Looking down to the coastline from plateau. This gives you a small explanation for why my run this morning stretched to nine miles.

I don’t know how much you’re going to be hearing from me from here on out. I’m sitting in a tiny island airport, waiting to go to an even tinier airport on another island for a week of mind-boggling I Don’t Know What. 

I am actually kinda hoping that I don’t have much use of the internet, because I’ve got my yoga mat and a book on national security packed into my suitcase. If I know my capacity for discipline, by the end of the week I’ll have perfected forearm balance and used the national security to prop my head up.

So my brain is kind of fried after today. I won’t bore you with the details, but instead, I’m just going to throw up some photos and entertain you with no unifying them to this blog entry.

A modest amount of internet research would probably tell me who this important person is. But I suck at names, so I’ll leave that kind of research to you.

In all fairness, I was actually given the history of this building today. But that was before I attended one long and mentally taxing meeting where I swear I understood Portuguese after the tongue lashing that took place. So all I can remember is “old” “500 years” “now a barracks”. You’re welcome.

This is the back of the car that belongs to the Cape Verdean officer who has been carting my lame ass around.  I know you are sick of my love-fest with home, but I’ve never even been to this museum on Cape Cod- nor did I know that it existed. Still, so cool. I don’t see Cape Cod stuff in Dakar.

As usual I save my best photo for last. Look: someone threw out a perfectly good tank with the trash. Like 100 years ago.

Okay, I’ve got to board my flight. On to São Vicente. And while my Portuguese still sucks, my taxi driver today did manage to communicate to me that he had family in Brockton, and he wanted to know if I was married. I guess some people are the same everywhere.