December 28th, 2009: Today was perhaps the 2nd best beach I have been to since traveling. The beaches name was…Concha Something. My friend and I had to take a motorcycle…totaling three adults, two large backpacks and one helmet that was of course for the driver. Originally, I intended to take the safe confines of the back of a jeep but everyone kept getting motorcycle taxis since they didn’t have the patience to wait for the jeep to fill up. Not having time to call shotgun on the motorcycle, I had to mount the back seat having no extra space for my already tiny behind as it was almost hanging off, awaiting “that” bump to so unkindly eject me off as we traveled down the pot holed dirt road.
Having access to a $10 tent I was able to sleep in the comforts of the shade without the bugs – minus the bee that stung me in the chest after I messaged him into my skin as I applied sun screen without looking…ouch – as it swelled up destroying my 8 pack of imaginary abs.
The views in the ocean was not as spectacular at the views from outside the water. Shortly after drying my white pasty skin and bathing suit as an iguana would in the sun, I realized that I needed to go to the toilet. Thankfully it was just frontal fluids that needed to be released – but question is…where? With no known toilet I had to make a decision…should I go back into the water and get wet as I released my toxins or lift a leg and go on the nearest tree. Sitting there on the most beautiful beach I have yet to see in Colombia, I had to think about what difference would it make if I just stood on the sandy shore of the ocean and went directly into the water rather than entering the water to do it. Not wanting to get wet, to just have to dry off again, I decided to…get into the water and do it along side of the 100 others.
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