The Kingdom Of ISHQ
This week's adventures include a sojourn out to a pick-up point, a ride out to a fishing town from a man (with a uni-bomber look about him) to a kingdom called 'ishq' (love). Here the White Castle sits proudly on a hill watching the winds and the waves and the sunsets on the sea. Here the cushiony grass spreads thickly beside the sand as far as the eye can see. Here the sloths cling motionless to the palm tree. I spent my days digging holes in the sun-baked ground with a mallet and a spike to plant back the jungle for protection from the community. The bidding of a paranoid (possibly bipolar) overlord with a hint, a splash, and a long stout pour, of OCD. Here the overlord shared ginger/noni tea with me in the tea room in front of a lovely arrangement of jungle flowers by yours truly and below shepherd fairy-esque renditions of both Abraham Lincoln and Mandela. A revolution ensued instigated by a lovely and bold French worker. The dogs barked, the wind whispered, the piano sang, and the wifi goblins gobbled leaving nothing left for me. I escaped from the kingdom of ishq today in the heat of the mid day sun back to my favorite haunt in Panama where the beer is cold, I can leave the 'property', wash dishes and boil water the way I like to and revel once again in being free to be me.