Martin and I had decided to wear comfortable Tevas on the plane home, rather than our heavy hiking boots, which were now expertly stowed in our very-full travel bag. Feeling perky in my Tevas and socks, I step out of the hotel room, ready to head to the airport.
Martin and Dakota eye my footwear. “Er,” they both murmur doubtfully. “Are you, er, planning on going out like that?”
I was starving. I’d had entirely too little food these past few days.
Bound for Liberia, we had left our ecolodge near the Nicaraguan border, and had retraced our way down 40-km of bone-chipping dirt road into Pital, back past the small town of El Castillo, and into Nuevo Arenal. It was here that we stumbled, ravenous, into Moya’s Place, an inviting open-air restaurant. The wall facing the street isn’t even a wall, it’s just… a wide opening. The interior walls sported brightly colored murals depicting Mayan and Aztec scenes.
A friendly waiter hovered helpfully over us as we ordered our food. I requested a papaya drink.
“With milk?” the waiter asked encouragingly.
“Sure!” I answered.
The waiter beamed and made a little note on his tablet. He turned happily to Martin, who ordered a mango drink.
“With milk?” the waiter asked uncertainly.
“Sure!” Martin answered.
“Hmmmm…..” the waiter said doubtfully, pencil hesitating over the tablet.