Back in the paleotechnic dawn of the 21st century, my mother’s request was understandable. “Just call me once a week to let me know you’re alive,” she said, as I wandered off across… Continue reading
I’ve heard your hair and fingernails grow faster in warm climates. I haven’t done the formal science, but I may go as Wolverine for Halloween this year. (I know, Freddie Kruger would be… Continue reading
All I want to talk about lately is fish, but I’ll give that a (short) break and tell you about the radio instead. I mentioned that Curacao is filled with Dutch, Spanish, English,… Continue reading
Our temporary home is a U-shaped complex of apartments around a pool, complete with several palm trees, and a small private beach. Pelicans and frigate birds fly overhead, and an utterly badass eagle… Continue reading
I am a sweater. Not cable knit wool, but braids of salty liquid in stupid quantities. It’s a talent, a horrible horrible talent, and someday I will travel to Norway to have a… Continue reading
Curacao is beautiful. Curacao is Caribbean, an island of hot air breezes and palm trees. It is thin sandy beaches and sheltered coves. It is recliner chairs by the water and drinks with alcohol… Continue reading
Our last night in Ecuador we went to the only restaurant we knew in Guayaquil, the cheap Chinese food place across from the open-late liquor store where seen-it-all attendents passed groceries out to… Continue reading
It was tempting to stay in our Casa de breaded eggplant, mosquito net, and clean sheets in Canoa, but we had a date with an airplane coming up, so made our way back… Continue reading
I have just enough of a toenail in the 21st century to know that when someone links to your blog, you’re supposed to return the favor, so my friends, I direct you to… Continue reading
We spent four days in our Spanish expat palacio in Canoa, eating, getting over our colds, and wandering around town. Breakfast at home in the sandy inner courtyard of blue paint and ferns,… Continue reading
We stepped off the musty bus onto the abused concrete sidewalk of the town of Canoa and immediately looked around for hotel signs in the dark. From where we stood, hoisting out backpacks… Continue reading
