He only left the hostel to purchase Oreos and Doritos from the corner store when he was met with the munchies.

Shifting in the hard, narrow bed he had paid US$4 to spend the night, he thought his thoughts were wasted. A ceiling fan clunked overhead, its breeze unable to kiss his sweaty face. Four single girls in four single beds slept to his right, each girl lay curled in the fetal position, each sleeping in black underwear and singlet tops, their sheets mulled around their middles.

Every morning, the sunlight struggled through the humidity and guilt waded in. Dressed in the clothes from the night before and the day and the night before that, he staggered toward the door, cross-eyed and weak-legged. By the swimming pool he packed a makeshift bong made from a used mineral water bottle, and hit it. Staring blankly into the water, he contemplated a swim and imagined how the coolness would feel against his skin.

The city was already awake. Many of the 24,000 motortaxis screeched and honked and people already packed public buses. The market smelt of rotting meat and rotting fruit. But he would never smell it.

He could be anywhere in the world. But no matter where he wandered, he felt trapped and useless. Isolated. Inebriated. With scattered plans.

He was unsure why he chose to visit Iquitos — possibly because it is the largest city in the world not accessible by road, probably because it takes three days by boat to get there. Three days of lying in a hammock, floating down a river. Three days of watching pink river dolphins frolic before psychedelic sunsets. Three days of not feeling guilty for not having the motivation to do things, to see things.

There were so many things to see in Peru, he read in his travel guide, but just thinking about Inca ruins, jungle trips and treks through the Andes was tiresome. Much easier to never leave the hostel. Much easier to purchase a big bag of weed and will the time away.

On holidays where Mary Jane is cheap, he smoked ten joints a day. He had no interest in cocaine.