I am not going to drag you through all the angst-ridden details of this story, you just don’t deserve to be witness to all the drama and I don’t need the eye-rolling. Suffice to say I have confirmed my status as a card-carrying neurotic worthy of Woody Allen status. Seriously, I was obviously not drinking…
In a dual of epic porportions, torrential rains play kettle drums on my roof competing with roaring monkeys howling their supreme dominance to all. Dreams of easy hot nights posponed due to nature.
So my day starts with a cycle to work.. it is when I am the most connected to this place called Costa Rica. Not the only but definitly the most. The Pink Panther is not a speed demon so we aren’t breaking any records getting there and since it is about 7:20 am there aren’t…
Well it had to happen some time, right? I mean I am awfully causal about what I eat (if I hear one more warning about ceviche I am going to scream…ok it could have been that but I’m betting on Jorge’s greasy scrambled eggs). All I know is I’m sick – achy, headache, nausea and really,…
Frankly I am not sure if I’m still in Costa Rica for goodness sake! I’ve gone from pleasant hard-working Ticos who are clean freaks with an obsession for being on time to Rasta Regae time where it took 45 minutes to track down the key to my “room”. Alexander (one of Wolf’s trusted lieutenants)(where the hell is spell check!?)…
Travelling Crone 