Church... and nothing else.
Greetings from Fort Lauderdale the land that prays on Easter Sunday and even the mighty capitalist machine grinds to a halt. We were expecting a day of shopping and sight seeing here but it looks like one last day at the pool. We may take our binoculars up to the rooftop pool and scan the city to see if we see a place that's open, somewhere in this vast swamp of houses and cellular phone shops.
A wonderful thing happened our last day in San Jose--we lost our camera. I know what you're thinking, besides the obligatory Paul "sexy" beach pictures being lost to the unfortunate soul who found the picture, how could loosing a camera possibly be a good thing. Well, let me explain.
Many years back, I was drunk (surprise, surprise) and on the way back from Cozumel to Cancun. I put the camera in the back of taxi then failed to pick it up. The next day, after realizing where I left the camera, I called the taxi company. They told me: "oh no senior, nobody turn in a camera." Drat, the camera was gone and with it about 20 photographs of Cozumel. Now, today, we're talking about memory cards and hundreds of pictures so there was a lot at stake.
We lost, or rather, I most probably lost the camera on our Friday tour to Poas volcano, La Paz waterfall and the coffee country. We realized after returning to our hotel and putting our feet up for the night that our camera was gone. It was a casual kind of "where's the camera, dear?"
"I thought you had it dear."
Then panic, the type of panic that only comes when you KNOW you lost something and KNOW you're not going to find it. We hustled downstairs to the gift shop thinking we may have left it in there, and as we scurried around the gift shop, an employee from the front desk came in and said: "Is Mr. Paul here?"
I said yes and he told me to get the phone. The tour guide, a man named Esteban, was on the line.
"Hello," he said, "It is Esteban, I have your camera here, you left it on the bus."
He continued, "I know you're flying out tomorrow, so we can bring it to you first thing in the morning if you want."
The next morning, at 6:00 am, following a restless nights' sleep, Juan Carlos, the driver of the tour, showed up at our hotel in San Jose with our missing camera.
Of all the wonderful things we saw and the great people we met along the way, this one act of kindness and generosity left such a positive lasting impression of Costa Rica and the Costa Rican people. Such small acts do wonders for tourism.
We will never go back to Mexico.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Do you know the way... again, I know, try something new.
Hola everyone from the Hotel Don Carlos, back in San Jose. It is nice being back because the air is cool and we have no more scrawney little airplanes to contend with. We flew back from Tambor, near Mal Pais, earlier on a single engine jallopy with a copilot who had Turettes syndrome. No problem until he took the stick to land the plane. Keep it steady big guy.
Well, tomorrow we are off on a day long tour of areas around San Jose because, with Easter weekend, everything and I mean EVERYTHING is closed. You cannot drink beer on either Easter Sunday, Good Friday, or Holy Thursday. What is an alcoholic to do around here? Again, I am going to keep this a little short because this keyboard has characters that are all screwed up--the question mark is the dash and the dash is the question mark. I cannot figure out if this is a Spanish setting or someone screwing around with the keyboard. Perhaps any of you Spanish speaking people out there can explain why a question is a dash and vice versa.
I will go into much greater detail on this blog once I get back to Winnipeg and have a more reliable computer to work with. I have taken a gazillion, no muchas gazillion photographs for everyone to enjoy or use as a sedative for those nights after eating 30 chicken wings and having those EVIL GUY CHASING YOU dreams. (Sorry, I cannot find quotation marks and the asterisk is the left bracket, while the left bracket is the right bracket--come on you Spanish guys, explain that).
So this is where I stop because it is time for Julia and I to say TO HELL WITH HOLY THURSDAY and go drink some wine. Besides, my welts are oozing puss and I need to go reapply some betopic cream I bought in the Cook Islands for the huge welts I suffered there. Do not worry, I am sure that by the time I get back to Winnipeg, the spider larvae will have already hatched and consumed my leg. You can call me limpy if you wish.
Well, tomorrow we are off on a day long tour of areas around San Jose because, with Easter weekend, everything and I mean EVERYTHING is closed. You cannot drink beer on either Easter Sunday, Good Friday, or Holy Thursday. What is an alcoholic to do around here? Again, I am going to keep this a little short because this keyboard has characters that are all screwed up--the question mark is the dash and the dash is the question mark. I cannot figure out if this is a Spanish setting or someone screwing around with the keyboard. Perhaps any of you Spanish speaking people out there can explain why a question is a dash and vice versa.
I will go into much greater detail on this blog once I get back to Winnipeg and have a more reliable computer to work with. I have taken a gazillion, no muchas gazillion photographs for everyone to enjoy or use as a sedative for those nights after eating 30 chicken wings and having those EVIL GUY CHASING YOU dreams. (Sorry, I cannot find quotation marks and the asterisk is the left bracket, while the left bracket is the right bracket--come on you Spanish guys, explain that).
So this is where I stop because it is time for Julia and I to say TO HELL WITH HOLY THURSDAY and go drink some wine. Besides, my welts are oozing puss and I need to go reapply some betopic cream I bought in the Cook Islands for the huge welts I suffered there. Do not worry, I am sure that by the time I get back to Winnipeg, the spider larvae will have already hatched and consumed my leg. You can call me limpy if you wish.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Hola, from the dust!
Greetings everybody from Mal Pais, pronounced mal-pa-ees. This is a Spanish keyboard and it is giving me fits--I am typing the wrong letter every couple of word so I am going to keep this short. We will be back in San Jose tomorrow and back to a keyboard that is more agreeable to my typing style. The trip is almost over and we have had a great time, stayed in great places, ate delicious food and drank lots of delicious liquor. I am just writing to tell everyone that we are still alive and that the only reason I have not written is because I have not had access to a computer for the past week. We went zip lining today and Julia did her best impression of a howler monkey. As is typical of all my trips, I have broken out into some large red welts that Julia has, for some reason, not been lucky enough to get. I look forward to hugging everyone when I get home and spreading this plague. Until San Jose, it is Paul checking out and buenas nochas!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Lizards Eat Flies--The Law of the Jungle
It was truly a sad spectacle. Yesterday I sat on a hammock near a gurgling river and watched the brutality as a small lizard ate a fly. The fly was alive when it first found itself in the clutches of the lizards jaws, its little legs fluttered with each chomp. Forty five minutes later, it was all over, a satiated lizard darted away with a satisfied demeanor and a few fly guts left on the chair. The horror... the horror.
Yes, you know you are on vacation when you can waste a good chunk of time watching this spectacle. I'm writing from Esquinas Lodge, deep in the jungle and things here are magnificent. Yes we're still alive, and there's no snake bites or tarantula encounters to speak of. In fact there's barely any insects here at all: you can hear them, millions of them, but you're lucky to them. We saw some tarantula "dens" but they are a shy spider, worried the dreaded spider wasp will attack them, paralyze them, then lay their wasplings in their belly. Indeed, if I faced such doom, I wouldn't wish to expose my hairy body during the daylight.
We arrived at Esquinas Lodge early on Tuesday after leaving Don Carlos at 4:45 am. The flight was interesting, a small airplane packed the fuselage with travelers heading to the South and the forests and fish filled waters of the Golfo Dulce. Over Costa Rica it was dense forest virtually everywhere, quite different from Honduras and Nicaragua that seemed barren, with few pockets of trees dotted with plumes of smoke, the last vestige of slash and burn deforestation. We landed in Golfito on what could be described as a road and got off the plane in the humid air and curtain of tropical foliage. Yes, winter was officially over.
We arrived at Esquinas Lodge and promptly napped for two hours before exporing the grounds, lodge and pool. This place is incredible. I have few words, few metaphors, few adjectivs that can truly do it justice. It's a tropical paradise, everywhere you look there's long strands of colourful flowers, green vegitation and all encompassing sounds of the jungle, a caucophany of bird chirps and insect buzzes and bleeps. It's virtally impossible to make out the number of noises eminating from the forest. You could not design a more complete tropical lodge even with the masters hollywood movie set designers.
On day two we did what everyone would do, we went off for hike through the tropical rainforest, to learn of the flora and fauna of this forbidden land. We saw stately mahogany trees, figs, "panama hats", palms, banana and even a tree the locals call the kerosine tree: a tree, when cut, that emits an inflammable vapour. The animals were less obvious, a few birds, butterflies, termites and ants. The forest floor is ruled by ants, the hard working in leaf cutters, dilligently returning their leaf harvest to the mound and the ants that live symbiotically with a horned plant where the ants derive their nectar of life and where the pant get an army of aggressive defenders in the violent life of the jungle. Our guide, Jose, said: "Don't touch, ants are very painful." Good to know. We chose not to touch, but I was tempted to lick the poison frogs to see just how they tasted.
The next day we decided to strike out on our own...
Yes, you know you are on vacation when you can waste a good chunk of time watching this spectacle. I'm writing from Esquinas Lodge, deep in the jungle and things here are magnificent. Yes we're still alive, and there's no snake bites or tarantula encounters to speak of. In fact there's barely any insects here at all: you can hear them, millions of them, but you're lucky to them. We saw some tarantula "dens" but they are a shy spider, worried the dreaded spider wasp will attack them, paralyze them, then lay their wasplings in their belly. Indeed, if I faced such doom, I wouldn't wish to expose my hairy body during the daylight.
We arrived at Esquinas Lodge early on Tuesday after leaving Don Carlos at 4:45 am. The flight was interesting, a small airplane packed the fuselage with travelers heading to the South and the forests and fish filled waters of the Golfo Dulce. Over Costa Rica it was dense forest virtually everywhere, quite different from Honduras and Nicaragua that seemed barren, with few pockets of trees dotted with plumes of smoke, the last vestige of slash and burn deforestation. We landed in Golfito on what could be described as a road and got off the plane in the humid air and curtain of tropical foliage. Yes, winter was officially over.
We arrived at Esquinas Lodge and promptly napped for two hours before exporing the grounds, lodge and pool. This place is incredible. I have few words, few metaphors, few adjectivs that can truly do it justice. It's a tropical paradise, everywhere you look there's long strands of colourful flowers, green vegitation and all encompassing sounds of the jungle, a caucophany of bird chirps and insect buzzes and bleeps. It's virtally impossible to make out the number of noises eminating from the forest. You could not design a more complete tropical lodge even with the masters hollywood movie set designers.
On day two we did what everyone would do, we went off for hike through the tropical rainforest, to learn of the flora and fauna of this forbidden land. We saw stately mahogany trees, figs, "panama hats", palms, banana and even a tree the locals call the kerosine tree: a tree, when cut, that emits an inflammable vapour. The animals were less obvious, a few birds, butterflies, termites and ants. The forest floor is ruled by ants, the hard working in leaf cutters, dilligently returning their leaf harvest to the mound and the ants that live symbiotically with a horned plant where the ants derive their nectar of life and where the pant get an army of aggressive defenders in the violent life of the jungle. Our guide, Jose, said: "Don't touch, ants are very painful." Good to know. We chose not to touch, but I was tempted to lick the poison frogs to see just how they tasted.
The next day we decided to strike out on our own...
Monday, March 10, 2008
Do you know the way...?
Greetings everyone from San Jose, Costa Rica. After a death defying taxi ride we made it to the Hotel Don Carlos in one piece. We almost killed a motorcyclist and rode with two very old grumpy Texans, one of whom uttered "good thing I didn't bring a gun, I woulda shot someone by now." The sums up for us the land of freedom, the good ol' US of A. Our hotel in Florida was nice and we loved the roof-top hot tub and pool but geez the States gets on my nerves.
We arrived in Montreal just minutes before the big storm. Within twenty minutes of getting to the hotel, the snowflakes were the size of cotton balls and fell vigorously. Within a few hours, it was an all out assault, with winds gusting near 100km/h and the hotel across the road was barely visible. We decided to simmer in the jacuzzi tub because, by divine intervention, someone must have screwed up and given us the the "Honeymoon Suite." Boo hoo.
The next morning it was bedlam. We got up at 4:55 am and hustled downstairs to take the shuttle to the airport and met a mob in the lobby. The shuttle hadn't been there for thirty minutes and we knew were weren't going to make the next one either. Our flight left at 7:45 am and it was showing "on time." At 6:45 we finally pushed onto the shuttle and to our surprise, it took 5 minutes to get the airport. Hmmm. It took one hour for the shuttle to return, yet it only took five minutes one way. Are we to believe it takes 55 minutes to get back to the hotel?
Whatever, we got to the airport and it was pregnant with travelers, or rather, traveler wannabees. People were sleeping everywhere, on the carpet, on baggage belts and in chairs. The line for Air Cubana looked like it was 500 people long, but we found the lone WestJet counter and were second in line. No problemo. But when we arrived at our gate, the flight was delayed because they couldn't get fuel to the aircraft. Moments later we saw a snow plough at our gate so another problem was solved. But we continued to wait.
We struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to us: Roy was his name, and what started as idle chit-chat eventually merged into a full blown debate on movies, authors, Wal-Mart, the United States, Iraq War then back to movies. Roy remined me of Woody Allen, a manic dynamo of run-on sentences and self depricating humor. He would say: "What's your favourite movie... mine's Apolocolypse Now, the story in that movie, wow, and Silence of the Lambs, that first scene, you know, where they say Hannibal is a Monster, the screenplay, out of this world, and to think it had an 11 million budget, wow, that's puny by today's standards, so what's you favourite movie...? Roy sat in front of Julia on the plane, and as everyone was seated on a full plane, turned to Julia and said loudly: "So, how's that skin rash?". Roy sold paper for the Irving Family, but was also a screenwriter. He had a big screenplay in the works, a mystery called "Final Draft" about famous mystery authors disappearing in the grizzly manner of their best sellers. An interesting concept indeed, but I could imagine a movie mogel seeing another thick pile of paper and grunting "goddamn, Roy, not another one." We wished Roy well in Fort Lauderdale as he had 15 minutes to get from the Airport to his cruise. We got our bags and he was still waiting.
All was good, we got to Fort Lauderdale three hours late, checked in and headed to the bar for a drink and lunch. We struck up a conversation with another man at the bar. He was interested by us being from Canada and wanted our opinion on the United States election and the Iraq War. We were happy to oblige. There's so much news about the primaries down here, but none of it really makes sense, and this guy, Dave, said he really didn't understand it either. This begs the question. If you don't understand your system, how is it democracy? I won't bore you with the whole of the conversation, because Roy was far more interesting, but he said Iraq was a U.S. military base now and would be forever more because the United States could never stand for $300 dollar per barrel of gas. I could not have summed it up better myself.
Again, what's the deal with this county? The taxi driver wouldn't accept credit cards and Fort Lauderdale Airport was abuze with the blinketty-blinks and buzzes of laptop computers and the lonely conversations of people on cell phones and Blackberries. Airport have become a dumping ground of the electronically disposesed. How can you wait for an airplane and NOT do something with a battery powered box? We'd had enough, the people at the airport were grumpy as Hell's janitors and we did not look forward to another plane ride.
But here I sit writing an email from the Hotel Don Carlos and thinking about bedtime. We're up at 4:15 am to travel to Esquinas lodge and I'm ready to really get away from everyone. As long as there's no scorpions, we'll be fine.
We arrived in Montreal just minutes before the big storm. Within twenty minutes of getting to the hotel, the snowflakes were the size of cotton balls and fell vigorously. Within a few hours, it was an all out assault, with winds gusting near 100km/h and the hotel across the road was barely visible. We decided to simmer in the jacuzzi tub because, by divine intervention, someone must have screwed up and given us the the "Honeymoon Suite." Boo hoo.
The next morning it was bedlam. We got up at 4:55 am and hustled downstairs to take the shuttle to the airport and met a mob in the lobby. The shuttle hadn't been there for thirty minutes and we knew were weren't going to make the next one either. Our flight left at 7:45 am and it was showing "on time." At 6:45 we finally pushed onto the shuttle and to our surprise, it took 5 minutes to get the airport. Hmmm. It took one hour for the shuttle to return, yet it only took five minutes one way. Are we to believe it takes 55 minutes to get back to the hotel?
Whatever, we got to the airport and it was pregnant with travelers, or rather, traveler wannabees. People were sleeping everywhere, on the carpet, on baggage belts and in chairs. The line for Air Cubana looked like it was 500 people long, but we found the lone WestJet counter and were second in line. No problemo. But when we arrived at our gate, the flight was delayed because they couldn't get fuel to the aircraft. Moments later we saw a snow plough at our gate so another problem was solved. But we continued to wait.
We struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to us: Roy was his name, and what started as idle chit-chat eventually merged into a full blown debate on movies, authors, Wal-Mart, the United States, Iraq War then back to movies. Roy remined me of Woody Allen, a manic dynamo of run-on sentences and self depricating humor. He would say: "What's your favourite movie... mine's Apolocolypse Now, the story in that movie, wow, and Silence of the Lambs, that first scene, you know, where they say Hannibal is a Monster, the screenplay, out of this world, and to think it had an 11 million budget, wow, that's puny by today's standards, so what's you favourite movie...? Roy sat in front of Julia on the plane, and as everyone was seated on a full plane, turned to Julia and said loudly: "So, how's that skin rash?". Roy sold paper for the Irving Family, but was also a screenwriter. He had a big screenplay in the works, a mystery called "Final Draft" about famous mystery authors disappearing in the grizzly manner of their best sellers. An interesting concept indeed, but I could imagine a movie mogel seeing another thick pile of paper and grunting "goddamn, Roy, not another one." We wished Roy well in Fort Lauderdale as he had 15 minutes to get from the Airport to his cruise. We got our bags and he was still waiting.
All was good, we got to Fort Lauderdale three hours late, checked in and headed to the bar for a drink and lunch. We struck up a conversation with another man at the bar. He was interested by us being from Canada and wanted our opinion on the United States election and the Iraq War. We were happy to oblige. There's so much news about the primaries down here, but none of it really makes sense, and this guy, Dave, said he really didn't understand it either. This begs the question. If you don't understand your system, how is it democracy? I won't bore you with the whole of the conversation, because Roy was far more interesting, but he said Iraq was a U.S. military base now and would be forever more because the United States could never stand for $300 dollar per barrel of gas. I could not have summed it up better myself.
Again, what's the deal with this county? The taxi driver wouldn't accept credit cards and Fort Lauderdale Airport was abuze with the blinketty-blinks and buzzes of laptop computers and the lonely conversations of people on cell phones and Blackberries. Airport have become a dumping ground of the electronically disposesed. How can you wait for an airplane and NOT do something with a battery powered box? We'd had enough, the people at the airport were grumpy as Hell's janitors and we did not look forward to another plane ride.
But here I sit writing an email from the Hotel Don Carlos and thinking about bedtime. We're up at 4:15 am to travel to Esquinas lodge and I'm ready to really get away from everyone. As long as there's no scorpions, we'll be fine.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Costa Rica Itinerary: In Search of the Utopian Scene (Again)
Well everyone, ie. me, back to my blog "Paul's Project." So much for a project, I cannot call it a project when I haven't written in about six months. Damn it's hard for me to write right now because a piece of skin I sliced on my pointer finger just fell off and the fs, rs, ts and gs are excruciating. Crimony!
I thought I should re-engage the blog in case I get a chance in Costa Rica to write something to folk back home like: "Julia was eaten by a 50 lb tarantula" or "Julia ran off with a howler monkey named Biff." All plausible story lines in this nether region we're going to visit. It's funny how we always start to plan a regular, run of the mill trip, then end off at some far flung shit hole in the middle of a bug infested jungle. What gives?
Ever since I was a curious teenager, I've always been in search of what friends of mine called the "Utopian Scene." I mean, Utopia is really a great place, right? It's pretty much perfect and nothing can really ever be perfect, but it can be close to perfect. It's like Calculus, when you always do that stupid equation: if a parabola approaches infinity then you can figure out the volume of some stupid three dimensional bowl on a piece of graph paper, then you proceed to get drunk, miss three labs, drop the course, take more History and work for WestJet. But that's off topic, the Utopian scene is nearing infinity, getting as close to Utopia as humanly possible: that's my mantra. Aitutaki, Cook Islands, pretty damn close--save the giant cockroaches, devilish mosquitoes and sea cucumbers. I'm sorry, sea cucumbers are just gross.
So where the Hell are we going?
After extensive deliberation, researching the whole country, emailing places, talking to people, obsessing, drinking, then obsessing more we've arrived at this itinerary:
March 8: Fly to Montreal, La belle Provence.
March 9: Fly to Fort Lauderdale, in Florida, the Jeb Bush state.
March 10: Fly to San Jose, Costa Rica, to stay at a place called the Hotel Don Carlos. (http://www.doncarloshotel.com/index.htm)
March 11: It's off to nowheresville, flying Natureair to a rainforest ecolodge near the southern town of Golfito. It's called Esquinas Lodge and it's buried in the virgin rainforest of Piedras Blancas National Park. Here's the link, this place looks great. (http://www.esquinaslodge.com/)
March 14: It's back to Golfito to be picked up by boat and taken to Playa Zancudo, a beach spot not far from the Panamanian border that, according to Lonely Planet, is "off the beaten track, even by Costa Rica standards." We're staying in a lovely teak hut at a bungalow place called Cabinas Los Cocos. (http://www.loscocos.com/)
March 17: We're flying back to San Jose then making our way either by plane or bus to Mal Pais in the Nicoya Peninsula. We're staying at a place called Moana Lodge which will be the second time in three years we've stayed at a place called "Moana." (On Mangaia, in the Cook Islands, we stayed at a place called Ara Moana--remember, the corrugated steel shed). This place is a little higher end, though, as we gradually re-introduce ourselves back to civilization. I'm sure by this time I'll be talking to a hand print on a volleyball, with Julia saying "stop talking to that stupid volleyball, I'm right here!" Here's the link to this swanky two star resort. (http://www.moanalodge.com/)
On March 20th it's back to San Jose and the Hotel Don Carlos for a return engagement and some nice urban exploring for a couple days, checking out restaurants, museums and the zoo so Biff can eat some gnats off Aunt Bea.
On March 22nd it's back to Fort Lauderdale for a couple days before heading home and if all turns out according to plan Julia will have gotten over Biff and I will not be covered in some heinous rash or welts from miscellaneous insect bites.
Don't you just love the Utopian Scene? Updates coming soon.
I thought I should re-engage the blog in case I get a chance in Costa Rica to write something to folk back home like: "Julia was eaten by a 50 lb tarantula" or "Julia ran off with a howler monkey named Biff." All plausible story lines in this nether region we're going to visit. It's funny how we always start to plan a regular, run of the mill trip, then end off at some far flung shit hole in the middle of a bug infested jungle. What gives?
Ever since I was a curious teenager, I've always been in search of what friends of mine called the "Utopian Scene." I mean, Utopia is really a great place, right? It's pretty much perfect and nothing can really ever be perfect, but it can be close to perfect. It's like Calculus, when you always do that stupid equation: if a parabola approaches infinity then you can figure out the volume of some stupid three dimensional bowl on a piece of graph paper, then you proceed to get drunk, miss three labs, drop the course, take more History and work for WestJet. But that's off topic, the Utopian scene is nearing infinity, getting as close to Utopia as humanly possible: that's my mantra. Aitutaki, Cook Islands, pretty damn close--save the giant cockroaches, devilish mosquitoes and sea cucumbers. I'm sorry, sea cucumbers are just gross.
So where the Hell are we going?
After extensive deliberation, researching the whole country, emailing places, talking to people, obsessing, drinking, then obsessing more we've arrived at this itinerary:
March 8: Fly to Montreal, La belle Provence.
March 9: Fly to Fort Lauderdale, in Florida, the Jeb Bush state.
March 10: Fly to San Jose, Costa Rica, to stay at a place called the Hotel Don Carlos. (http://www.doncarloshotel.com/index.htm)
March 11: It's off to nowheresville, flying Natureair to a rainforest ecolodge near the southern town of Golfito. It's called Esquinas Lodge and it's buried in the virgin rainforest of Piedras Blancas National Park. Here's the link, this place looks great. (http://www.esquinaslodge.com/)
March 14: It's back to Golfito to be picked up by boat and taken to Playa Zancudo, a beach spot not far from the Panamanian border that, according to Lonely Planet, is "off the beaten track, even by Costa Rica standards." We're staying in a lovely teak hut at a bungalow place called Cabinas Los Cocos. (http://www.loscocos.com/)
March 17: We're flying back to San Jose then making our way either by plane or bus to Mal Pais in the Nicoya Peninsula. We're staying at a place called Moana Lodge which will be the second time in three years we've stayed at a place called "Moana." (On Mangaia, in the Cook Islands, we stayed at a place called Ara Moana--remember, the corrugated steel shed). This place is a little higher end, though, as we gradually re-introduce ourselves back to civilization. I'm sure by this time I'll be talking to a hand print on a volleyball, with Julia saying "stop talking to that stupid volleyball, I'm right here!" Here's the link to this swanky two star resort. (http://www.moanalodge.com/)
On March 20th it's back to San Jose and the Hotel Don Carlos for a return engagement and some nice urban exploring for a couple days, checking out restaurants, museums and the zoo so Biff can eat some gnats off Aunt Bea.
On March 22nd it's back to Fort Lauderdale for a couple days before heading home and if all turns out according to plan Julia will have gotten over Biff and I will not be covered in some heinous rash or welts from miscellaneous insect bites.
Don't you just love the Utopian Scene? Updates coming soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)