I don’t have long nails, not my thing. But I’ve had to clip them back this week as I’ve been bitten by so many sand flies and other bugs while traveling, my skin has developed the texture of a WWI battlefield. If anyone can rush knit a pair of scratch mittens to me, I, and the maid that changes my blood soaked sheets in the morning, would be most grateful.
I’ve also been going totally balls out with my dining choices of late, not without occasional regret I might add. I cried at the dinner table last night, profusely and unashamedly. The guy on the next table over was flopping great big spoonfuls of this red romanesco-esque sauce all over his plate and I boldly mimicked him when my own plate arrived. It was fucking volcanic! Part hunger and part good old British stoicism demanded I gamely tackle my foodie inferno through eyes squirting tears like a hand pumped fire hose onto my dinner, and a nose streaming drizzly strings of watery snot into my gaping, huffing mouth while I reassured a deeply concerned waiter I was enjoying the repast enormously. ..It was carnage in the morning. …It felt like my colon had been microwaved for five and a half minutes on High.
Despite the occasional medical emergency, I’ve adopted a very ‘yes please’ attitude to everything this trip. After all, I doubt I’ll be back this way anytime soon, if ever again, so if I don’t try stuff now, I never will. Central America tends to bring that out in you and I remember having the same feeling the last time I was here - although I did rather take the philosophy to the limit last time around four years ago, and am glad to say I’m now a grown up and have a much more measured approach. Except when drunk, in which case I will leap at almost literally anything enthusiastically as long as it is funny and/or stupid.
I'm leaving here tomorrow evening and hope to catch an overnight bus - which I'm absolutely dreading - but there's no other way unfortunately, so the next post might be late or disappear entirely.
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