Sunday, May 15, 2011

the last leg

The cost of our hotel room includes breakfast. 
They fry up the eggs and leave them on the table for the flies to investigate.
Even if I ate eggs, I would have to pass up these cold, fried, rubbery numbers. 

Our days of hauling gear onto the ferry in a stance again exorbitant porter fees are over.  For years we refused to pay the sharks and would negotiate the narrow gang plank with boxes, boards and packs, fighting against the crowd and getting duly frustrated in the process.  This time we swallowed the price and watched from the shade as our gear was loaded into the belly of the ferry. 

After a smooth hour crossing the Straits of Death we step onto the dock and start about haggling a price for our gear to be unloaded.  Each trip we swear we will travel light next time, but in hindsight  having ten kilos of dates, five kilos of rolled oats and the luxury of lentils is worth the portage.  Two more hours and we are home.  What will be awaiting us after the wettest season in years?

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