  TWO PLEASANT WEEKS OF REST AND RELAXATION Well, it’s been over two weeks since my procedure and I am still here on Isla Margarita. I guess there are places to be stuck with worse names than Isla Margarita , however, in all reality, in the three weeks, to the day, that I have been here, I have yet to see the sea and certainly haven’t been sipping on any Margaritas. Both the surgery and recuperation went ok - actually better than ok, as these past two weeks have almost been a blessing in disguise.
With a cast and plenty of painkillers, my duties to attending this wound were minimal. I basically just had to sit still, in my bed and let time pass. Fortunately, I had a good stock of books, a TV/DVD (even if barely viewable) and what ended up being a house full of nurses, cooks, cleaning ladies, friends, mothers, sisters, you name it. It is amazing how things turn out. For the two days following my surgery, I was more preoccupied with escaping the torturous chamber where I currently resided than I was with the procedure itself.
I thought that staying in that place would drive me crazy. AS it turns out, I have everything that I need. Plenty of light and air, entertainment, food and most of all, a group dedicated to helping me. You can not imagine how I have been taken in, a complete stranger, as one of a family of families. The people I live with are from all over South America, mostly Venezuela and Columbia, but almost form a collective family unit that immediately adopted me. I actually reckoned that it might work out well before hand. I figured at least I could ask someone to pick me up some necessities from the store. What I was blessed with was a group of woman who are caring for me like my own personal nurses. Cooking my food, washing my clothes, carrying my stuff into my room, changing my sheets, making me coffee, doing my shopping - it is unbelievable.
The one girl gave me her TV and fan, another guy works at a video place and brings me new DVds every day. I am hesitant to say this, but I don’t know if I could have received this level of care and attention at home. People are always around, the women at least who don’t work, and on top of all of these services, I have been the fortunate recipient of some great, warm, friendly companionship.
These women have become like a little family for me. So, I’ve basically just been relaxing in my room, entertaining myself with books and flicks and lingering in my own personal thoughts. My new family has not allowed me to do anything, which was great at first, but little by little, as I recover, I’ve had to claim back some of my responsibilities. The first few days I couldn’t walk. I could hop from my bedroom to the kitchen and I earned myself the nickname canguro (kangaroo in Spanish). Worst of all was that I couldn’t bath for the first few days, but seeing as I was essentially immobile, there was little urgency to it.
Thus, I just sat, and waited for my first chance to bathe, my first opportunity to use the internet, the first time I could walk using two feet, even for a short distance, and of course the point at which I could commence exercise, no matter how minimal. All of these gradually came after a few days and I was beginning to cook a little for myself, was able to hop the 1 block to the internet café, where I have come everyday since for an average of 4 hours per day.
It has been a pretty typical recovery a very atypical situation. Again, it is amazing how days can go by so quickly. People don’t understand what I do with my time when I am traveling and I certainly had no idea how to pass the endless hours upon recovery, but somehow, they pass, through reading, journal writing or just thinking, it has become a pleasant period of rest and relaxation and I have actually felt great. I have actually enjoyed this time, making the most mundane tasks, such as making coffee, into and event. Best of all it has given me nothing to do but think and reflect and I can not remember ever feeling so good and clear headed. My spirits have been amazingly high despite my unfortunate situation and I’m not so sure I even want it to end.
I have also had the opportunity to catch up on this travel journal, publish my photos online, and contact most of my friends and family. Quite a blessing in disguise I conclude. There have been some memorable aspects to all of this. I won’t forget the hours spent making cups of coffee, sometimes drinking coffee simply to entertain myself through the process of making it.
Cold showers are bearable, but not desirable, showers in a plastic chair with one foot bagged and elevated outside the shower on another plastic chair suck, showers with 2, 3-gallon buckets of water and a small cup because there is no running water 80% of the time is horrendous. Combine these three elements and you are invited into the nightmare that I go through everyday for over an hour. Eating, surprisingly, has been some of the best I’ve had in my travels yet. What do all islands have in common? They are surrounded by water. What does all water have in common? Fish live in it. What do all third world countries have in common?
Poor people looking to make a living using whatever means they can. Thus, I find myself in a magical world of the cheapest seafood buffets imaginable. I am talking about buying freshly caught, shelled, cooked & cleaned oysters, clams, mussels, calamari, octopus, conch…you name it…for the grand price of $0.40/lb.
No, there’s not a decimal place error, 40 cents buys me a pound of fresh shellfish meat, about the size of a sandwich bag packed full of giant mussels, or little neck clams and a selection of types I have never seen. Thus, each day is a seafood buffet for me. That and the almost-free produce feed me pretty well and are a nice complement to my coffee. Sunday’s are always a big day, when I buy a few nights worth and prepare some kind of stew, rather than just eating them cold with lime and onion, like the locals. My appearance has become quite an interesting sight as a result of this as well. Having been so active before my incident with the knife, I had already shed about 5 lbs and left my body with absolutely no fat reserves from which to draw. I must have dipped below 4% body fat in my most active weeks and things have not improved since I got here.
My sloth-like immobility, along with the heat and inability to prepare much, left my appetite minimal. I thus have not been eating too much and certainly not exercising, so my body has kind of withered away, leaving me a description that can barely be defined as lean and athletic any longer, but is bordering flat out skinny.
I can feel that my body has started to attack my muscles as its energy reserve, but fortunately, while my size has dwindled, my muscular tone maintains and a few weeks back on the program should build me back up pretty well. Adding to this new look, I decided to grow a mustache. Not because I find it complementing, but in following the same sentiment with which I have decided not cut my hair for a year now: What the hell . I’ve got no one to impress and since I’ve already read my 5 books and the 2 others that I claimed in a subsequent raid on the same hotel, I am quite lacking in entertainment. This moustache provides me a little comical relief each time I hobble my way in front of the mirror. Thus, I am an image of the typical, grungy backpacker at the moment. Long, stringy, sun-bleached blond hair that constantly needs to be held in a headband, a pathetic little dirt-stache above my lip and my lean, skinny frame, looking like a shell of someone who used to once work-out, but is now allowing himself to wither away. Not to worry though, I reckon a few weeks of some good exercise, a clean shave and some long-awaited sun and I’ll be back to new, for better or worse. And that’s basically my recovery thus far. I’m still in the cast, hobbling down the street everyday to use the internet and visit my local friends at their market stands and seafood stalls. I’ve become quite a prominent figure on the two little blocks I frequent in this corner of the city.
I’m obviously recognizable as the only limp gringo in town and am greeted by each store front and street stand with a nice wave or a questions as to how my foots coming along. ‘ Poco a Poco ’ I respond, meaning little by little . I keep looking for ways to thank the girls that I live with for being so great: flowers, pearls that I find inside my oyster, and recently I bought them a universal remote so that they didn’t have to change their 8 inch communal TV with a stick any longer.
I couldn’t have felt less fortunate when I first got injured. Then I felt angered and sorry for myself when I found out I needed surgery. Surprisingly, though, these have been a pretty incredible couple of weeks, I’ve created some humorous and interesting memories, made new friends and family, Caught up with my readings and writings, read 7 novels, and even developed a new, hippy, grungy look that I will be happy to rid of once the game is over. The best part though, was an opportunity to take some time to think and reflect and remember, because hell, there really isn’t much else to do when your shacked up for three weeks in a poor little room on a Caribbean Island. 
