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that night the lumberjack came by the cafe with his wife. No K this time.
I told the story of the beggar, and asked Nikola if she knew him. I showed her his picture. O yes. he's quite well known. Local legend is that he begged his way into Oracabessa from Kingston. Nikola said she one day passed him on the road going to Ochi, presumably to practice his "profession" there. you gotta admire that kind of commitment.
chatted with the lumberjack's wife. she's retired and working a second career as a fundraiser for her local municipality. She's also a big-game hunter, meaning moose and caribou. i was impressed, to say the least (my secret desire is to hunt wild turkey). her first husband taught her to shoot and bought her a gun.so turns out the lumberjack is a newlywed - they've been married just over a year.
the wife ordered me a beer, my third one for the evening. o lord.
i get drunk quick at the best of times, and the second beer was already working on me.
i was lightheaded, and had a hard time speaking and focussing. plus, i had skipped dinner after all the starch from the Susie's meal (plus i couldnt face another disappointing meal).
nevertheless, i got it into my head that some German sausage would take the edge off my inebriation, and ordered bratwurst from Nikola. She responded with a wary look. "You know bratwurst?" yes, i said, picturing some fat sausage full of lovely grease and gristle. She went to prepare it, and brought me back three winji dark sausages.
they were so terrible.
apart from the fish dinner my second night, every meal i've had in Oracabessa had let me down. would i never be satisfied?
maybe my standards were too high 
i made my way very carefully up the stairs to bed. i passed the Canadian couple on their own on the upper floor, desultorily eating some rice and peas and brown meat dinner. i was too drunk to stop and make conversation.
I told the story of the beggar, and asked Nikola if she knew him. I showed her his picture. O yes. he's quite well known. Local legend is that he begged his way into Oracabessa from Kingston. Nikola said she one day passed him on the road going to Ochi, presumably to practice his "profession" there. you gotta admire that kind of commitment.
chatted with the lumberjack's wife. she's retired and working a second career as a fundraiser for her local municipality. She's also a big-game hunter, meaning moose and caribou. i was impressed, to say the least (my secret desire is to hunt wild turkey). her first husband taught her to shoot and bought her a gun.so turns out the lumberjack is a newlywed - they've been married just over a year.
the wife ordered me a beer, my third one for the evening. o lord.
i get drunk quick at the best of times, and the second beer was already working on me. i was lightheaded, and had a hard time speaking and focussing. plus, i had skipped dinner after all the starch from the Susie's meal (plus i couldnt face another disappointing meal).
nevertheless, i got it into my head that some German sausage would take the edge off my inebriation, and ordered bratwurst from Nikola. She responded with a wary look. "You know bratwurst?" yes, i said, picturing some fat sausage full of lovely grease and gristle. She went to prepare it, and brought me back three winji dark sausages.
they were so terrible. apart from the fish dinner my second night, every meal i've had in Oracabessa had let me down. would i never be satisfied?
maybe my standards were too high i made my way very carefully up the stairs to bed. i passed the Canadian couple on their own on the upper floor, desultorily eating some rice and peas and brown meat dinner. i was too drunk to stop and make conversation.
thanks Ms Exced. 
fresh and not at all salty. the broth was so good. i marvelled out loud, and another lady who was sitting there decided to ask for a cup. so did a dread who came by later. 
Mel the turtleman was not exaggerating after all. lion fish was indeed a local delicacy. "Lion fish for a lion" said the dread when i asked him about it. i wanted to see what it looked like, and the cook, a Rastaman, kindly invited me into his kitchen. unfortunately he had no fresh ones left, but showed me the one that was in the process of cooking.
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