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Paradise Lost: Time To Move On
Michaela’s coming together with the floating log necessitates hiring a golf buggy to explore the island rather than going everywhere on foot, primarily because her oh-so-slow walk gives her a gait which brings both John Cleese and Jake The Peg to mind at the same time. She climbs steps as a toddler would, carefully assessing next move before lifting the first leg and then placing both feet on each step. Golf buggies are slightly odd too: at first the combination of a top heavy centre of gravity and uneven road surfaces with an ever changing camber makes us feel as if the thing will topple at any moment and we’re…
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Drug Barons, Michaela’s Knee And An Island Named Accountant: Days In Paradise
We have to admit that we’ve been a bit self-indulgent for the next seven days – well, it is Christmas after all. From now until 28th we’re on the ridiculously picturesque island of Contadora, out in the Pacific about 90 minutes on the little ferry boat from Panama City – a ferry boat which, with echoes of how Greek ferries used to be, crams as much goods and produce into its limited space as it does passengers. An early departure time means we’re down at Flamenco Marina before daylight and disembarked and checked in to our room-with-an-incredible-view on the island shortly after 10am. Before coming here we’d read that the…
