AUF WIEDERSEHEN BET

We met a human puppy on the Bolivian border and when she turned up at our hostel in Tupiza a few hours later, we decided to keep her.

Betti Hell: twenty-years-old, German, stringent critic of the English speaking world as represented by Alan Hook and ruthlessly efficient eating machine.

Okay, so that’s not her real name. Her parents christened her Elisabeth. She just couldn’t pronounce it when she was little. The Hell part is genuine though. It mans something different in German apparently.

Betti prefers a slightly haphazard approach to travel. It prioritises last minute cigarettes and involves vanishing travel documents and packing while the cab idles on the curb outside. This is not the way Alan Hook likes things done. The Hook technique places a strong emphasis on effective time management and demands that bags be packed the night before departure and generous time margins allowed for all transit scenarios.

So, for three and a half weeks I travelled with a couple of inverse clichés, the laid back German and the rigidly efficient Australian, an involuntary witness and mediator to their bickering matches, like a child whose parents are staying together for his sake, oblivious to the fact their refusal to terminate the partnership is doing him more damage than separation could ever manage.

But like the child in that tortured analogy, now that Betty has belatedly packed her bags, misplaced her bus ticket, found it again, smoked a cigarette and walked out the door, I miss the bickering.

I miss her mild Bavarian accent providing a candid assessment of Alan’s photographic ability: “What is dat? It is just kraap.”

I miss her withering opinion of Alan’s suitability as a prospective partner: “You would be a shit boyfriend, Alan.”

And I especially miss her general appraisal of Alan: “Dat is because you are an idiot”.

How can I forget the time she was suffering from a chest infection and took a few days off the cigarettes to aid her recovery? Her announcement on the final night of smoke-free living that: “I think I am healthy enough to start smoking again tomorrow” will go down as one of the greats.

As will her discussion with Alan over whether or not to pack his torch the night before a 3am departure. It’s a textbook example of its kind:

Alan: “Do you know where my torch is?”
Betti: “Yes. Why are you always worrying about where things are?”
Alan: “I don’t want it left behind.”
Betti: “You would be a terrible boyfriend Alan.”
Alan: “Because I wouldn’t want my girlfriend leaving things behind?”
Betti: “Because you would get angry if she did.”
Alan: “If it was because she was being careless I would be.”
Betti: “See, dat is just craap.”
Alan: “What? German boys wouldn’t get angry if you left their torch behind?”
Betti: “Lots of boys wouldn’t care. They like a girl who would leave things behind.”
Alan: “Well they can use their own money to buy a new torch then.”

Alan’s final word, that Betty should: “fucking pack your bags now”, was perhaps a little strong but our departure was pleasingly prompt the following morning. Which aptly demonstrates that while Alan may have some distance to travel before becoming the ideal boyfriend, he already has all the key components of fatherhood down pat.

But it was Betti's general world view which made the most fascinating listening. Her assessment of the ornithological offerings of the South American continent would perhaps offend the more enthusiastic twitchers out there - "bird watching is just kraap” - but it's a difficult view to challenge.

And her excessively vocal and honest assessment of an American tourist’s amateur recording of the majestically soaring condors floating over the Colca Canyon will make for an interesting commentary for the viewers at the tape’s Christmas screening: “Who is going to watch dat? It is so boring.”

Good times. Good times indeed.

But the crowning moment of our association came halfway up an 800m climb on the second day of our Colca Canyon trek. Face flushed with exhaustion, Betti paused for breath on the sweltering track. “C’mon”, said Alan, strolling past at a casual lick, “it’s not that hot.”

“Fuck you Alan,” she fired back between panting breaths, “I am German… I BURN!”

Indeed you do, Betti. Indeed you do.

That is all,

Dale Atkinson