For some reason, time seems to mean nothing while we are down here. I’m the type of person who has lived by the clock. Lately, though, I’ve stopped wearing a watch. It’s probably because the time is always readily available on my phone.

Although I have also noticed lately that when I get my phone out of my pocket, I’m not looking to find out where we are in the day but to check some Spanish word that we’ve come across.

Here, I have very little idea of what time it is. If it starts to get dark it must be time for dinner (or not). When we walk into town we saunter rather than hike. Trips back are mostly interrupted by a beer on the beach, and it doesn’t matter what the time is or how long we stay. Because the beer is so cheap here we don’t even worry about happy hour. That, right there, is enough to throw off the body’s internal clock.


Lyn during happy hour.

The chicken bus must run on some type of timetable. The driver gets off at the big tree bus stop and punches a time clock every time he passes. If they do have a schedule we have no idea what it is. We walk to the nearest bus route sit on the curb and wait for the bus to come. There’s never more than a ten-minute wait.

 We go to bed when we get tired and get up when we awake. If it’s still dark we roll over and go back to sleep. It just doesn’t matter! We have had a few instances where we have to be somewhere, like the dentist and that brings on a feeling of annoyance because it disrupts our day. We had one day where we had to be up earlier to catch the bus to La Manzanilla. It upset my system so much I had to go home and let Rosalie go with our friends without me.

It’s hard to tell time by the way people work here as there is no rhyme or reason to it. They start when they feel like it and stop the same way. Some places close for the afternoon siesta and others don’t. 

Anyhow it’s time to knock off and watch a hockey game. Believe me, when the Leafs are playing I know what time the game starts. 

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