I’ve been up for an hour, sippimg tea with honey to ease the persistent cough brought on by a slight cold and allergies.
I’ve dressed. I’ve put on and taken off my shoes three times.
The bags are packed and sitting by the door. The computer is charged. The camera is as well.
Snacks have been prepared. The water bottle is full.
All our accounts have been settled.
I’m ready to go.
My husband, ever the wise one, is still asleep, building up his energy for the trek ahead. I, like a child on Christmas morning, am pacing, peering out the door, checking the sky, my watch, the bus schedule.
It’s time to take off on our adventure. Walking, taking the bus, hitching rides on boats. It’s time. At least in my mind it is.
Another cup of tea, a little extra honey this time. A truck downshifts. The rooster is getting impatient for the sky to lighten, turn orange, then blue.
The breeze sneaks through the open kitchen window, rustles some papers on the orange tile, then rushes past the screen onto the porch. It, too, is impatient.
I’ll lace up my shoes again. When the sun comes up, I’ll go to the Supermercado in case we forgot some essential item.
A little Gallo Pinto for breakfast will take some time.
In a few hours we’ll be off and I’ll doze on the bus. Not the first bus into the city center. Or the second into the main hub in the capitol city. But, I’ll sleep on the third bus, the one taking us north and west.
We’ll stay there, at a $10 a night hostel, with kids half our age who are trying to find their path in life by doing what we’re doing. Walking, riding buses, hitching rides.
I’m ready to go.
I’ll unlace my shoes and have another cup of tea.