THE other day, we went off on an adventure organized by our new friend Leslie from Texas Two Step with a bunch of crazy Anglophones from South Africa, UK, Australia, Canada and the U.S. I, of course, had no idea what anyone was saying, but as the beer started at 10 AM, that was no problem.
After stopping at every bank and propane supplier on the island, we finally made it to Concord Falls, where the half-hour walk took two and a half hours, despite the killer skillz of our guide Elvis. A live one, not the King. He guided us across six treacherous river crossings and showed us all sorts of local plants, including breaking open a cocoa pod so we could suck out the sweet yet tangy white flesh that surrounds the cocoa beans. It tasted like a mild sweet-tart coated in cocoa butter. I liked it. Leslie did NOT.
After our ordeal in the bush, we retreated, muddy but happy, to a beach bar for fresh coconut water. Nom. Life ain’t bad.
In other news, Puku has decided that it’s a good idea to sit way out on the front of the bowsprit then walk back along the toe rail, balancing 5 feet above the water on a 3-inch wide teak rail, outside the lifelines. Stoopid cat. He’s going to fall in one of the days; I think he’s forgotten how miserable he was last time.