6/12/19 – 6/15/19 After a morning of jokes and coffee and gallo pinto and rain and wandering the little foot paths of El Castille turning over giant jungle leaves to find giant jungle grasshoppers and having awkward misunderstandings due to different cultures and languages and the physical stipulations they put on one’s tongue; we boarded
6/10/19 – 6/11/19 Nobody tenderfoots around in the country mornings. I awoke at 4:30 to stereos, motos, machetes chopping wood to stoke ovens for the day, men yelling to one another across the street, roosters, pigs, all the birds in the trees, and metal shop doors rolling up and slamming against the backstop. All of
5/30 /19– 6/9/19 By the time we arrived in Granada, on the thirtieth of May, my rear hub was trashed. In the preceding three or four days I’d been hearing intermittent clicking; like a plastic fork being snapped in half. Eventually it became a persistent and oppressive grinding and I knew it was the bearings.
5/20/19 – 5/27/19 “She’s all yours if you want her.” “Come again?” “What’s mine is yours, you know” “We’re just cooking breakfast.” “Alright my man, scramble those eggs.” Derek was from Chicago. He had a small house in Granada with an extra room for rent. I’d met him at a bar and mentioned I was