Breakfast. Pork tacos hastily palmed together by a sweaty man in a parking lot. I try not to think about it. They taste good.
We drive south in Troys van. It has A/C and chews through the miles as we head south.
We stop halfway. Not for a rest. Troy wants to show us the “gravity hill” he parks on a slope and puts the van in neutral. Nothing happens at first then. Ever so slowly we begin to lurch backwards up the hill in defiance of gravity and reason. He shows us this three times. Letting us roll back to the top of the hill. Odd.
The guesthouse “Manatees” set back from the road. It’s a large wooden structure encircled with decks. We pay for ten days and go shopping.
The shore to the East of the peninsula is slopping sands down to the waters edge. The sand is course and the water although tempting is blanketed with a thick layer of seaweed. It gives of a putrid rotting smell.
Heading south till the land runs out we find a much nicer spot to swim.
The water is a deep blue and filled with the white noise of swimmers. In one spot you can sit and small fish pick at the dead skin on your feet. I float lazily in the shallows while they dissolve me and imagine myself a whale.
A jelly stings my thigh and we walk back to the guest house. Where I wait for the sun to sit low enough on the horizon that I can run comfortably.