Grapes Upside Down

24. Grapes Upside Down

~Madisen~

"He's gonna spit! He's gonna spit!"

Glenn leaps from the llama's line of aim, tripping over a pile of dried sticks and nearly ending up on the dusty ground.

We all bust up laughing as the loogie lands inches from his feet.

"Pobrecito," I lament, referring to the llama, not Glenn.

"Yapo, Glenn, ¡deja de molestar al pobre animalito!" Daniela scolds, ordering Glenn to stop bothering the poor animal. She has no reservations about calling him out for his shenanigans, often speaking as would a peer. To be fair, Glenn acts more like a college student than the owner of a travel exchange program.

"That's such an unfortunate cognate—molestar," Mark chimes in. "Stop molesting the llama!"

"Oh my God, Mark." Daniela snorts and shakes her head.

I complain lightheartedly to Glenn that he has agitated the llamas, telling him I was trying to capture a cute group picture.

"¡Voy a sacar una foto!" I attempt to gather everyone back around another, non-saliva catapulting llama.

"¡Queso!" I call.

"No, en español es whiskey," Flora corrects with a soft grin.

"¡Ah, okay! ¡Whiskey!"

Reviewing the picture, I double over as hilarity knocks the breath from my lungs. Every single person is completely ridiculous, from Jonie's eyes bugging out of her head to the cool glaze over Daria's face, classically unamused by everything around her. Clara's limbs extend at all angles like a starfish as she topples over, glaring fierce daggers at Glenn, who crashed into her just as I captured the shot. Glenn is throwing a "hang loose" hand signal while sticking out his tongue frat-bro style, but his boot is crushing Daniela's foot, who howls with exaggerated gusto, her lips pursed in pain as she throws her head upwards to the heavens.

The best part, though, is the llama in the center, who stands beaming with his two enormous front teeth flashing, crooked and yellowed, completely unfazed by the chaos being caused by the Gringos around him.

I die laughing, clutching my knees as I gasp for breath. Clara removes the phone from my hands and falls to the ground, cackling hysterically. It has been a long time since I've heard her let go this way, with raw, unbridled laughter, and it sends flames of joy searing through my chest.

Throughout the tour of the vineyard, Noah and I fall into a private little game for our own amusement in which we pretend to analyze the flavors of each type of grape we're shown.

"Saborea." With a haughty air of wealth and elegance, I instruct Noah to taste the grapes, licking my lips as Brock did earlier at the thermal springs.

"I taste... hints of raspberry and pine," he asserts in Spanish, tilting his nose upwards and smacking his lips as he chews an imaginary grape.

"No, I believe you are mistaken," I tell him, grabbing his wrist. "It tastes of..." I pause to sniff an invisible glass of wine in my hand. "It's definitely jasmine mixed with blueberries."

Noah snorts as our combinations become increasingly more absurd. When the rickety tractor comes to a bumpy stop at the next section of the orchard, Noah pantomimes plucking one of the purple grapes from the vine, popping it into his mouth.

"This one is infused with the flavors of cinnamon, cilantro and... tree bark."

Tears are now shooting from the corners of my eyes as I quake with laughter.