I have been coming into
a bit of luck lately. In fact, I have been experiencing strokes of
luck on a fairly consistent basis ever since I left the UK back in
October. I went over there to work on a farm (of sorts), which fell
through. I remember sitting on a pier in San Francisco around a week
into the trip and contemplating what the hell I was going to do.
Accommodation was running me $35 a night and I was now about to face
the prospect of having to leave the states and head straight into
South America, where things were at least a bit cheaper. This pained
me as I liked what I had seen of California and I did not feel ready
to leave. So instead I took a road trip down the Pacific Coast
Highway with some total goon from my dorm and I checked into a hostel
on Venice Beach, LA, where I met a Spanish lad Alfonso who could
barely speak a word of english. The hostel here was cheaper at $20 s
night so I decided to extend my stay for a few nights one Saturday
morning. When I went to the desk the receptionist told me it was full
and that I would have to leave. Not relishing the prospect of a night
on the streets I phoned around a few hostels and everywhere was full.
When I returned to the dorm I was faced with a frantic Alfonso, who
clearly was suffering the same predicament with the additional
problem of not being able to speak the language. It really did scare
Alfonso, the language barrier. He was kind of scared to go too far
from the hostel, as he could not ask directions etc. I decided that I
had to help him, as believe me I have felt like he did a few times
over the past year.
So we jumped on the
internet and whilst I was logging on I noticed a flyer for a hostel
on Pacific Beach, San Diego. It looked pretty sweet and the rates
were only $15 a night, so I gave them a call. Again, they were all
booked out. So I did a quick search on hostelworld and top of the
list came USA Hostels on 5th av, which had previously been voted the
top hostel in the whole of the USA, so I went ahead and booked.
Alfonso was nervous about this idea, because he needed to be back in
LA a few days later and I was not sure if I could come back with him.
I reassured him it would be okay and we hopped on a bus down there.
When we arrived I was blown away by SD, it is an amazing place. When
we checked into the hostel I was greeted by a vivacious young lady
named Meg, and upon noticing a sign that they were looking for staff
I enquired what the deal was. Meg told me that a group had literally
just left, so I was in luck. The prospect of free accommodation meant
that I could stay in the US for a while and not have to worry about
changing my flights into Peru that were booked for mid December.
As it transpired I had
such a great experience in San Diego that I decided to stay on
another month. I made some very strong connections with the other
members of staff and various travellers who were coming through, and
I made some good friends. During my time there I worked with a guy
whose best friend works for a publishers reading manuscripts. A
contact like this could be the difference between landing a contract
or not, and whilst it may come to nothing, is still a large slice of
fortune. Next came a text from my Dad, which said that I had been
given a rebate of £95 from 2007. Tidy I thought, a few beers. Then
he texted again saying that he had mis-spelt, and it was actually
£950. I probably don't need to go into detail about how much of a
bonus that has been.
It was emotional when I
left the hostel, as I had grown close to a number of people. But no
sooner had I left that I heard from a good friend Florian, who I met
in Indonesia back in May. He was heading to Columbia. So I headed
north from Peru and got up there for a month with the Bavarian boys.
Then just as my time with the German lads was about to come to a
close my good friend Hugo made contact to say he was coming over for
a month. In Panama we met a lovely couple who run a farm in
California, whom we kept bumping into place after place in the
country, and whom we ended up sharing a dorm with for a few nights in
Bocas Del Toro recently.
Over the past couple of
weeks I have received two short-term job offers in California as a
result of the chance connections that I have made since leaving the
UK. Add to this the potential publishing contact, the minor cash
windfall and the abundance of good friends coming my way and it is
clear that I have been experiencing a trail of uncharacteristically
good luck. I had not really thought about this until this morning. It
is raining hard in Costa Rica today, so I am kind of penned into my
room with nothing but a bottle of water and a pipe. I began searching
for my speakers to put some music on and as I was rummaging my hand
picked up something small, round and rough. At first I thought it
might be the missing part of Peter Neil Reed's chin, but when I
retrieved it I was surprised to find the little nut type thing that
the weird fortune teller / mind reader guy from Malaysia gave me back
in March. If you are reading this and don't remember this guy then I
suggest you read my post “strange shit is a goin down” from March
or April last year, it was fucked up. The guy told me some pretty
weird shit, and was convincing enough to make me throw up. Anyway,
this guy gave me the little nut thing and told me to keep it on me
and it will bring me luck. Ever the sceptic I decided to just leave
it at my Dads house, as I don't really want to carry a nut type thing
around with my (it kind of looks like a brain, but feels like a nut).
So I find the nut and began to think about the strokes of luck that I
have been having, which have all been completely down to chance. Then
I started thinking about what else the guy said. He told me that
March 2012 would be a very important month for me, and by only six
days in I had received two potential employment options in
California, somewhere that I would love to return for a few months.
NB. The guy said “important” as opposed to “lucky”, I am not
sure how to translate this difference but I hope it is good. For the
rest of March I have been spending long days writing and I really
feel as if progress is being made, so it really has felt like an
important month for me so far.
 |
| Santa Catalina |
Anyway, that's the
hippy shit out of the way. The last few weeks have been non-stop.
Hugo and myself developed a taste for adrenalin sports, sunburn, aloe
vera and rum. Following a couple of heavy nights in Panama City we
set off for Santa Catilina on the South West Pacific coast. The
public transport in Panama is shite. The majority of buses are these
shitty little minibuses that have seats barely enough for one person
that sit two people. They are predominatly leather and when combined
with the heat you find yourself dripping with sweat and forming wet
patches in any area in contact with the seat or the person next to
you. They pack a dangerous number of people in, so the narrow aisles
are packed with locals. It seems to be socially acceptable to sit on
people, lean on them or pretty much do whatever you want to them. On
one journey I had a girl leaning on my shoulder as an arm rest whilst
a child behind played with my hair. On the next journey I had a man
placing his arse crack down my arm to keep himself steady. After the
journey my arm literally spelt of ass.
I don't know whether it
is because I have been spending so much time on public transport
lately, but I am seriously considering petitioning for the outlaw of
public displays of affection on public transport. On the journey to
Santa Catalina I was sat directly behind a couple who over the course
of the 2hr journey probably kissed each other one hundred and fifty
times. At one point I counted twenty seven kisses in a row. It took
every ounce of will not to punch a route right through the middle of
their lips. I don't really understand the motivation for this type of
carry on, I will assume it is insecurity, but after one session the
girl looked round at me and shot me one of the dirtiest looks I have
ever received (and not in a good way). She was seriously trying to
suggest that I was somehow perving on them. These seats are packed in
and I was less than 2ft from their faces and to see out of the window
I had to look in their direction. So when she gave me this look I
maintained my look, which I hope translated as 'If you want privacy
then fornicate in a private place you fucking moron.' Following this
stare off she turned back to her boyfriend, who then looked at me and
they began to laugh. Is this what the future holds? Getting mocked
for having my eyes open on public transport? Probably. I certainly
look forward to the day when everyone just closes their eyes on the
underground, there is only so many times that someone can read the
underground map. This kind of thing is happening with such regularity
that I am begninning to automatically seek seats as close to the
front as possible, front seat if available. When I came to South
America kipper warned me that there are a lot of bus crashes, and
that the safest place on the bus is towards the middle and back on
the right hand side. I now find myself voluntarily reducing my
chances of survival and sitting at the front left just to avoid these
sacks of shit.
So after a couple of
these delightful bus journeys we arrived in Santa Catalina in time
for a pretty impressive sunset over the bay. The next day we decided
to take some surf lessons, which were advertised for $15 at our
hostel. We began to worry when a small boy, probably eight years or
so, started arranging our boards and trying to communicate to us in
Spanish. Our fears grew further when another 8yr old non-englis
speaking lad turned up and we all got into a van to head to the
beach. When we got there we soon became resigned to the fact that we
had just burned $15, although they did draw us some surfboards in the
sand and teach us in spanish how to lie face down in the dirt. The
surf there was perfect for beginners, and there were some pretty
reasonable size waves. The main issue was that we did not really know
how to surf, and neither of us understood what these kids were trying
to say. It began to get awkward so I started trying to paddle away
from my guy, whilst Hugo persisted and got a few push offs from his
boy. We both managed to get up a few times and once the kids did one
we had a good time.
 |
| Get me out of that god damn sun |
One thing that I forgot
to mention is Hugo's ability to lose things. A day does not pass
without something disappearing, and on the day we went surfing it was
sun cream, puyfect. When we realise we tried to buy some more but the
village is tiny, and the “shop” is rather limited in products
(they ran out of bread for 3 days, but their tinned sardines were in
plentiful supply). So we went surfing for 5hrs without suncream. We
had actually bought aftersun for the first time the day before, but
luckily it had opened up in my hand luggage and covered almost
anything of value that I have. So six hours later our faces began to
hurt, quite a lot. When we got up the next day for diving we were in
really quite a lot of pain. We both spent the day trying to keep out
of the sun as best we could, but the diving tour was not too
conducive of this. I wasn't exactly convinced that I could remember
how to dive, it has been almost a year. Then Hugo hit me with the
news that his had been 8 years, but we were sort of confident we
would pick it up again. The place we went was called Coiba, a
national marine park that was once adjoining the Galapogas islands,
and is famed for it's big fish. The 1.5hr boat journey was
encouraging, where I saw several dolphins, a turtle and some manta
ray.
Our first dive was
something that I did not expect possible. The fish were just
unbelievable, thousands upon thousands. And then, as I have been
dreaming of for a year, a whale shark came cruising towards me. These
things are fucking huge, biggest fish in the ocean, and we were lucky
enough to see two of them. Hugo and me had been a bit concerned that
we would hold up the rest of the group and use up our oxygen quicker,
as all the rest of the group had their own equipment. But they were
total jokes. One guy was particularly annoying, he was floating
around, going vertical and almost kicking my face off, then sinking
and going upside down etc. We had a divemaster but everytime I looked
round our group had become smaller, and after half an hour there was
only me and Hugo left. The divemaster did not seem bothered so we
carried on regardless. By the time we surfaced all of the others were
already on the boat and changed out of their gear, very weird.
The second dive was a
lot more challenging. When the divemaster began talking about the
currents it made me a little nervous, and when we went down 15m we
litterally had to hold on to rocks and swim hard into the current to
try and stay together. We were told to stick close to the rocks and
the bottom of the ocean to avoid the currents, but they were strong
everywhere, and when you caught a good one it was like being on a
waterslide, proper good fun. We had only booked a two tank dive, so
the pro's went off on the third and we went snorkelling. After half
an hour I was looking out to sea when the jerk who could clearly not
dive breached the surface of the water feet first. I am not quite
sure how he did this, as the rules of the floatation device he was
wearing renders this practically impossible, but I am confident that
he will have died of nitrous poisoning later that night.
One of the most
refreshing things about having Hugo with me is not having to make
friends. No need for any more shit conversations about where I have
been. Sure, they obviously still happen with regularity, but I am no
longer forced into instigating them. It allowed me to be more
selective when being approached by instigators, which I believe has
led to a sustained period of very high grade travelling buddies. We
met some good people over the past month, and It was nice to be part
of a double act. I have always been a greater ease when mates have
come to join me in various places, things instantly become easier and
far more leisurely. The pressure to interact is removed and as a
result I am able to me myself without worry of being ostrasiced. It
is surprising how often I have thought to myself about the value of
having someone I know with me on the road, there are definitely a
number of benefits. A lot of people travelling alone suggest that it
is the only way to meet people, as you are forced to do so. Those who
know me know that I don't like to be forced to do anything. I am far
more comfortable with not being forced to make friends (see
networking events for reference). When you are forced to make friends
the conversation is invariably bland for all parties. When you have a
back up, ie a mate, you don't really give a shit about peoples
impressions and you can be yourself. I imagine this is pretty much
applicable in any social situation. Just having someone there who can
apologise on a friends behalf and reassure any upset parties that
“he is not normally like that”. A fairly pertinent example of
this came the night after Hugo left. I fell into the sea and woke up
naked in the wrong dorm bed. I am reliably informed by other guys in
the dorm that the person whose bed I was in was not very happy about
the situation. Four hours later I was crossing the Costa Rican border
wearing no shoes. This is what happens when I have no one to explain
on my behalf that I am essentially a normal person, but can
occassionally go a bit frank the tank when drunk.
Anyway, back to Panama.
After a few days in Catalina we decided to go up into the mountains
at Boquette. This place was a whole different climate. We had grown
accustomed to temperatures in the mid to high thirties, and it was
kind of nice to put on jeans and get out of the heat. It is a nice
little town that has prospored from tourism, and there was plenty to
opt for, so we chose white water rafting and ziplining. When we
signed up for the white water rafting we both had images of us flying
over waterfalls in terror. When we arrived at the office there was a
family with two young kids, a pair of gays and three women over the
age of sixty. We both sat silently disappointed but when we got
chatting with these people we realised that we were in good company
regardless of the ride. It turns out that one of these ladies was
seventy seven years old, and the gays had been on a tour with her
that had taken her trekking and caving along with rafting – pretty
fucking impressive if you ask me. The rafting was good craic, me and
Hugo were lead team at the front but we did not take our
responsibilites very seriously. We spent most of the time trying to
push each other out of the boat and splash one of the other two
boats. Hugo, who regularly and openly praise's his own aquatic
abilities (he is by his own admission “impossibly aquatic”) was
not very comfortable hitting the currents, and instead of manning his
side and keeping the balance he would leap onto my side every time he
hit a wave. This was annoying and his comuppance finally arrived when
we hit a big one and he went straight over the top of me and into the
water – becoming the first and only member of the party that had to
be rescued by rope.
 |
| Humiliation for Hugo as the gays run him over |
 |
| Old ladies, gays and the boys |
That evening me and Hugo went for a meal with the old ladies and the gays, which was surprisingly good fun. Next morning we were
due to go ziplinging but we had a few beers and when I woke up at
7.30am I phoned us into the afternoon slot. We both felt a bit
nervous as the truck up there started hitting some serious height. By
the time we got to the first line Hugo was visibly shaken and my
discomfort with heights was not easy to mask. At times there were
about fifteen of us stood on these small platforms built 50m up a
tree, and once you had begun there was no turning back or stopping.
It was a good laugh and zipping through the canopy of a rainforest is
different, but if it had cost more than $60 then I would have been
pissed (the one in Laos which I did not do was $400).
Our final destination
in Panama was Bocas Del Toro, a tropical location made famous for
hosting the television series “Survivor”. We had to wait about
2hrs to get this shitty bus to a small town that is the launching
point to Bocas. When we arrived Hugo got to experience aparticularly
irritating ritual that I have had to go through many many times over
the last year or so. Getting off the bus to be greeted by some shifty
looking local who is trying to make some commission off disorientated
travellers. This prick was on a bike and just would not leave us the
fuck alone. We had our backpacks, it was fucking hot and the walk
took about twenty minutes whilst this guy tried to make conversation
that neither of us were interested in having. All the time there were
even shiftier looking guys all on these bikes that I associated with
hood movies. I associated anyone over the age of 16 on a bike with
crime, and these guys were communicating with each other as we passed
and personally I felt like this guy was leading us to be mugged and
probably bummed. Fortunately, and as has always been the case there
was nothing to fear, but also as always these are tense moments until
you actually arrive at the transport or hostel that they are
supposedly leading you to.
The boat journey was
pleasant and as soon as we arrived in Bocas we began to bump into
people that we had met in other places across Panama. On the first
night we probably met six or seven different people that we had
spoken to along the way, which was pretty nice. The American couple
that we met on San Blas were staying in our dorm along with three
American lads from Detroit who were on their spring break, and we
began hanging out as a group which was really good fun. The young
American guys were some of the most interesting and engaging twenty
one year olds that I have ever met. Two of them are ghost writers,
which as well as sounding cool is a pretty sweet job. They basically
just write university papers for rich kids who cannot be bothered to
do it themselves, and they make good money ($25 a page). There were
several islands to go visit and we saw some dolphins and saw some
nice shit. Amongst the highlights was a day trip to another beach, which involved a trek through a disasterously muddy trail.
 |
| Post trail |
My flip flops broke after five minutes and I had to ditch them, but on the plus side Hugo fell off a log, so swings and roundabouts. We bought with us a chinese guy we had met in the hostel who was hilarious to watch. When we got to the beach it was like he had never seen the ocean before. He was running in and then running away from the waves, just repeatedly for about half an hour. A couple of the americans had dropped acid and one of them became involved in conversation with the Chinese guy for about 2hrs. I don't know what was discussed but when David, the chinese guy returned he honestly said it had been the best day of his life. It was really quite touching I guess. He actually lives in Panama City and is twenty six, so I am not really sure what he does with his time, it was pretty much a standard day for myself.
 |
| Decabots |
At night the rum flowed in Bocas. Myself and Hugo
forged ourselves a reputation as a couple of merry drunks, which we
attribute to the local rum – best booze going. But alas, all good
things must come to an end, and when it became time for Hugo to
depart I was left to reflect on how great it would have been to have
him on board for the whole trip.
The American lads were
flying home from Costa Rica and invited me with them to a party in
Puerto Viejo the next evening, so I decided to travel on with them.
That night I went out drinking with the Detroit boys and quite what
happened I don't know. As I mentioned I woke up naked in the wrong
bed at 7am, twenty minutes before we had to catch the boat and move
onwards to Costa Rica. I had managed to lose my flip flops and
everything seemed to be wet. In the rush I left behind all of my
washbag and cosmetics which was a bonus. I then had to cross the
border wearing no shoes.
 |
| The Ark |
The party to which we
were headed was for a guy called Jay, who owns a huge hostel in
Puerto Viejo called rocking J's. The
Detroit guys had been here one week before bocas and met the guy that
runs the place - J. It is this huge plot with big Open air
structure's filled with tents and hammocks. He has planted grass and
there are loads of open air communal areas and it had it's own
private beach area. The perfect party hostel. So they met this guy
and he began telling them that he genuinely believes the world will
end in 2012, and on that basis his last birthday was this year, the
day the four of us headed here from bocas. When I got there they
showed me the ark that he has built out back, complete with gun
turrets and several crates of guns and ammunition. It
was his birthday, and on this basis he believes that it will be his
last birthday, so in preperation he bought 400 bottles of spirits
between about 100 people. I emplore you to do the maths.
 |
| Free booze |
It was a
pretty messy night, he had fires going on the beach and as soon as
your glass was empty someone would be there to fill it. At around 5am
I met one of the biggest douchebags that I have ever had the
misfortune of meeting. This guy was just the pits, and the worst part
was that he was English.
He had an air of Jesus about his long hair, thick beard. When he
began to speak he sounded exactly like Neil from the young ones. When
he started putting on this hippy act I was left no option but to
destroy him. He was clearly just some berk who is trying to get laid
by sounding spiritual, which is fine, but he was just so terrible at
impersonating a hippy that it was just plain disturbing. It was like
he had once watched an episode of the young ones and had then decided
to try and be a hippy. He was rubbish. He started piping on about
negative energy and said that he was the victim of racial hatred. I
asked him what the fuck he was going and as it transpires he has
basically been getting picked on everywhere he goes. If you met this
guy you would totally know why. He walked ankle deep into the sea and
started talking about the connection he felt with nature (in Neil
from the young ones voice) and I just burst out laughing. When I
talked to him one-on-one he sounded like your average Tim nice but
dim, but he seems pretty resilient in his hippy rouse and refuses to
break character on the public stage. The last thing I remember asking
him was if the rumours that he is a hermaphrodite were true, didn't
speak to him again after that.
The
morning after the Detroit guy's left I checked out and went looking
for alternative accommodation, and for the first time in six months I
got room to myself. I Feel pretty exposed to the elements here. This
is the Closest I have slept to an ocean with serious waves. I slept
on loads of huts on the beach in Asia, but the seas were calm over
there. The sea is fookin aggressive here, the wave are big and the
surf douches are a'plenty. The waves are upto 20ft in this region and
the noise of the ocean is very prominent. My cabina is an odd
structure. It is a triangle formed by two sheets of corregated iron
and the ground. The end facing the ocean only has a dwarf wall with a
sparse wooden cross hatch above it. It is totally open air except for
a very poorly fitted mosquito mesh. In addition to the racket of the
ocean it has been raining hard some days. The noise of these
downpours against the correguated tin roof is deafening, and is
slowly driving me mad. If the rain is blowing away from the sea
towards shore then around half of my bed gets rained on through the
mesh. Pretty good fun at 4am when you are also desperately trying to
maintain the integrity of mosquito net that has seen better days.
There are a lot of Mosquitos here, shit loads of the little fuckers.
When I turn the light on I have to watch then all trying to float
through the net, in the full knowledge that one of them is bound to
sneak through the big hole up towards the roof. Once it is in then it
is basically like an all you can eat buffet. When I wake in the
morning there are usually 4 or 5 in the net with me. There is
something disturbingly satisfying about slapping a mosquito and
seeing your own blood explode out of them. Circle of life. It is not
such a bad way to go, quick and painless after enjoying a nice hot
meal. I on the other hand face liver failure on the bed of some third
world hospital due to malaria. We will see who has the last laugh.
 |
| Home sweet home |
So
I have my own hut but I feel like I am being invaded. I have a crab
living behind the the lining wall and the corregated tin and every
night it is scratching around and searchingmy shit for food. I woke
up at 2am the other night and there was a rat dragging my french
baguette across the floor. Two hours later I awoke and there was a
frog sat on my stomach. I don't know how it got into my mosquito net,
but as soon as I flinched it started panicing and bouncing around
against the net and back on to me. This is the rainforest and I am
pretty sure that there are poisonous frogs about. There are ghekkos
crawling all over the wall but at least they eat some of the moths.
But the ants are by far the worst. Their bite fucking kills and
leaves a mark. Due to the lack of privacy, rain on my bed and swarms
of insects I feel like I am constantly being violated. The ants were
my fault, sort of. I have enjoyed some 'alone time' recently. One day
it was pissing it down so I was sat writing in my room all day. I was
consistently feeling these really nasty stinging bites on my feet all
and I kept finding these tiny ants. They were sporadic so didn't
really make anything of it. By around 9pm the intensity and
regularity were increasing, and I looked at the floor and there were
an absolute swarm of ants around the boxer shorts that I had lazily
used for 'clean up'. I can only assume that the little fucks were
harvesting my jizz (circle of life) and then biting me for good
measure. When I picked up the pants there were literally hundreds of
the horrible little bastards, and they all started crawling up my
arms and biting me. I ran out of the room waving a pair of pants in
the air right infront of the rasta's smoking at reception outside,
and whilst they were laughing at my I was jumping up and down in a
puddle and flapping around trying to get these fucks off me. Pretty
annoying on the whole as now they are everywhere. I have seen at
least 5 crawl into the USB port of my netbook, probably not doing it
much good. The power cable only works fifty percent of the time now.
I
have been here for a couple of weeks and I hang out with a lot of the
locals who work and relax here. During this time I have stumbled upon
one of the worst individuals that i have ever met. His name is Hunter
and he looks like a mixture of Beppe from eastenders and rivaldo.
Deep set eyes, rubbery complexion and thin goatee beard. He is one of
the guys that grabs tired and disorientated travellers of buses and
drags them to a guesthouse for a commission. This guy is permanently
fucked up on coke, his face looks like it is spasaming. Fuck knows
where he gets the money for this habit or who is feeding him but
judging by his behaviour he is doing a lot. He does this 'raise of
the eyebrow' thing whilst saying something that I don't understand,
and he just keeps staring at me through one bulging eye raising one
eyebrow up and down really quickly. Combined with the constant
churning of his gurning mouth and chin it makes him look like
something inbetween beppe, popeye and a retard. He is one of the most
unnerving individuals I have ever met. He pops up everywhere. As I am
writing this he has just sat in the hammock next to me, arriving 5
minutes after i'd left a table to get away from him, which itself
came less than 5 minutes after his arrival at said table. I suspect
that he is on the brink of a full psychotic episode and I would
really rather not be around to see it. I am growing worried that I
might actually cause the onset. I am pretty sure he was saying
something about me not listening to him but I couldn't understand,
then he said something doing the popeye face and I laughed. I laughed
too and then he asked me a question that I didn't understand. I spend
the whole of these conversations trying to get away from the moron.
He interupts any conversation with some jibberish sentence whips out
the popeye and completely kills the vibe. Everyone then just sits in
silence until the wise make their excuses about where they have to
be. I am convinced that he hates me, but he turns up everywhere I go,
which I suspect is because I smoke and he is hoping I will offer him
one. I would give him one if it would make him fook off, but I think
it will just encourage him.
 |
| Probably the best photo I have ever taken |
Closely followed by this
It is hard to not feel a bit like a hippie here. I am pretty much sleeping in nature and I smell. Clean clothes are an issue, everything feels damp within seconds of removing it from my rucksack. Having been here two weeks i have tried not to wear much. One pair of swimming shorts, no underwear and a vest is the standard and I have not washed these things once. I must fucking stink. Every time I wear something clean it feels dirty in ten minutes so I have stopped wearing anything new. One observation is that if you ever want to make your clothes smell then sit in a communal hammock for ten minutes, man those things wreak. I have spent so much time in a hammock over the past year, time that has given me many of the ideas that will hopefully provide me with a career one day, that I cannot imagine a life without hammocks now. I will definitely be bringing one home, but it could be a while before I find somewhere to put it. A Swiss guy I know has one in his lounge overlooking a lake, that is the kind of set-up I seek. It would be easy to build a small structure to accommodate one, just a small glass or perspex overhang and a couple of uprights to hang the hammock between. Becky that pergola you never use has got hammock written all over it... I would recommend a hammock to anyone, in fact I could probably have one instead of a bed. If this book of mine ever does amount to anything then i will owe a large debt of gratitude to hammocks, they really are the thinking man's best friend
Laters.
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| Looks better than Weston-Super-Mare on a rainy day |
