The (damned) pan pipes are calling…

One thing that you may not be aware of about me is my pathological hatred of pan pipes.  And it is being sorely tested here in South America.  They are everywhere.  And they set my teeth on edge.

I’m in Cusco at the moment and have just had one of the best massages I’ve had here.  The soothing background music was The Beatles greatest hits on pan pipe, so I asked for the CD to be changed, as there was no way I was going to be able to relax and listen to that for an hour.

The replacement, you ask – Radiohead’s greatest hits on pan pipe.  I kid you not, I couldn’t stop laughing and had to tell the girl massaging me I was ticklish.  Too funny.

It’s up there with the busker I walked past in Quito, with shivers running up my spine as I heard the pipes from afar.  As I walked past the busker a new song started.  Surely, surely, I thought, it can’t be.  Hotel California, I was so shocked I just stopped in my tracks and started laughing at the guy, while he gave me evil looks.

That said, I f*&%ing hate the pan pipes.

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