It’s President’s Day. M and I are wasting time in a Portland coffee shop before our flight. The music basically sucks and I’ve got a kink in my neck and the ppl behind the counter are sort of useless, but I’m definitely digging this peppermint tea. We leave around Midnight, but we decided to hit the city early for beers, good food and a few farewells to friends. We’ve eaten take-and-bake pizza, brunch items, meatball sannies and leftover meatball sannies. Now we’re bored and it’s raining and most of our friends are at work.
In 12 hours’ time, we take off for Houston, where I’ve probably spent a cumulative week of my life waiting for various flights. (Seriously. I’ve spent so much time there I have two hiding spots where sleep and wi-fi are easy to come by, although one of them is behind a big wall of screens with flight info on them and I usually get kicked out of it after an hour or so). In 24 hours’ time, we’ll be landing in San Salvador. From there, it’s straight to the beach, boyyy! El Salvador is a mercifully tiny country, roughly the size of Massachusetts, and our destination is a mere 30 minutes from the airport.
I socked away a few too many books and medicines and camera accessories, but otherwise my pack is rather sparsely appointed. Six weeks is either an incredibly long time or an incredibly short time, depending on how you look at it, and it’s sort of an odd amount of time to pack for, esp. when you are a worst-case-scenario kind of gal.
This is something of a working vacation for me, which makes me feel old and definitely un-backpackerlike… I’m hoping to get a few pieces together to sell to travel mags when I return home to Oregon and I’ll also be doing my manuscript editing gig to keep the cash flowing. But who cares when it’s all happening from the comfort of a hammock?
Haha. Last night, we were out at Mash Tun and this super drunk chick was bothering Morgan and he said, “Don’t talk to me; I’m short.” HAHA