Mistress is a 1974 27' Catalina sailing vessel. The ship's name will be changing along with its paint, exterior trim, interior upholstery, electrical system, some interior trim and some of its rigging - all repairs and upgrades which I'll be undertaking in the next few weeks. Mike, my brother-in-law, has accepted the challenging and exciting task of teaching me how to sail and helping me make the passage to Honduras in November. Getting back to the USA, or anywhere else for that matter, will be up to me.

After about ten months in Costa Rica, I'm moving on. While I was able to get a few decent photos in the past couple weeks, (mostly during my parent's vacation), the visibility has been continually dropping and I'm finding myself ready for new terrain. I've had an introductory taste of free-diving, a sample of Spanish, and a little brush with Latin culture. All in all, I'm ready for more.

Do you remember the time we walked across that bridge in the rain looking for a grocery store?

All that water was coming down like teal corroded pennies, clanking down in the night with that heavy sound onto the dim cobblestones.

I wonder sometimes what would've happened if I'd decided to just live there.

I could spend my time smoking cigarettes in that humid, rain saturated air and huddling under 7-11 awnings so that only my shoes get wet.

That's what those boys were doing. Do you remember them?

San Juan del Sur is a brightly colored, unpretentious little beach town. Its lazy, humid warmth permeates the streets depositing plenty of sedate young men and women along its friendly, shop filled roads. Buses, uniformed school children, bicycles, and a wide variety of man-powered, wheeled vehicles hacked together from various bike parts criss-cross the streets that radiate away from the Catholic Church in the town center. The occasional old-timer snoozes the day away happily on the cement and wooden benches adorning the edges of the crowded streets.

There's something tangibly reassuring about these plastic chairs, this purple tablecloth, this bright green cement floor, and this dimly lit room with its open side facing the quiet street behind me. The girl that's minding the grill squats comfortably against the wall, joining the matron of the little eatery in staring idly at the television where busty Latin women in red dresses compete at dance. The TV flickers multicolored light harmlessly across the floor from its perch on a wooden crate in the corner.

I met one of my characters yesterday, which was a little disconcerting. I was all nerves and he was fairly oblivious. Of course, as it turns out, he's not much of a wife beater. I guess I've got a lot to learn about character development.

I met an officer of the Navy in an airport bar somewhere in Arizona some two years back. I was reading Across the River and Into the Trees, and it was lying askew on my beat up satchel of a carry-on. As I recall, he started the conversation after a waitress handed him a hamburger. He said "Hemingway," nodded at my book with a smile, and went on to recommend A Moveable Feast.

"It's Hemingway's greatest work," he said, blinking his clear blue eyes.

I lit up.