I've been real bad about this blog, but I have an excuse, I swear. It's called an adventure, not a vacation, there are no frozen drinks by the pool, no all inclusive bands around my wrist and organized tours, because we went to Colombia, did you know that there is no guidebook that can be bought on Colombia but in my parents' town in Connecticut there were three copies of a guidebook to Cuba? That's right, a country we can't even visit as US citizens.
So we pay for our sins in Colombia. His camera is stolen. We get abandoned by our bus in a national park as dusk settles. The jetski sends us flying into Windex colored waters and we float to the surface, gingerly pressing for broken ribs. The sailboat to Panama changes schedules, but not their refund policy, which is none. The bus ride to the airport stinks of urine and the air conditioning is broken, that is to say it blasts frigidly upon us as we shiver at four in the morning, cowering and trying not to vomit, the bus lurching back and forth, and then at five on the dot, the driver blasts something else, screamingly loud music whose only words are "Me gusta! Me gusta! Me gusta!"
But the beaches we've seen are unspoiled, crashing and white and the sun is very high, the mango juices are on every corner, the party doesn't stop, Colombians are on vacation too and they dance in the streets, under yellow awnings, as they serve soup for breakfast. The mountains carve out from the sea and the hills are pillows, the sky is too bright behind sunglasses and hats, the rum is strong as are our wills. We have seen things few of our friends will ever see, some will be glad for that, but we aren't like some.
We take off to Panama and the food gets better though the weather gets worse, we're in green water looking at the fish, happy to be away, even happier to be alive on a perfect beach that a dugout canoe and broken scooter has taken us to. The visibility is miles long and the waves lull, the sun makes shadows and I pull up from the surface the biggest starfish we've ever seen. Maybe the biggest one anyone has.
And then the crappy camera that he bought in Colombia, the one to make up for the one that was stolen, the one that recorded it all, is sprayed finely with seawater and breaks.
We go to Costa Rica with a disposable. Cameras are expendable. Adventures are not.
Many more stories to come, and maybe, if we're really lucky, pictures too...