Day 13. The Last Resort

The Last Resort is one of those lovely places to be, so I intelligently decide to hang out here for a day, write a bit, take some walks with Lola, and take care of some issues I have ignored.

So this is going to be a brief log. Only one serious story happened, and it was quickly over.

Furious storm in the night—I love them, listening to the storm and the ocean through my open windows more or less on top of the ocean. I’m up at seven and take Lola for a long walk along the ocean. Breakfast, I heard, was at 7:30, but no one is around when we got back at 8:00. I start writing, and Mike comes in a bit later and invites me to join him with his low-rate breakfast of eggs, plantin, and beans for two dollars. Mike and Alan are staying at a hostel down the dirt road for $12.00 a night. Breakfast there won’t be ready for a while, so I write and in about an hour go down and have breakfast that Miguel, a gracious man, makes.

Mike and Alan take off for another surfing beach, and I write for most of the morning. Writing and driving are calming aphrodisiacs for me. Toward the end of the morning, I have a nice conversation with Reuben, a young man who likes to write. He has incredible stories—at 30, he’s an oil consultant and has been in all of the problematic countries. And he has this driving urge to write—I think many people have it, but we school them out of it.

Reuben leaves for the town where he will fly out of tomorrow. About a half-hour later, I see his passport on the floor. You might guess how dramatic the loss of a passport is (I lost mine in Spain in the 60s). [This was the incident of today]. I sent him a facebook message, but that wouldn’t help much. About an hour later, he came back and retrieved his passport. At the borders, I panic when someone has in his or her hands my passport.

I take one final lovely walk along the ocean for about an hour. The ocean calms. It is, as I’ve written before, the earth breathing. It’s a lovely calming day. I don’t want to leave.

I go to my room and work on my GoPro for about two hours—I like recording videos of my trip, but the GoPro is not easy to manipulate. My disk is full and I can’t get the GoPro to connect to my iphone. But I am patient and keep searching for directions and learn how to do both.

Now I am down at the restaurant. Mike and Alan will soon join me for dinner. I’m now plotting my crossing into Guatemala tomorrow and where I will stay.

I will be in Guatamala for one day and cross into Mexico on Sunday—unless I find another lovely place like this.

When I cross into Mexico, I will feel as if the journey is ending. I’ll probably repeat my route, and I know where I have places to camp. Four to five days, and then I’ll cross into water-soaked Houston. I’ll camp south of Houston and then drive to Renee and Paul’s where I love to stay. And that will really be the end of the trip.

I know I have some surprises waiting for me, but really, this is the downside slide of the trip. I don’t know what I feel. I have had some wonderful and quite awful experiences. I have made friends. I doubt that anyone will understand this, but I feel as if I have scattered my ashes across the ocean.

Goto Day 14: No Hurry