Sickness (almost) becomes me

That niggling little feeling I had at the back of my throat yesterday woke me up with a ball-busting bang today. I felt like turd wrapped in shit. And to cap it off, this was the day we were apparently doing some kind of nature hike in the searing heat. Determined not to let a little sickness get in the way of my Cuban experience, I threw my wide sun hat on and lathered myself with sunscreen.

I also had discovered that my favourite little green Brazilian style bikini was missing from my bag and I remembered I'd left it hanging to dry in the bathroom after I'd run myself a bath in Havana. Dammit! Good luck getting that one back... I asked A to call the hotel but when I came down in the morning, he said they'd not found out. Just another thing to add to my list of lost shit.

We drove back into town to meet the walking guide, who was running late so we walked to meet him with the other tourists he was taking out. It wasn't a hard hike but I just felt so shit, coughing and spluttering at the back of the group. We went through some agricultural land, mainly tobacco, and saw how the smaller operations work. The whole Cuban cigar thing is interesting - while I don't smoke nor like anything about the addiction, it is a huge and famous industry in this country and in a way fascinating to see behind the scenes.

In a little hut owned by the farmers, the 'duena' (boss lady) of the house demonstrated how to roll a cigar and then passed it around to smoke. No thanks. You want to buy? No thanks. Afterwards, we walked through a mountain (just a cheeky few stairs up and into a cave that used to be used to hide from hurricanes) and into more farmland for cattle, all green and lush. At another little shack we stopped for cocoloco, a freshly cut coconut with honey and rum. I thought it was only be a smart decision, since alcohol and honey could only be good for my throat. It tasted good.

It was still hot and we were still walking. The guide was good, entertaining and spoke fluent English. We stopped at another house offering more drinks. You want to buy? No thanks. Geez! Then it was over. The guide asked us if we'd paid and since the relaying of information from our guide to the group seemed strained to say the least, we all assumed it was included in the price. The longest 1.5 hours I've ever seen, we finished just in time for lunch and drove to our (included? Who knows) lunch. I had pushed on too long. The heat and the sickness overcame me and I just burst into tears. What the fuck is wrong with me?? I sat out on the stairs (in the direct sunlight, smart girl) and regrouped before having something to eat and drink to at least fill my stomach. Nothing like a bit of lobster to set your stomach straight.

Thankfully, there were no other activities on the agenda we I was able to head back to my hotel room for a siesta. L had the same idea so we drew the curtains and fell onto our beds. Soon enough, it was dinner time again and we were off to the cute little cottage near the hotel. Something was cooking up a storm on the grill outside, we took bets as to which animal it was... we never figured it out. Again, it was the same choices for the menu... I guess this is what they mean about Cuban food being bland. It's not so much bland as monotonous. And it doesn't help that our included meals all consisted of pretty much a set menu. But any country following the Mexican banquet must struggle to compete.

A didn't accompany us to dinner this time, as his baby girl was ill back in Havana. Without him, we finished dinner and were driven into town for another night at the same bar as the previous night. Again, there was lots of live music, including a full band, solo singers and a dance troupe. Not as hot as the night before, but still entertaining. Some intriguing costumes too... the token male was all frills and bells and whistles. Hard to really believe he enjoyed dancing with members of the opposite sex.

I danced and sweated and danced some more. This time, however, without our guide we sat with some of the other local guides that we met the night before. The group peeled off until it was just me and the older New Zealand woman, a rough but well-meaning lady. Last night she had become a bit hard to handle after a few drinks so I took on the responsibility to take care of her this night, and before I knew it, it was just the 2 of us and we actually stayed until the place closed (only about 1 from memory). But because A wasn't there, we had to organise our own transport, which proved a little more difficult than expected. Some nice locals tried to call a cab but we ended up flagging down a car that seemed to be operating as a taxi, and get a lift back to the hotel, a good 15 minutes away. Not before verbally slapping P to sort her shit out... I tolerate little bullshit. But most importantly, I was most chuffed that I had made it through the day alive. 

Romantic Saba

Again I woke to momentary confusion as my alarm sounded and I quickly realised, oh that's right, I slept at E's mansion and I somehow snagged her bed. Meanwhile... where was she??

I staggered out to the lounge room, a vague recollection that she'd promised me to take me home (and possibly to the marina) in time for my Saba ferry. And as much as it pained me (and her), I woke her up. "Hey........... I gotta go now........ you awake....???" I'm so mean.

And so it was we were half alive. Stopped off at my house to change clothes, grab my pre-prepared lunch and jump back in the car to the marina. Stopped at Cappuccino, the place that never closes, and got a coffee for E and a fresh juice for me. Oh, I sound healthy, but I just don't like coffee.

La was busy calling me when I was at the cafe, my phone in the car, and when I finally got back she was on her 3rd try, anxious that I wasn't coming anymore. Here I was thinking she wouldn't come! So we checked in and waited for the ferry. Had to present our passports even though it's another Netherlands territory (albeit a municipality), and my passport earnt another stamp. Keep 'em comin'!

On board, they told us we had a choice of drinks including beer so I thought, well why not keep a good thing going... and ordered a beer. So it was a little harder to finish than I thought, due to the pounding waves on the high speed ferry, and I did my best to finish it but just had to lie down and calm my head. Came so close to spewing but managed to hold myself together - wish I could say the same for La, poor girl was headfirst in a bag when I opened my eyes, trying to dab the surrounding area of any bits of vomit that sprayed out. Gross, but I do feel for her.

We landed at Saba, a formidable rock of an island with no beaches and actually an inactive volcano, although as I was to find out, incredibly sweet and romantic. A quick immigration check left another stamp on my passport and led us to a waiting taxi/minibus same as St Maarten, with a several-generations local that had a microphone set up so he could tell us about the island as we drove through.

It wasn't cheesy though, and quite a good idea, I was thankful at least he was driving us through as it was raining when we stepped off the boat and I for one had NOT anticipated wet weather gear when half-drunkenly packed my bag for the trip. It was insane, though, that the people in the taxi told me it was twice as rough getting to St Barths the day before. Are you friggin kidding?? Vomit town, population me.

The driver took us to all 4 villages of the island, as well as the airport which was basically an airstrip about 200m long, ending each side on a cliff edge. Yep, definitely one of the most dangerous airports in the world. Along with St Maarten (where I live) and St Barths (next door). At the end, near some walking trails, he dropped us off - "us" being La and I, plus a Swede and an American off the yachts in SXM staying for a few nights - quoting us the odd amount of $31. Hard to divide between 4, but we made it work. Sabans are weird.

We were meant to go hiking down to Windwardside, the most touristy village, but instead we thought to go down to The Bottom (literally the village at the bottom of the hill), so we could experience the beautiful, misty rainforest of the island without going too high and getting to muddy. I'm glad I bought my sneakers, though!

As it was, certain pains kept reminding me I was a woman, and the hike I guess turned out to be a good distraction. Then I thought food would work, so we found one of few places open on a Sunday in Saba, a cute little cafe, and ordered some lunch. Turned out to be quite sub-standard food but I ate it anyway, hungry all the same. Instead, I tried to focus on the quaint little cottages and romantic air of the island. In honesty, all I could think of was living here with A and somehow making a life for us, even just for a little while. Living amongst the trees, in a sweet little cottage...

Afterwards, we thought it best to stay downtown rather than try to climb the mega-steep hills back to Windwardside, and headed towards Well's Bay. We stopped a police car to ask for directions and upon hearing it was too far to get back by the ferry departure, we just opted for the pretty gazebo at the top of the hill. We sat and chatted for a short while, noting the lack of cars on The Road (it's so easy to walk in the middle of The Road - the name of the main road - here and forget there are cars as well), and then headed back to the ferry.

Halfway down the steep hill to the ferry a truck stopped to let us in, basically just stopping and waving us in before keeping on going. Mmm, what a lovely aroma of fish that afforded us. And yet another stain on my white top as I climbed down the big wheel. It was entertaining to see all the goats running around the island, too. I wonder if they know just how awesome their home is.

Back at Pelican Marina, I walked La to her bus stop and opted to walk home. Except that soon enuf one of the cabbies that often comes to Seaside to drop off tourists offered me a lift (had to beep a while to get my attention) and I was home before I knew it. Then it was off to Pineapple Pete's to get the internet. And stop by the tattoo artist I met the other day. Is it worth doing something? Do I have time? Moreso, do I have the money? These questions plagued me.

So I had a non-alcoholic cocktail (after the havoc that boat ride played me today), spoke to A who is getting increasingly excited about my arrival, and headed home. No St Barths tomorrow, unfortunately, as I had been called in to replace a sick workmate and now if I wanna go to the ultra-expensive island I do it solo. Great!!

Moler = 1, Me = 0

I`ve always hated the whole "fail" phase in recent social networking history, but I feel my first Friday night in La Paz was decidedly deserving of this label. I don`t know if it was too much sun, too many painkillers, too much walking, not enuf water... but whatever it was, it thoroughly and completely stopped me from leaving the hostel with the group of hot artesans I had befriended in the hostel. Why, oh why???

Let me start at the beginning. I woke early to try and catch the lady in the Caribbean wanting a Skype interview with me for this job come September, only to find I had misread the email and she wanted to meet in the afternoon. Oh well. So I headed next straight to the bank district to try and sort out my card issues. I ended up having to withdraw from my credit card, messing up all my budgeting but hey, I am not complaining with the dinero in my pocket. I was worried there for a second.

Back at the hostel, I found F who had lent me the money for my tooth operation and finally settled that debt - hate the feeling of owing people! She was sitting on the rooftop patio with the other artesans, making arm bands and juggling etc... I kinda like that vibe so I stayed there a while. In the beautiful sun.

Then I left with the Spanish girl M to walk to the lookout, soooo beautiful... it really showed La Paz sitting snugly in its little valley, then spreading slowly but surely up the hills in between some cliffs and around arid mountains. And in the background, the most stunning snow-capped mountain makes for an almost unbelievable comparison as we sat under the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. My camera was well utilised at this moment.

Later in the day, I returned to the lookout for sunset, although it was a little late and we only got there for the faint glow of the disappearing sun across the valley. Still beautiful. I vowed to be less tardy the next day.

I had more miscommunication with my French boy and after much effort, eventually wrote him a message outlining the 3 choices he had in meeting me again. I was SICK of those fucking hills from his hostel to mine - I climbed them TWICE to no avail this day. I love La Paz, but it is literally an uphill battle most of the time!

To my surprise, when I was having a siesta before going out with the hippies, I saw a little bearded face pop into my blurry, sleepy vision in my dark room saying in his cute little French accent, "Oh so you are sleeping again?!" It took a little encouraging to get me out of bed, me being incredibly cold despite having about 6 blankets on top of me and not feeling 100%.

I was literally waiting downstairs for everyone to be ready when I went to the bathroom, almost fainted and decided it was best to give this one to the sleeping gods. Tomorrow, I promise to fulfill my partying destiny in La Paz. My brother would be oh so disappointed if I didn`t.