Kootenayman: Every saint has a past and every sinner a future...

Forgive me, faithful readers, for lagging behind. My friends who know me, the good Saint Kevin, will testify to the fact that I rarely partake of life’s vices. I am just that angelic and until this weekend (with Saturday off to recuperate), I was working on perfect karma for my next life. But now, any illusions of a better life in the next is shattered. For this, I blame my two amigos (an English Brazilian named Peter and a fun loving kiwi named Chris) for demolishing my good name in this town… I am starting all over again. That confession complete, and with an aching head, I do admit we went out to a resort called the Muiraquita on Friday night where the beer and the spirits flowed easily. I hereby deny anything that happened after that. There was a musician singing Portuguese love songs to the accompaniment of his acoustic guitar and we had the benefit of a wood fired oven from which delicious piping hot pizzas came to our table via a delightful waitress named Lara. Pizzas in this region are baked on a thin crust without tomato sauce and ingredients include the standard onions, mushrooms, cubed ham or bacon, as well as mystery meat, kernels of corn, dried tomatoes and either basil or oregano leaves all held together with generous gobs of melted mozzarella. When the draft beer ran out, we turned to bottled and when that started getting old, Peter (who is a good friend with the owners) started mixing us “caipirinhas” made with distilled sugar cane alcohol, lime and cinnamon. Very tasty but apparently potent, because everything is foggy after that. I have vague flashbacks but some memories are best left hazy. The important thing is that I left my bicycle padlocked to a tree and got home safely. One is best advised not to pedal drunk through a town with no stop signs and no drunk driving laws in the late hours of the night. I have no explanation for the donkey named Rosey still tied outside my hotel…

Here are some pics of the resort we went to: