Life Just Is... 13

Vacations never seem to do much for me, and this one was just kind of there. I mean, sure the beach was nice and white, and the sun was nice and warm, and the water was nice and yellow, but the inhabitants just weren't... you know... nice...

Ok, maybe I'm being judgmental or something, but I showed up and couldn't even get a taxi to my bungalow. So here I was in a strange land having to ride a bus full of strange men, women and trees who wouldn't even speak English to me (although I did finally find a young tree willing to talk with me) (well, he actually just sort of sat there while I complained).

And I find myself standing on a white beach, staring at my little bungalow. My little home for the next couple of weeks and I sigh. Even with all this nice tropical life, I still miss my little townhome. And I'd trade this white sand for green concrete almost any day.

I walked down to the shoreline and set up my beach chair. Off to the side, a couple of trees are lounging, watching the sea and drinking some exotic drink. They didn't look local, and I concluded they must be here on vacation too.

After a relaxing afternoon of sun and the occasional splash in the water, I went to forage for some dinner.

Now I don't use the term forage lightly. It seems that this resort doesn't actually employ anyone (I hadn't seen anyone but a few trees and some off people in gray suits and clashing pink ties). So I had to rummage through the kitchen unhindered. They must have some help, since the kitchen was well stocked, but their whereabouts compleately eluded me. Perhaps they were on a long smoke break.

This went on for a couple of incredibly relaxing days. Maybe my luggage will make it back tomorrow.