I’m tired of getting lost in Genoa, and the pigeons eat my breadcrumbs as fast as I drop them. The life of a Genoa shut-in doesn’t appeal to me either so I have a new system for getting around town. Actually its pretty much the same system I used in Seattle before Craig installed a GPS in my car.
Genova—Today I had to find the Il Mondo, the language school which turns out was in the midst of all the flood water destruction so it was a mess and workers were cleaning the streets and then all the shops were open with HUGE sales.
Finally my spouse reached the ripe old age of fifty. I thought the day would never come, it is unsettling to be a year and a half older than your husband when the age of fifty draws nigh. Somehow my other half has a most unsettling way of looking the same as the day we married, some twenty-eight years ago. Almost like he has been preserved in bees wax at the ripe old age of twenty-one. What better place to celebrate than Amanpolo.
Sometimes I wish I lived in Miami, I mean think how much easier it would be to get to a tropical climate—like Bonaire. I’m just saying. . .
So, I’m heading out for a much-needed warm winter break, which requires purchasing a few things, namely shorts. Shorts that cover the danger zone otherwise know as U.U.P. (upper lumpy leg.)
We christened him, “Le Cork”, our Bora Bora scuba adventures continue . . .
Speeding out to the dive site, I struck up a conversation with one of my boat mates. Well, that’s not quite right, I talked and he nodded. I tried English and practiced my cave man French. No reply, only nods and grunts issued forth from my morose seatmate.
Two five-hour plane rides, one overnight in Tahiti, a commuter jump to Bora Bora, and finally a 15-minute boat ride to the Four seasons Bora Bora. Kind of Funny what a Seattle mossback will do to get out of the rain.
Our first destination was Fill in reserve, next we stopped for two days at Sasaab which was a small open air hotel. Our final stay was Meru National Park, we skipped the Masai Mara due to strife in Nairobi.
Echoes ring down the halls of the Serena Hotel, the three girls high-pitched voices on a ninety-degree decibel. The following morning we boarded a Cessna Caravan (the suburban of the skies) and arrived none the worse for the wear at a remote airstrip. At one point, a giraffe gracefully out-skirted us on the dirt runway making for an interesting landing. Bill Winters says that, landing on the dirt strip is one of the difficulties of running a safari operation because of the plethora of seemingly unaware four-legged creatures. Two Toyota Land-cruisers (custom modified chasse’s) await our landing, not only to make sure the runway is clear, but also to ferry us to our tented campsite.
It is New Year’s Eve, and all the island and staff are anticipating some fabulous festivities. Craig and I are very excited; perhaps we will finally make some friends. We have found that the other island guests are very inclusive. The kids express concern.
