We might observe a game of
soccer on the beach.
Or sit on the malecon with thousands of others, watching the waves thunder in.
I speak Spanish all day.
The lifeguarding here is unpredictable. We rarely see anyone on duty, and the lifeguard below was only "on guard" for a few minutes. This is the Olas Atlas beach, just down the hill from our house. You can't really swim here -- except, perhaps at Playa Norte, where every morning members of a swim club get their exercise -- because the waves are brutes.
The house we're renting is on the obscenely popular route to the lighthouse. As Greg's health's greatly improved, we climbed the hill to the lighthouse yesterday, enjoying sweeping views ...
Iguanas here are as plentiful as gophers (or crows) in Saskatchewan.
(This little jigger is my favourite.)
It took us about 30 minutes to walk to the the lighthouse. (note the slick skin)
We gallivant in sopping clothes all day long; it's inevitable.
The house from the front. I am curiously dry in this photo ... wait another minute and I'd be dripping.
Every few days I've been focussing on taking different kinds of photos. I was on a close-up kick at the beach yesterday.
The indigenous children are beautiful.
I've tried to blow this up sufficiently to determine if, in fact, this is a "tagged" lizard. I'm guessing he\she is. What a job that would be ... tagging and tracking small lizards.
These shoes were made for walking ... Greg testdrives a pair of huraches, but decides not to buy them.