. . . . all this time we’ve been paying nine soles for a quarter of chicken and fries. It’s good, but it always seemed a bit expensive to me.

 The other day a girl was walking down the road, pushing a bicycle cart. Just as I was about to pass her, we were coming upon a slight incline. I grabbed the back of the bicycle and began to help her push the bike and cart across the little footbridge and up the hill. I wasn’t paying attention and my foot went through the slats of the footbridge and I fell all the way up to my knee, hand still on bicycle.

Luckily, I didn’t get hurt at all. The entire situation was funny to me and I couldn’t stop laughing as I stood there up to my thigh caught in the footbridge. I couldn’t stop laughing as I climbed out and I certainly couldn’t stop laughing as the girl and I finished pushing the bike up the hill.

She stopped to make sure that I was all right. We ended up talking (even though we barely could understand one another) and walking all the way to Pisac. She’s a nice girl. We sort of became friends on our walk. We got to talking about restaurants.

I told her that my favorite was Las Gamelas Polloria. Her eyes lit up. She said in spanish, “Isn’t it a great place? And only 4.50 soles for a quarter chicken!”

Wait. Just. One. Minute. They always charge us nine soles for a quarter chicken. Ah! Gringo pricing has struck once again! I’ll go back, for sure, but this time, I’ll do some more bargaining, even if I need to take it up with Mama Chicken herself . . . .