Here’s a short story for you: every time I title a new post, I write out ‘Episode…’ and then load my own blog on my browser to check what Episode number I’m actually on. And today? Today I had to scroll past one ‘Out of Office Note’, one reblog of something I posted on Raxa Collective ages ago, three Saturday Spotlights and two PinAddicts Challenges just to get to the most recent episode on my actual life. For this, I apologise. You deserve so much more, each and every one of you. And with Grant coming to stay in three short days*, I’d better rectify the situation tout de suite before I’m distracted yet again.
*EEEEEEEE YAYYYY OMG SO EXCITED HOORAYYYYYYYYYYY EXCLAMATIONS GALORE
Note: I wrote some, not all, of this while I was actually in Nicaragua, which is why there may be some discrepancies. Just roll with it – it’ll be okay.
~ * ~
I’m sick of hearing myself say how fast the time goes.
So instead of mentioning it outright, I hid it away in a secondary clause where it was less offensive. You’re welcome.
So it’s the 19th of November, and my fourth-last weekend in Central America is off to a fantastic start with gorgeous weather and an even more gorgeous hostel. It’s called Bigfoot, it’s like Galileo only better, and right now Purple Rain is wafting through from the Pure Earth vegetarian café to the poolside seating – where I’m currently melting into a little pool of my own.
The Pure Earth Café is a 100% non-profit vegetarian café run by Bigfoot hostel.
When I first arrived in the Caribbean, I cried.
Mum seemed a little offended by this, and I was quick to explain that they were not sad tears – although exactly what kind of tears they were I couldn’t say.
I think part of it was stress and exhaustion from a long day’s travelling. Our bus from San José to Cariari was three hours long, and once there, a man with a strong Caribbean accent and no official uniform stuffed me and our luggage in a taxi with a French couple and whisked Mum off on foot to the bus station on the other side of town, from where our next coach left. Turns out he was legit, but at the time I was less than at-ease. From this other bus station, it was another 90 minutes of bumpy, non-air-conditioned journeying to La Pavona where we waited an hour for a boat to come along and take us on the two-hour ride to final destination Tortuguero. Continue reading