Days 40-41: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Mon, 25 Apr 2005 10:08:00 GMT

Down to my last few pesos, I spent my final two days in censored relaxing, recovering, and taking it all in one last time. I knew I wasn’t likely to return for years, and that when I did return, censored would be a very different place.


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Days 38-39: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Sat, 23 Apr 2005 08:35:00 GMT

Adventure! Romance kind of! I stumbled upon a few small treasures that made my time in censored truly remarkable.


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Days 36-37: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Thu, 21 Apr 2005 22:56:00 GMT

I spent the next few days in censored, an old Spanish colonial town that was gussied up in the early 19th century when French planters arrived, having fled from a particularly unpleasant slave revolution in Haiti. I spent the days wandering up and down old cobblestone streets, marvelling at the old architecture and the people they housed. I spent the evenings listening to music and meeting more interminably fascinating people.


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Days 33-35: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Mon, 18 Apr 2005 23:17:00 GMT

Escaping La censored, I spent the next three days in censored and the surrounding countryside. Full of new people and new scenery, my days became somehow more relaxing and more hectic at the same time – perhaps I was beginning to follow the pulse I could feel in the land and its people.


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Days 31-32: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Sun, 17 Apr 2005 00:28:00 GMT

Days 31-32: xxxx

I do not debauch. I certainly never cavort, save for the occasional quiet, metered cavort. So it was with some measure of surprise that I found myself swept away into censored’s nightlife.


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Days 29-30: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Thu, 14 Apr 2005 14:42:00 GMT

I could spend a month in censored and still not feel like I had seen everything I wanted, even if most of those days were spent wandering streets and watching life unfold. I had only four days. These are only two:


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Day 28: xxxx

Posted by Erik Frey Wed, 13 Apr 2005 12:59:00 GMT

day 28

I was shook awake by the hotel staff, telling me my taxi was here. I was comatose: I stumbled into the car and stared out the window the whole way to the airport. When we arrived, the taxi driver told me the fare was 1000 colones higher than what he’d quoted before. I just stared at him. It was too early and I was too tired for this. We went back and forth for a few minutes before he finally shrugged and slunk away. I tried to avoid thinking about the implications for the human character, that in every country and culture in the world, you can always count on taxi drivers trying to screw you over.

I slept the whole way to La censored. During my connection in Panama City, I withdrew all the money I was going to need for the next two weeks. The only ATM I could find was out in the open, in the middle of a busy mall pavilion in the Panama City Airport. Nothing like trying to stuff a gigantic wad of $20 bills into your money belt (which is incidentally hidden down the front of your pants) in front of crowds of duty-free shoppers. I did a little dance and imagined I was a schizophrenic stripper.

Things got more interesting at censored immigration. I was pretty nervous at that point.


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