I was about to climb into the shower when I heard the knock at my hotel room.
“For goodness sake,” I grumbled.
It had taken us three hours to climb out of the Colca Canyon, near Arequipa. I was cold, tired and more than a little damp from the drizzle.
I yanked the door open to find our Peruvian guide, Roy.
“Everything okay senorita?” he said, his face softening. There were only four of us on the three-day hike – a British couple, Ros and Paul, Roy and I.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I grimaced impatiently.
“Listen,” he said quietly, peering into my twin room.
“They don’t have enough rooms here. Is it okay if we share?”
I was too drained to hear the alarm bell and, anyway, I was too British to protest.
“Fine,” I nodded.
“I need to take a shower.”
Ten minutes and several litres of hot water later, I was having doubts. The hotel had seemed extremely quiet when we’d arrived.
I emerged to find Roy’s rucksac on one of the beds but no sign of the guide.
The only person I could find was the hotel owner, David, in the kitchen.
“David,” I asked, in my most casual Spanish.
“Do you have other rooms here?”
“Oh yes,” he smirked.
“But Roy told me he wanted to share with you.”
Our diminutive 24-year-old guide chose that moment to make his appearance.
“Hey Roy,” I drawled with the authorative boredom I now reserve for the average Latin male.
“You need another room.”