Go Moto

I've been flying around this city for the last couple of days on the back of mopeds. Or on the front of mopeds which can tend to be a bit more disastrous. Lisa plopped a helmet on my head the day before last that was about 5 sizes too big with no strap, and every time I hit a speed bump (and those things kept coming out of nowhere!), the thing would bounce around precariously, often leaving me with only one eye out of which to see. Eventually we hit a street more bumpy than the others, and it flew right off, clattering loudly on the cobblestones behind me while several curious locals looked on and tried to hide their smiles. Yes, I realize I'm a lunatic gringa who has no idea what she's doing cruising these back streets on a moped. All I do know is that when I went back to pick up my helmet, it had completely disappeared, everyone pretending as if they had no idea why I was circling their houses. Lisa and Justin returned with similar results. Conspiracy...

Life is lived in technicolor here. The houses are the deepest shades of every rainbow: bright oceanic blues, golden sunset yellows, light coffee with cream browns, fruit peel oranges, and lime greens. Even the table cloths at the beach restaurants are in stark brilliant contrast to the khaki sand beneath them. Walking through older parts of town, I sometimes feel like I'm in someone's framed photograph that's hanging on a wall back in a tame apartment. For now, though, I'm here, breathing salty ocean, squishing sand between my toes, and speeding off into the sunset on a blue and white moped. Only now I've got a helmet that fits.