The Bertie Wooster Syndrome

I nipped down to the hotel bar but it was deserted. I uttered a slightly tremulous "Hola" and Maurice emerged from somewhere a minute or two later. He very kindly served me with a beer, although it was a little awkward sat there on my own drinking it, even less relaxing than the other night when there were a few other people in the bar.

I stepped out to the front of the hotel for ten minutes afterwards. I had thought a couple of days ago this might be a good place to see the southern hemisphere stars, and immediately afterwards realised it was so cloudy here there was next to no chance. After I'd been out for a few minutes tonight some stars did appear through a gap in the clouds, my vision must have adjusted. They had a vaguely cross-like shape, but then any small number of stars probably do, so I doubt I actually saw the Southern Cross. This is probably the most rural location I will be in at night, although maybe some of the smaller towns in northern Chile will provide another opportunity.

It was very still and dark out there, despite the lights of the hotel behind me. No noise at all, and while it must have been like that at other times, I guess there were probably a few birds, especially during the day. It was tranquil and yet vaguely creepy at the same time, and I am so glad I never had to attempt the journey back from the town on foot after dark. (There's still tomorrow night, but if I can get something to eat at lunch, I will definitely not be going into town tomorrow evening.) In this respect, if in no other, I clearly resemble Bertie Wooster:

I don't know why it is, but there's something about the rural districts after dark that always has a rummy effect on me. In London I can stay out till all hours and come home with the milk without a tremor, but put me in the garden of a country house after the strength of the company has gone to roost and the place is shut up, and a sort of goose-fleshy feeling steals over me. The night wind stirs the tree-tops, twigs crack, bushes rustle, and before I know where I am, the morale has gone phut and I'm expecting the family ghost to come sneaking up behind me, making groaning noises. Dashed unpleasant, the whole thing

I omit the final part of the quote as irrelevant and so as not to spoil anything for Rab, should he read this, as I believe he is reading the book this comes from right now.