Vamos al RostiPollos!!

I went to the RostiPollos Thursday night. A roasted chicken place for those of you not tipped off by the clever name. We were taken there right after we left what we could only describe as a bit of a Chinese Fire Drill at the airport. (You go there. No you go there. I don't want to ride with her, she's mean!) After a long journey and a bit too much snacking I was not hungry. But welcome to Costa Rica, if you ain't hungry, you better get hungry fast.

Nobody told me to run a mile before I got here, dangit! Food! FOOD! FOOD! We all crammed (about 10 of us) into a small booth and ordered several things. Boiled and fried plantain chips, chicken stripes, roasted chicken, black bean dip, fried cheese, tortillas ... it was a feeding frenzy that left me frightened. But they lured me out of my emotional coma with a diet coke, something I needed since I was sweating my hiney off at the humidity.

It was humid. I felt like I was sliding off of most surfaces. I've never been so intimate with my own clothes.

I should have known. As our plane was landing, lighting was flashing around the aircraft.

What an introduction for Bill. My poor husband, he looked like he fell in a swimming pool. And hauling around our youngster Lucky just made things worse.

So we're in RositPollos and I'm am mustering every Spanish phrase that indicates I'm not hungry. And it's not working.

So Bill and I ate again.

I hope this doesn't sound outlandish, but in case Norris and I explode, we loved you all.