Okay, so I'm back. Guanaja. Home. My little visit to Pensacola was a whirlwind of errands and unfinished business. Too short, not enough time to spend with friends. Got to drive a car again! It's been seven months. Not that you forget how, but it was just a little strange. Cooked up a storm! Fried up some plantains, but they didn't come out like Daniel's - too ripe, oil too hot. My promise of, "You'll never eat a french-fry again!" didn't exactly come true. That's the nice thing about living down here where the stuff is grown - it doesn't spend days or a week in transit between the farm and the store.
It's funny how acclimated you get to a place. I grew up in New York City, and we considered it quite normal. Then I moved to northwest Florida, and grew to like it immensely; didn't think I ever wanted to live anywhere else. Now I live on a tropical island and I never want to leave.