This Christmas & New Year, the wife and I were supposed to be going on a dream honeymoon to Sri Lanka and the Maldives. Were supposed. Yes that’s it. It’s not happening – at least we are not going there. I cannot really complain because we are actually off to tour the West Coast (and I plan to drive A1A Beachfront Avenue with Vanilla Ice on the stereo – how’s that for the apex of corny retro) and then drive through the desert to Vegas before hitting the beaches in Antigua. That’s what I call a cool backup plan.
If my alter ego, Gakbu Sfigho, were still active he would have chronicled how we went through a hundred different jabs (ok 2 – but one of them left me doing my own version of the Runs for a weeekend) as well as how we incurred hundreds of euros in medical expenses BEFORE we even got on the plane. Incidentally if anyone needs around 200€ worth of malaria pills (Malarone) I’m your man. I am also in possession of a one month tourist VISA to Sri Lanka that was obtained with the extra expense of DHL transmission of documents and a serendipital donation to the Maltese Association in Brussels (Fausto will correct the nomenclature).
So yes. This is a little explanation to J’accuse readers that should tell you why you will not be reading missives from the land of tea plantations and spicy food. Instead I might write you a letter from Alcatraz. One things fo shoo…. we ain’t going to Sri Lanka.
