you know, you lazy fuck. You’ve

never had to battle for anything, well, maybe with exception

of the TV remote control.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I’m sure if you removed all of the cages these monkeys

wouldn’t go far.’

‘Yeah, because they were probably born in this shit hole,

they don’t know any different.’

‘True, although, what does that say about humans? We’re

born into a caged environment much like these animals,

only the doors have been left wide open. Why don’t we flee?’

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‘We have, we’ve fled to South America.’

‘Yeah, but we’ll still return to our cage once we run out

of cash. At the end of the day we’re lazy, we choose the

path of least resistance.’

‘Si, you’re a deep mother fucker, do you know that? Have

you been smoking that wacky backy again?’

‘Well, it’s true! Take that Austrian girl who was in the

news recently.’

‘What Austrian girl?’

‘She turned up after being missing for eight years. She

had been kidnapped by a paedophile when she was ten

years old and was kept prisoner in his house outside

Vienna. She had many opportunities to escape over the

years, but she became reliant on her captor. It’s called the

Stockholm syndrome. It became her life. It wasn’t until she

was washing his car one-day when she was eighteenyears-

old that she decided to leave.’

Chris frowns. ‘Sick bastard, but what’s that got to do with

zoos?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. All I’m saying is, all most creatures

are concerned about, including humans, is where

their next meal is going to come from. Everything else is

irrelevant.’

Moving over to the next small cage, a cute raccoon like

creature with a long snout and a black and white stripy tail

runs up to the bars. Just as I’m about to tickle its nose, I

notice a rather attractive blonde girl feeding them fruit.

Her make-up looks blotchy around the eyes, and I wonder

if she’s been crying. She catches my eye.

‘Que pasa?’ she calls over to me coldly.

I’m surprised by her directness.

‘Nada. Nothing,’ I grin.

Most probably feeling guilty for her sudden outburst, she

walks over and offers us both a piece of fruit. I push mine

through the bars and watch curiously as the animal sniffs

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it a few times before gently taking it from my fingers. I see

Chris chewing something in the corner of my eye.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’

‘What?’

‘Are you eating the fruit?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘It’s for the animals, you deranged lard arse!’

He quickly swallows the chunk of pineapple and the girl

begins to laugh. She’s petite with big oval shaped eyes, and

a smart white shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal the top of

her black bra. I begin to wonder what she’s doing at the zoo

on her own in the middle of the day.

‘Hablas inglés,’ I ask her.

‘Poco,’ she replies, still looking moody. ‘Where are you

from?’

‘England,’ I smile.

The girl looks blank.

‘Near London,’ Chris adds.

‘Ah, Inglaterra! Londres, muy bien.’

‘You live here?’ I smile, pointing at the earth.

She looks confused. ‘At zoo?’

‘No, no, you live here in Salto?’

‘Ah, yes, but I live Buenos Aires one year.’

‘That’s where we’ve just come from.’

‘Delicious bull’s testicles in Buenos Aires,’ Chris nods.

She frowns, and then laughs. ‘I’m glad you like. Before

here I work bar in el centro.’

‘Were you a waitress?’

She hesitates for a second before answering. ‘No I dancer

in bar.’

‘Wow, great, I love dancing, too!’ I reply excitedly. ‘What

do you prefer, salsa or electronic music?’

‘I dance exotic in bar called Pelvis,’ the girl smiles.

‘Oh really,’ Chris beams, raising an eyebrow.

‘You like exotic dancing?’ she asks confidently.

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‘Fuck yeah!’ he yells with wide eyes. ‘…I mean…uh,

yeah, it’s OK. Why are you in Salto?’

‘My family live here. I student, it is vacation now. You

like zoo?’

Chris shakes his head. ‘I no like.’

‘Why not like?’ she asks.

‘The cages are too small.’

She nods in agreement and pushes her last piece of fruit

through the bars. ‘I come zoo everyday, I boring in Salto.’

‘Bored?’

‘Yes, I bored, I no friends here.’ She looks sad again and

tears well up in her eyes. ‘The animals are my friends.’

Chris nudges my arm. ‘She’s a freak!’

I try to hide my smile as she grabs my arm and pulls me

over to the Romanian brown bear cage. We watch the hot

animal pacing around its concrete pen. It submerges itself

in a pool of stagnant green water and sniffs the air.

‘What’s a Romanian brown bear doing in a little zoo in

Uruguay?’ Chris mumbles.

I shake my head and continue to watch the poor animal.

The bear climbs out of the water and holds onto the rusty

bars. It sniffs the air again and sways from side-to-side like

it’s mentally retarded. It’s all too much for us, so we move

onto the lion’s cage. It smells heavily of piss, and I can just

make out the silhouette of a muscular shape asleep in the

shadows.

‘You try sidra?’ the girl smiles, reaching for a small glass

bottle in her handbag.

‘No,’ I reply.

‘It alkool from citrus.’

‘Ah, like cider?’

‘I not know. You have?’

We both take a swig from the bottle of strong tasting

apple flavoured alcohol, and watch in surprise as she

knocks back the rest of the bottle.

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‘I sad today,’ she sniffles, wiping her mouth with the

back of her hand. ‘So I drink.’

‘Why are you sad?’ I ask, noticing she looks a little drunk.

‘It is my stupid boyfriend, he is good in karate. He not

likes me anymores. I want be free like you and travel

world. How long you here?’

‘About two months in South America,’ Chris replies, ‘but

we go home with no money and no job.’

‘There no job here, I want like you.’

‘Can’t you go back to Buenos Aires?’

Tears well up in her eyes, and I can see anger and frustration

in her face. ‘My stupid father is in hospital and my

mother bad woman. I want go away, can I with you? When

you go?’

‘In a few hours,’ I reply.

‘Where you go?’

‘We go to Cordoba in Argentina.’

‘Yes, yes, I know Cordoba. I boring here, I want go with

you.’

Chris glances down at her heaving breasts. ‘You want to

come with us to Argentina?’

She nods, and looks at us with her big watery puppy dog

eyes.

‘OK, more the merrier!’ Chris winks.

‘Nooo, it’s not possible,’ I cry, grabbing his arm.

‘I no much money,’ she smiles sweetly. ‘But I look after

you good.’

‘Ah, problemo,’ Chris grins. ‘We haven’t got any money,

either.’

‘I don’t eat many, just cigarettes.’

‘But we’re not going to be in Argentina for long,’ I snap,

feeling angry and strangely guilty all at the same time.

‘We’re on our way to Chile.’

‘Chile! I never go to Chile, please you take me!’ she

pleads. ‘I sad here, my boyfriend is bastardo.’

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‘I’m sorry, it’s not possible. We don’t want you to come

with us!’

She storms off in floods of tears and sits beneath a tree

close to the entrance gates. We reluctantly walk over to

her.

‘Women,’ I hear Chris sigh.

As we approach the girl, we’re surprised to see she’s

cuddling a fluffy lion cub chained to the tree. She hugs it

around the neck and sobs into its soft fur.

‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ Chris laughs.

Crouching down he cautiously strokes the cute little animal,

which behaves much like an oversized kitten. The

girl looks up with her big sad eyes and smeared eyeliner,

and tries a new tactic to persuade us to rescue her from

Salto.

‘I want to travel like you. I help you get girls and make

money from gringos.’

I’m shocked by how desperate she wants to escape this

town. She may be playing some kind of a game for all we

know, but I get the distinct impression that she’s genuinely

unhappy here or feels trapped in some way. I want to help

her, but I can’t help thinking it’ll all turn sour and disrupt

our journey to Brazil.

‘I’m sorry, we can’t take you with us,’ I reply, stroking the

lion cub.

‘You lucky!’ she snaps, tears running down her cheeks.

Chris puts his arm around her shoulders and gives her a

big squeeze. ‘You’ll be all right. You have to be strong and

be positive and slowly good things will happen.

Everything will sort itself out. You’ll laugh about this soon,

trust me. She rests her head against his chest and much to

his surprise she slides a hand over his crotch.

‘Wow!’ he cries, leaping to his feet.

She begins to massage his bulge despite his resistance, and

bursts into uncontrollable floods of tears. The commotion

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upsets the lion cub, causing it to pounce forward and grab

hold of my trainer with its teeth.

‘Help me!’ I yell, shaking my foot in the air.

The girl grabs Chris’s crotch again while I dance around

in circles trying to free the lion cub gnawing on my foot.

People passing by look as us strangely, as I pull myself

clear and fall backwards onto the grass. Completely

freaked out by her behaviour we run for the exit and sprint

off up the street. Peering over my shoulder I see her cover

her head and rock uncontrollably from side-to-side.

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