Get my card back, have my kilt and backpack fixed with a needle and thread, and buy a Nicaragua flag sticker for my guitar. Such is the plan of action for today. We start with the sticker. I have my priorities in perfect order.
Long story short, everything falls into place. For once. My card was where I left it, sucked back into the ATM machine. Not only can I not speak a word of Spanish to the bank teller, relying on my friends, but I look like a total idiot abroad. Pasty white wet-behind-the ears dumb ass tourist. I beat a hasty retreat from the amused cashier.
Finding a lovely sticker for my guitar proves a challenge, but one that I accomplish anyway. Following that, my kilt and backpack are fixed with finesse. The stitch work is excellent, and will hopefully last well into the stresses and strains I place on both items. My joy is somewhat dampened to discover the bag of mixed currency from the US through to Honduras is missing. A useless bundle of coins amounting to around ten dollars, it was just dead weight to me, unchangeable anywhere on the road. The sewing people need it more than I, but the principle of stealing it leaves something of a sour taste. I refuse to argue the toss however, as in the grand scheme of things, they’ve done me a favour.
It’s another lazy day back at the hostel, making plans, sending emails and fleshing out future travel. I still don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing, but I’m getting anxious to give something back. It’s been too long since delivering the ambulances that I’ve fallen into the rut of doing things for myself. It’s time to change that.
Success. Sort of
Get my card back, have my kilt and backpack fixed with a needle and thread, and buy a Nicaragua flag sticker for my guitar. Such is the plan of action for today. We start with the sticker. I have my priorities in perfect order.
Long story short, everything falls into place. For once. My card was where I left it, sucked back into the ATM machine. Not only can I not speak a word of Spanish to the bank teller, relying on my friends, but I look like a total idiot abroad. Pasty white wet-behind-the ears dumb ass tourist. I beat a hasty retreat from the amused cashier.
Finding a lovely sticker for my guitar proves a challenge, but one that I accomplish anyway. Following that, my kilt and backpack are fixed with finesse. The stitch work is excellent, and will hopefully last well into the stresses and strains I place on both items. My joy is somewhat dampened to discover the bag of mixed currency from the US through to Honduras is missing. A useless bundle of coins amounting to around ten dollars, it was just dead weight to me, unchangeable anywhere on the road. The sewing people need it more than I, but the principle of stealing it leaves something of a sour taste. I refuse to argue the toss however, as in the grand scheme of things, they’ve done me a favour.
It’s another lazy day back at the hostel, making plans, sending emails and fleshing out future travel. I still don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing, but I’m getting anxious to give something back. It’s been too long since delivering the ambulances that I’ve fallen into the rut of doing things for myself. It’s time to change that.