Our room in Flores. That's not our window you see but our door. At least it was discounted!
Lost all sense of American time. Can't be late November because I'm sweating and jumping into the lake and batting mosquitoes. The towns have all strung up their Christmas decorations, but I have a difficult time believing in them.
And all the people I know seem indistinct, as if they belonged to a different reality, a virtual one of pixels on screens forming words forming notions of people. They come and go as they please and so cannot be real; nothing I do can command them. And what concerns, what true concerns, can we express in these textual snippets? "Hello" is barely registered before "goodbye" comes galloping at its heels. Or, more often, simply silence. The cessation of being. So you see you cannot blame me for doubting their reality.
El Remate especially seems far from anything. Just placid lake, smooth as glass, a handful of tourists, and restaurant after empty hotel restaurant. Also, hundreds of fireflies twinkling in the grass--more convincing Christmas lights than the loud store displays.
Met another American who is traveling "indefinitely." Out here we're a dime a dozen.
Went on a hike and got devoured by mosquitoes
Do I really want to go in to the mosquito lair?
Oh well, we did, and we got a nice view
Sacred ceiba tree with some torture spikes