On the Eve of?

There are signs of Christmas, even in the ragandtag tumbled down Central America. Crowded with ramshackled buildings, belching smoke, a glorious consuming jungle. There are jingle bells and fireworks and girls wearing wedding dresses. There are poinsettias growing wild and spindly red. There are through each open door a dim and shadowy cool courtyard, a glowing Christmas Tree, usually fake. There are the lights hanging on various bars in all the various byways, through mountains and on the beach towns. There are the giant snowglobes and the monolithic inflated Santa at our current hotel and all the silver clustered bangled ornamentations. But mostly it is some other kind of holiday, away from the routine, letting myself be recorded upon only to find out what plays later. . . is that the gift...

Today there was 2 chicken buses and bags hoisted up and down. Noisy tourists and a loud speaking foreigner right next to my ear right now. The others have gone on a boat tour and fishing expedition and I'm not pushing my luck. And I've got to blog don't I. As all the journel entries I've tried to write lay untouched in the land of night fatigue, telemundo and hbo. So I've bought some souvenirs and a bottle of Flor de Cana and am going to wander maybe 2 blocks around the town. Tomorrow is the nice beach and hammock land... and our secret santa exchange.