These Are Not The Droids That You Want

Look Purposeful, check your watch and appear cheerfully concerned that you must hurry, and project the calm certainty that checkpoints are for other people, since you have already been cleared.
Then walk for a half mile of border-crossing mayhem: travellers, guards, dogs, checkpoints, truck-spraying points and baggage searches. Never show your passport once, because no one is asking, and because you don't have it.
Come home. The end.

I know that there was more to it than this scant outline of Geoff's adventures hints at, but unfortunately for everyone who wants to know all of the thrilling details, we are going to Atenas tomorrow and after a marvellous last night out in Coco, are rushing about madly packing - so I don't have time to put them up.

You may have to wait a while.

Given that we are going to probably not have internet access tomorrow, this post may be our last until we are home. I hope that this is not true; I would like to end the blog in synch with the end of the trip, if only for the sake of literary balance. But I don't think I can be timely. If you thought from my writings that I had trouble analysing how coming to Costa Rica tossed my world-view into the blender, I suspect that you ain't, as the saying goes, yet seen nothin' of my coming to terms with what leaving here means.





In simplest terms, I want to go home, and I don't want to leave here at all. And I don't think the two are balanced.