Bus

The bus was busy, claustrophobic in fact. The seat I was sat on, if you can call it that, was the space between the bottom step of the bus exit and the backseat. Next to me was a bag of fish ready for the market. The smell was putrid but atleast distracting from the Spanish chatter. We were headed towards Tyrona national park, a place of tranquility and beautiful beaches. And yet I felt sick with worry and anxiety that I wouldn’t get off the bus in time before throwing up over our luggage. My stomach was churning as we jerked round corners.