So as many of you know (or I suppose, as none of you know, because I’ve been neglecting this poor, poor blog, like some unwanted child that failed to live up to a parent’s expectation), Becky and I were invited to attend a faraway birthday party for some idiot with whom I used to live (sorry Nick, you may be Prince Nicholai in Romania, but you’re still the idiot with whom I used to live to me). It was a very fancy event at the Royal Palace (or a royal palace, I don’t know, there were a lot of palaces involved), and it was preceded by a delightful tour of some of the sights that Romania had to offer (including the inside of a bus, the views outside the bus from inside a bus, and the view of the outside of a bus from outside a bus).
Okay, let’s break this down a little. It’s mostly a blur of endlessly discussing which body of water, be it pool, beach, other pool, or other beach, to lie beside; but I shall try to jot down a loose itinerary of my two weeks in St Lucia. One thing that you can take as a given on each and every day is that several Rastafarians would demand that we fist bump them (and then offer us drugs), and several over-enthusiastic bartenders would satiate us with an inexhaustible supply of rum punches that were slightly stronger than pure gasoline. The endless photos will be around soon (mostly of topless people who probably shouldn’t be topless), but until then, here’s the gist of what we got up to.
So I’m chillin’ on the beach, striding through the calm water, and all of a sudden, this giant, friendly wave was all like, ‘Hey, bro! Let’s hang out!’, and I was like, ‘Sure, man. What’s up?’, and he was all like, ‘Have you met my buddies, these sharp, jagged rocks?’, and then he smashed my […]