In the first 4 days after I got to Cosolea, it seemed to me that all I did was follow my local guides like a little dog in awe of everything I saw, and eat. A lot. All the time. As you can probably guess, I was absolutely fine with all of this. We were taken to the beach, where I rode along the sand on horseback, ate fresh coconut with lime and chilli, beautifully grilled fish, and had a dip in the delectably warm sea. All in a day’s work. I developed a hard-to-shake reputation for falling asleep as soon as I got in a moving vehicle, despite developing what I thought was the genius tactic of wearing sunglasses in the car – apparently the slack jaw and open mouth betrayed me every time. Quite some time was dedicated to applying a few lick sof paint and TLC to Guy’s lodgings, as they were in dire need of some attention before he could move in. But, as the ‘princesa’ or ‘muñeca’, I was relegated to supervising duty. I made myself useful by bringing sustenance to the hombres.
This brings me smoothly onto an important topic: machismo
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