Curses

La Paz, Bolivia. August 2001.

The city extends from a hole, the centre at the bottom, the buildings climbing up the walls of the hole in the middle of the plain. It was the end of a long week. The capital meant civilization, soroche and showers.

I can't remember the hotel we stayed in well. I seem to think we were on the fourth or fifth floor, the bathroom was high, and if my memory doesn't fail me, I fell down stomach first on the side of the tub, and for the first time in my life I knew what it was like to have the breath knocked out of me.

After we'd cleaned up, and rested, we decided to go get some food. The streets of La Paz are busy during the day, and colourful. Like any other city, it has its markets and its plazas, its museums and its boulevards. By night, it's quieter, and it can seem imposing, but after long days around the Titicaca we welcomed the rudeness of a city. We made our way to Plaza Murillo. Even then there were pigeons in the square, but I remember thinking it was peaceful. Compared to what I had seen in Lima, this was close to paradise.

We found a small restaurant open a couple of streets away from our hotel, and sat down to have dinner. We were made to feel welcome, in a way that only happens when you visit a country where you can speak the language. As we were about to leave, the waiter mentioned that if we continued down the street, we would come to an alley where the hechiceros often sold their wares at night.

We followed his directions, but found nothing. We had given up, and were trying to get back to the hotel, when we stumbled upon a narrow street, with worse lighting than the others. There must have been more people other than us there, but as I remember it, the street was empty except for us and three or four women selling amulets that they were exhibiting on wooden stalls. The women were all dark and thickset, and we could tell when we spoke to them that Spanish was their second language. These were true hechiceras. I started inspecting what they were selling immediately: I may not believe in luck, but I believe in magic. Soon, I found that they all had the same amulets, but far from being disappointed, I made it my job to find out which of them would give me a better deal. The third time I asked the oldest woman there for the price, my father held me back.

-Be careful, -he said. -They're hechiceras, they could be cursing you, you shouldn't haggle.

I left the night market having bought many amulets. For health, for traveling, for love, for good fortune...

Two days later, as we were on the bus back to Peru, I got sick. Coke didn't help, and stopping didn't help, and it wasn't until we reached the other side of Lake Titicaca that I started to feel any better. I was sure one of the hechiceras had indeed cursed me, but not too badly because I was a child. The trip continued, and soon I forgot all about it.

We arrived in Spain at the end of August. It was still hot, and unpacking the bags after one month of traveling took time. The amulets had all disappeared. I asked my parents, and they didn't remember buying them, or the street, or my haggling. Soon I forgot about them, and the trip to La Paz became a bit smaller in my mind.


Ávila, Spain. December 2009.

It was late on a Sunday. I didn't want to go back to Salamanca, the 9AM algebra class didn't seem worth it. My dad was laughing at the proof I had come up with, showing it to my mum. I asked what was wrong with it, and they both laughed and said it was essentially correct. I took it from them frowning and went through it again. It seemed fine to me. No matter.

I went to my room and opened my wardrobe. Me and my friends were going camping the weekend after and I needed to get my backpack. I hadn't used it since the summer before, and I had made sure I'd emptied it, but when I opened the small pocket on the right to put in my usual first aid kit I felt something lumpy. It was a small packet, brown paper wrapped around something. I took it out, and opened it. 7 amulets were inside. A frog, for good fortune, a bird, for safe trips, a lion, for courage, and others that I couldn't remember the meaning of. I took them downstairs to show to my parents. The second they saw them, they smiled and my father reminded me how he had warned me about the witches' curses. I frowned, but didn't say anything. I looked at my mother and asked if she would keep them safe for me.

-You don't want them? -she asked.

-I think they're unlucky. -I said earnestly.

-So you're giving them to me? -she accused, half laughing.

I nodded, confused. I was sure they wouldn't harm her.


Before I came to London, I looked for the amulets again. They seem to have disappeared once more. Every time I'm about to take a trip, I keep expecting to find them, they haunt me. I suspect that they won't make an appearance again, until I've forgotten them, and they come to remind me that there may not be such a thing as bad luck, but curses exist.