MORE ADVENTURES OF MY FRIEND IN PERU – 1978 (PART 1 of 2)

A few days ago, I introduced some memories, of a friend I made in Peru. He was assigned to this project, by his company, from South Africa. His ass had ended up in, what we called, the Canadian Sector high in the Andes. He came to us because, basically, he was not Swedish. It seemed like all of the Swedish expats were pretty much jammed into one camp, called Achoma. Everyone else was dispersed throughout the other sites in the mountains. In any event we had two South Africans with us. Once again my story is of the younger one, BdK, who became my friend shortly after my arrival.

BdK spent much of his time up at camp, even during the year-end break (a two month union holiday), and on weekends or other days off. The reason for this was twofold. Deysi says it was his basic “cheapness”; while I believe it was that, plus the fact that South Africans were only allowed 200 Rand per month out of their country. Anything above that was subject to severe financial penalty and tax. So if that was the case, 200 rand in a month did not stretch that far. Basically, it was about the same amount I spent each weekend in Arequipa. Where everyone from all the camps convened from various worksites, at week’s end; to party and make merry.

So if it was the lack of available funds that drove BdK’s isolation, then it was well understandable to me. Deysi, sniffs at this and just adds, “horse shit, he could have had money if he wasn’t so tight”. In any event he spent much of his time up in the Andes, and managed to get himself in difficult situations often. I guess that is why we got along. I too could get myself in “situations”, seemingly at will. So with that preamble, I will relate a couple more instances of BdK getting involved in, and us extricating him from potentially harmful, self inflicted, problems. I might add that he gave the rest of us at camp, many hours of diversion, laughter, and things to gossip about.

Now, as I said earlier, where we were located, was at a point on the northwest end of the Project, just where the Majes River was finally extricated from its origins deep in the Colca Valley, and after a couple of hundred miles of tunnels and canals, was finally turned west before starting its’ descent onto the Atacama Desert. We called it the Canadian Sector because when I arrived, most everyone assigned there, was of Canadian origin. A couple of exceptions; the two South Africans, a Brit or two and our nemesis, a Swedish Project manager. This tale is of the latter. A miserable excuse of a Swede. Who came to act as our Project Manager, after (the Ontario cowboy) had completed his assignment. And before his replacement (another Canadian this time from Saskatchewan), was named.

The temporary Project Manager’s name was Curt, although we had other fond variations of that name for him. He disliked BdK immensely and because we were friends, disliked me equally, by association. Deysi, at that time, reported to this jerk. One day, after a particularly long and, I understand, loud party in our clubhouse, which extended into our rooms. This sad human being issued a camp wide bulletin. Which stated, in essence, “that anyone wanting to party late at night and continue said party into the expat rooms, by knocking on doors and shouting out, thereby not allowing others to get their proper amount of sleep. Was free to leave Huambo and the Project and all of Peru”.

Because almost all of us were involved, it did not name anyone, specifically. However it was very clear (I had a spy in his office) that it was directed at BdK and myself (by association). No one else seemed to mind and most of the others were participants in this particular evening of revelry. We were a little irritated to say the least and were starting to develop a major dislike for this person. Anyway, we kind of let it slide into an uneasy peace.

Then, about a week later, we were sitting in our clubhouse, Bdk and I on one couch and the Swede on one backing to us. He was playing chess and fully engrossed in his activity. He was also drinking Anisado (a Peruvian version of Ouzo, Jagermeister, or Sambucca) with water. Once water is added to Anisado it turns white like milk, has a liquorice taste and is very smooth. OK back to the story. We are sitting talking, with our nemesis behind us, when BdK saunters over to our bar and gets a full bottle of Anisado , which he places out of sight beside him.

Now every time the Swede’s drink gets low, BdK takes his glass, which was kinda hidden beside us, tops it up with Anisado and a splash of water. The chess game grinds on and on and our well disliked Project Manager gets drunker and drunker. A couple of times, we heard him remark that he thought that he had finished his drink, but that it was still full. By the time the game is finished, he has consumed, just about, another full bottle of liquor, on top of what he had before BdK started on him. He is now smashed! He can’t talk, he is drooling on himself and now notices BdK and myself sitting behind him.

Now he gets all nostalgic, and thru his blubbering spits out, “you guys never did like me, you never gave me a chance, and on and on.” To which Bdk replies that he has pretty much read us correctly. Now our new slobbering friend wants to be buddies, but can’t lift himself from his seat to join us. Well, we have now had enough and prepare ourselves to go to our rooms. We lock up the bar, straighten up the chairs, pick up empties and tell the Swede “hey it’s time to leave”. He can’t get out of his seat, so Bdk asks if he needs help. His head slumps over to the side, which we take as an affirmative.

So, with one of us under each arm we drag him off towards his room. His little toes are dragging on the ground and he is in a full on drunken stupor. On arrival at the camp, we make the appropriate amount of banging and slamming so everyone can hear a party entering. We drag him to his room, prop him up and BdK asks for his key. This old boy is mumbling in some sort of language that we cannot possibly understand, but it is obvious no key is gonna be produced. We look at each other, I take one of my size 12 boots and kick his room door, right off the hinges and into the middle of his room. We grab him under his armpits and gently lower him onto his door and leave him there. For all to see as they wake up for work in the morning.

Come morning, at breakfast, the atmosphere was charged. Everyone had walked past the author of the “no partying missive”, sleeping full out on top of his door, for everybody to see. Next comes our electrical superintendent and is he pissed. He says, “some rotten SOB tried to take my truck last night and I know exactly who it is!” With this, he produces the Swede’s keys and says someone got into his truck in the middle of the night, to go somewhere, but ended up, losing all his “cookies” inside and then dropping his keys into it. He holds up the keys by their keychain which was made of large steel letters, spelling CURT.

Now everyone is howling. It appears that after we left him, he got up at some point, tried to take our guy’s truck (to god knows where), was unsuccessful, threw up, then returned to his position in his room, on top of his door and resumed his sleep. I volunteered to write the company wide bulletin about partying after “the earlier warning”, and inviting him to pack up and go back to Sweden. It was one of the best mornings we ever had in this camp. For once everyone on the team was united behind one issue.

A couple of hours later, I get a phone call in my office. It was the Swede. When I answered, I heard the Swede in his most menacing voice pronounce, “You are a real bastard, aren’t you?” What could I say, after all he was 100% “on the nuts”. Shortly after this incident he was relieved of his duties with us and returned to his company in Sweden, for reassignment. Nobody ever really messed with BdK and I, much, after this time. Stay tuned for PART 2, coming soon.