Playa

Hotel Ometepetl has an appealing exterior. Unfortunately its rooms are far less attractive. The woman who presumably owns the hotel wears a muumuu. Later we learn that she is an island mogul and owns another hotel in Playa Santo Domingo. I wonder about the set of pressures and incentives that leads to this lack of investment into the quality of the rooms.



It looks fake, particularly because it is standing on what appears to be a manmade platform. But it later flew away.



In the sand were some apparently aquatic plants that looked much like Venus flytraps.



Concepcion in the foreground, wearing some clouds. Biggest lake volcano in the world, son. Madera in the back. This is on the way to the island but for narrative flow let's say that we are leaving. Errol Morris, might you classify this as a manipulation?



We are driving out toward the Interamericana again. We are headed to the border. I have conveniently forgotten to mention the time when I almost pass out on my bicycle at eleven in the morning on a sun-baked hill.