Disturbing the Peace

Clouds fall over the sleepy village of Santa Elena, Costa Rica as the chirping birds sing in the sweet symphony of the night. The occasional monkey howls off in the distance as the wind rustles the branches and leaves throughout the forest. Nestled in their beds, the villagers sleep off a hard day’s work of rebuilding the central plaza.

The silence of the night is suddenly shattered by a commotion in a dark hostel. At the top of his lungs, a man is screaming "Help me!" in Spanish and English. It sounds like he is beating the walls. The screams echo throughout the night as men emerge from their houses and follow the screams to the hostel. A small group of weary-eyed travelers point to room number 5. They knock, but no one answers.

… I didn’t hear a thing.

One year later and thousands of miles away, a hostel in Buenos Aires is tormented by an angry voice that screams throughout the night. A German awakens in his top bunk to find a bearded man looking him right in the face. The bearded man starts to scream and ask crazy questions. He wants directions to Brazil and wants to know if someone mowed his mom’s lawn. "Be careful, there’s pirates out there," he says as he points to the wall. The awakened travelers stare in confusion as he slowly returns to his bed in a peaceful sleep. The next day, they ask to change rooms.

… I didn’t hear a thing.

Deep in the Amazon Basin, a group of men snore in their hammocks as a misty rain beats down upon them. The chirping insects slowly give way to a human-like growl. The men awaken to loud talking, off in the blackness of the jungle. But there is something wrong: they hear only one voice. The voice grows louder, ending in a final scream and then stops as a raucous is heard in the bushes. The chirping of the insects take back over as one of the men grabs his machete and goes to investigate the matter. Other than a man sleeping quietly in his hammock, he finds nothing,.

… I didn’t hear a thing.

A cold breeze blows over the small island of Isla Taquille. Nestled in the blue waters of Lake Titicaca, it is far and secluded from the modern world. An old man is sleeping on a mat in his adobe house. He is awakened by a faint knocking sound on the wall beside him. Every few minutes it stops, as a rustling sound is heard on the dirt floor. He starts to hear voices. The footsteps sound like something is walking in around in circles, in the room next to him. Peering out of the window to investigate the matter, he finds an enormous, candlelit gringo staring right at him.

… I didn’t hear a thing.

It’s 4 a.m., somewhere in Central Mexico. A ramshackle bus is traveling the dark, desert highways on its way to the United States. On board, the humming of the engine is interrupted by the occasional snore of the sleeping passengers. In the darkness of the vehicle, a voice starts speaking in English. But no one is responding. One by one, the passengers awaken to investigate the matter. Flicking their lighters, they look through the pile of sleeping bodies on the floor to find a gringo face-down. His head is resting on an old shirt as his open eyes stare at the wall of the bus. He’s having a conversation with something underneath the seat. As the men start to look under the seat, small children begin to cry. It’s scaring them.

The entire bus awakens to the shouting as one man stands over the gringo and looks right into his face. He continues to shout at the wall underneath the seat. The man squats down to look underneath the seat but finds nothing. Standing up to face the worried passengers he shouts, "The gringo is crazy!"

With a drool-covered face, I awaken to a busload of laughing Mexicans. I stand up to see their dimly lit faces staring at me, and I wonder just what is so funny. "Can you introduce us to your friend under the seat?" someone shouts from the darkness.

I always had a feeling that I was the one causing the trouble.

It is a strange feeling to wake up and find your room trashed – but the door still locked. Or, you wake up on the floor beside your bed. You might even wake up to find all you bags unpacked. But it’s the worst when you emerge from hammocks, hostels, and overnight buses to a crowd of curious stares and half-hidden smiles. You hear the whispering, see their smiling faces and pointing fingers. Locals and travelers alike become scared of you. "If he is that violent in his sleep, imagine what he might do when he is awake?" they say.

Over my travels, I have developed a habit of starting every day by apologizing for the night before…

Craig would like to sincerely apologize to all those locals and travelers that he has scared and aggravated. From now on, he promises to avoid hostels and sleep only in the most secluded places, far from shouting distance.

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