Read Online Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard - Free Book Online Page A

Apparently, talking shit is the key to Starling’s good graces. As we walk, she tells me we’ll spend one more night on the lake, and then we’ll leave for Guatemala City. A necessary way station, she calls it, like Bangkok or Delhi—unsavory, yet unavoidable.
    I can’t help suspecting she’s just name-dropping foreign cities, but whatever. After that, we’ll head to somewhere called Río Dulce. My imperfect Spanish can translate that much: “Sweet River.”
    I wonder if you can drink from it.
    By the time we reach the dock, the boat has arrived. Unexpectedly, Rowan stumbles ashore like a lopsided turtle, a army green backpack slung over one shoulder. He nods at me unsmilingly, and I nod back, trying not to let my sudden startled-mouse panic show on my face.
    Alone with Starling, I’m fine. Add Rowan to the equation, and I regain an appetite for my fingernails.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” Starling demands.
    “We’re supposed to meet in Santa Lucía!”
    “Too many people back at the hostel. A second boatload arrived. I was starting to feel agoraphobic. Or claustrophobic.
    Even xenophobic.”
    Starling laughs. “You could never be xenophobic.”
    “So I thought we could have lunch here instead.” He shrugs off the backpack and gives it a shake. “Bria, I found this for you.”
    My expression must betray my disgust. The backpack looks like it’s been through a war. A war in a swamp. A war in a swamp involving fireballs and monsters with fangs.
    “Think of it this way,” Starling says. “If backpacks are like stuffed animals, years of love and backpacker sweat have magicked that one to life.”
    “We can sew straps on your garbage bag, if you prefer,” Rowan says.
    What an ass. “It’s just so small,” I say, as if that’s the issue.
    “How do you guys carry everything? Especially when you’ve been traveling so long?”
    Starling shrugs. “Mine’s even smaller. Too much stuff’s a hassle.”
    “And it’s heavy,” Rowan adds. “Plus, small backpacks up your backpacker cred. The most hard-core shoestring types have an unspoken contest to see who can travel the lightest.
    Isn’t that right, Starling?”
    “While you lug around all sorts of junk you can’t make yourself get rid of. Just look at that stack of bracelets on his leg, Bria. Whenever a little kid tries to sell him one, he buys it. He can’t say no!”
    We all stare at Rowan’s leg. “There’s over sixty of them,” he says proudly.
    “He thinks he’s helping the economy.”
    Rowan’s first travel rule
    The smaller the backpack, the bigger the ego.
    “Anyway, so many American luxuries are just that—luxuries,” Starling continues. “You don’t need them. They drag you down, and not just physically. I mean, isn’t that why we travel in the first place? To renounce all those things?” She glances at Rowan. “ We, I mean. Not other people.”
    “It’s some sort of escapism, anyway,” Rowan says.
    They smirk at each other, as if sharing some private, sibling joke, while I am so far removed from this conversation, I might as well zoom off in a tourist-shaped flying saucer. I watch a yellow dog trot by, swollen teats swaying. Spaying and neutering are probably some of those so-called American luxuries.
    “But by renouncing Western culture—or by trying to escape it, whatever—aren’t you also spreading it?” I ask. “Like the first European settlers coming to America? Bringing their European diseases and infecting the natives? Even if you don’t mean to, something always sticks.”
    They both look taken aback.
    “Well,” Starling begins.
    “I mean, isn’t there a McDonald’s in Chimaltenango now?
    With home-delivery service?”
    “So I’ve heard,” Rowan says.
    I pretend not to notice their expressions as I unzip the backpack and prepare to transfer my stuff. If they think I’ll be a docile companion, a travel pet, they’re in for a surprise.
    “I’m a big fan of la comida tipica, ”