Tortoise’s Laundry

Mission accomplished!

Those of you who’ve followed my misguided exploits over the years are undoubtedly aware that one of the absolute prerequisites for a “successful” trip is that I MUST hurt myself, ideally in a foolish and unnecessary way that severely interferes with whatever activities I had planned. I won’t dredge up each & every inane injury but certainly the log-kicking toe infection in Puerto Viejo , the surf crash in Santa Teresa & the high side in Vietnam spring immediately to mind. I’ll admit that I was getting a bit worried. Here I was, halfway through and not even a hint of a debilitating disaster.

Well, problem solved. This morning, right after I had booked 3 more leisurely sun & surf days, I was walking on the beach, minding my own business, when I barely scraped the bottom of my foot against a piece of coral.

“Fuck me!” I chided myself. ”That was stupid. Ah well, no real harm done.”

Incorrect. By the time I got back to the hotel, it was REALLY hurting, so I rinsed off my foot to take a look. Uh-oh! It looked like someone had taken a scalpel & cut a precise half-moon just behind my toes. Fortunately, the owner, a jolly rotund clone of Hercules Poirot,  & his sidekicks were right on it & quickly washed, disinfected and wrapped the mangled appendage.

“”Now, jus make sure you keep zat out of ze sand & water for a few days.” Of course.

Ready for inaction.

So that’s that. Perhaps for the best. The roads going up the west coast, my intended route, are completely out of commission due to the cyclone that passed through recently, so my only real option is to retrace my route back north and then cut across to check out The Avenue of the Baobobs. Besides, I was beginning to feel the faint stirrings of “blannui” (see below) so I’m cutting a week off the trip & heading home a bit early. Hopefully I’ll still be able to catch the tail end of winter.

Blannui: a sometimes debilitating combination of “blasé” and “ennui” suffered by the inveterate traveller. Symptoms include being unimpressed by events, sights or experiences that others seem to find breathtaking or overwhelming since you know you’ve already seen or done something similar but honestly MUCH better, combined with a feeling of boredom difficult to disguise when listening to aforementioned tourists.

Honestly, I’m really hoping that The Avenue of  the Baobobs can pull the proverbial rabbit out of its hat. We see.

Not wanting to leave you on a downer, here are some pre-injury photos from The Walk of Doom:

This is Sarodaro, a fishing village about a half hour up the beach from my hotel. These houses would be considered”middle class” suburban here. I’d show you the poorer side of town, but that would kind of defeat the purpose, right?

Before I leave, a confession - and one which will probably surprise absolutely no-one: I just couldn’t help myself. I’d been reading about Mamirano Lodge, which is WAY up the coast & owned by the legendary Rosanna, who as near as I can figure, has descended from heaven to make all your hotel dreams come true. I got Hantira, my new friend at the hotel to give her a call and guess what? She’s open & she’d LOVE to have me join her for a couple of nights. But first I’ll spend a night at the Ankasy Lodge, where the Fat Cats wallow in sybaritic splendour.

Fuck it. YOLO and whatever other saying I can conjure up to justify my idiocy.