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I pretended to sleep but I was just shell-shocked, miserable and could not get out, until finally rescued by Allison, as time to go back to camp about four hours later. Of course I didn't know anybody but Allison, and was shy around people I didn't know. At the time I didn't know anybody, unlike today when I know everybody and can talk to anyone. But back then I thought people were different. I hadn't worked out the commonalities. I thought I was different. I think that is the thing about it. One wants to be different, either better or worse, but unique. Thinking of oneself as unique one cannot know anyone else, because anyone else is different and therefore unknown.
After that catastrophe, the next day the party host, a man in his late twenties, English I believe, came to the campsite in late morning to see Allison. I hid on my sleeping bag under the plastic tarp, more or less mortified that I should have to face the guy whose party I had behaved like such an ass. He was angry about something and I could hear him lecturing Allison in angry tones, and called me names. Allison may have told him I was sleeping, and indeed I was pretending to. Will this nightmare never end ?
I finally picked up my packages in Madrid and then had some pants to wear and a pair of shoes and some American pipe tobacco.
I don't remember this pick-up happening in Madrid, but I remember the gist of the story the clerk gave me on retrieving my stuff, with the help of a letter.
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