The Club Med of all hostels prompted a flight of fancy, the building of sandcastles in the air, a collective effort of a few britts and i. We’d call them McHostel and make a bundle. Including the best aspects of all the hostels we’d been to, but all made of recycled plastic -- A franchise of safe and predictable accommodations spanning the globe.
I’ve gotten quite comfortable in this tourist never-never-land; the constant flow of distractingly beautiful young women has made me aware that I started my travels about eight years later than most. Women my age are a rarity and I can with some relief report that I prefer their company.
Though I prefer traveling by myself, i find myself even more distracted by the ladies than by the conjunctivitis that has marred the first week of travels with an itchy bloodshot eyeball. We'll see which hurts worse. I better get started on a comissioned picture of the Manana Café now. (where is the curvy line over the N?)