Updates from Red Frog Beach

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It’s been two weeks and I am sick of sand getting in our tent. That musty smell of your clothes when they reside in a high humidity environment for far too long. My ankles are covered in sand fly bites- the bugs here are relentless. I’ve discovered that I no longer have a fear of cockroaches, or beetles the size of my palm. There is something about the bathroom sink that they adore, and the discovery of one lingering near the drain when I brush my teeth has become nearly ritual.

We discovered a sand crab hanging out on the top of a bottle of rum this morning when opening the bar, and a pod of termites trying to destroy their way into a slab of varnished wood. This is all just normal here- business as usual in the tropics. The upkeep of a place here requires an entirely different set of chores, and sand in your tent, in your hair, and stuck to your skin is nothing more than a convenient way of exfoliating.

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Considering all this, I have no craving to leave. These pests that invade the daily routine are a small price to pay for the tropics. The sky is a shade of bright turquoise blue that I’ve never seen before. The stars at night are as striking as a twinkling Christmas tree. The rains are quick and warm, the sun strikes a perfect mix with the ocean wind. It is never too hot nor too cold. The forest is a literal canopy of green, magenta, orange, and yellow. The senses are always on overload. There is bliss in isolation.

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I woke up this morning, made a cup of coffee, and walked out to the ocean. Stuck my feet in the warm water and waited for the inevitable calm to sink in. Dave set off down the path with a machete to harvest some coconuts for breakfast. I read an old paperback crime novel on the beach before spending an hour picking up debris delivered to the shore by the high tide. I ate fresh papaya and played with the beach dogs. I learned that coconut cream is ten times better down here than it has ever tasted at home. I planted Mamon Chino starts in the garden– a fruit i didn’t even know existed. By day’s end, I’d made $2.50 in tips, ate well, and got to swim in the warm blue ocean outside my front door. I am constantly reminded how special this moment is, whichever moment that might be, at any given time throughout the day.

Who cares about the sandy tent.

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