Tulips, yauchting and ribs

It's been a bit of a whirl since getting back and tonight I'm enjoying a rare Sunday evening with no plane to catch. The fire is roaring (yes, well just ignore the fact that it's midsummer..) and we're feeling content after an active weekend in Scotland. Outside, the ducks and hens have finally made friends and in the evenings it's so light that you practically need to wear eye patches in bed. When it's like this, I can barely imagine how dark it is in the winter here. We walk Hinba at half eleven at night, and you can see for miles, the dusk light gleaming off the river, brightening up the woods.

My second weekend home was spent in Amsterdam catching up with Maryncha. (Sadly I missed a fantastic marketing opportunity as the plane was full of dutch neuroscientists / pharmaceutical bods following a convention in Glasgow, and I couldn't 'network the aisles' as I had no business cards on me). Anyhow, when I got there, the lack of roaming on my phone caused me an interesting hour when I first got there, unable to contact Maryn (going back to my favorite subject of planners and spanners, I normally wing it as a spanner, and so didn't even have Maryn's address on me). It all worked out though, thanks to an eager hot dog seller who lent me 1€ to use the public phone.

"When you can't call your friend [raised eyebrows and a wink], come back to me"

"My friend is a girl..." [i.e stop being a loser and leave me alone]

"Ach! Even bedder"

Maryn found me muttering obescenities hiding behind a ticket machine, as the phone had swallowed my money and given no dial tone. But after that, everything went swimmingly. Amsterdam was looking stunning and I always feel so cheerful there; the sun is always warm, all the girls wear dresses cycling about on cobbled streets and we went to the flower market and filled the flat with blooming tulips. We even went for a run around the city and then practised Maryn's new Californian yoga DVD. Not convinced it is going to help fight the flab movement. Most of it involves lying on your back and breathing deeply trying to rein in feelings of 'calm'.

The following weekend, Hugo and I flew down to the Solent and met up with Kate, Phil, Gav, Alys and Ed. Here, a hilarious weekend of great sailing (top speed was over 7 knots, the yacht heeling right over), far too much wine and a night spent trying to steal superman's white sunglasses (which we did) and a fishermans hat (which we also did), before racing away with half a crate of wine and loading it and everyone else onto the dinghy, trying to row quietly (but blatently with a lot of very loud and annoying 'SSSSSHHHHH ing') behind the boat to pretend to the now slightly pissed off superman who had followed us from the pub and was standing on the marina wall, that we weren't actually rowing to the nearest yacht at all, but to one miles behind. It was a good idea, but failed when we realised we couldn't get back onto the boat from the side, and had to sheepishly row to the highly visible stern in anycase, in order to climb back on. We woke with headaches all round the following day, superman's sunglasses a reminder of our past night's crimes, and after hauling in the anchor and motoring off pretty early on, we all stripped down to swimwear and dived in to a very very brisk burningly cold sea - definitely the world's best hangover cure.

Photo on right, is of the Sat Night at Salty's...Gav and Hugo (Gav sporting aforementioned Superman's sunglasses and Hugo wearing new hat).

I then turned 29, a very low key affair as it should be, and suddenly flat hunting is on the agenda. If I were to write a list of things to achieve before my 30th birthday, owning a flat would definitely be on it. So, with gritted teeth last week I found myself in a reasonably nice part of Glasgow waiting to see a flat. I should have realised from the price that it would be absolutely disgusting, but ever the optimist, I thought perhaps it would be quite fun, and a better investment if I could spend some money doing a flat up. I think I spent all of 45 seconds in this fourth floor tennement flat standing over a railway line. Looking a complete mug in a floaty skirt and hair in a plait, I thanked the pin-striped slick-haired agent for showing me in (I can't even say 'showing me around' as the place was so small all you needed to do was stand in the centre and turn your head first to the left, and then to the right). He smirked and asked if I didn't like it then. Unable to say the truth, that it was a waste of time and an absolutely rank flat, I muttered something about needing west facing windows and skipped off down the 400 stairs back to the street level. I think flat hunting is going to require a degree of project management. Not necessarily something you can 'wing' easily.

Finally, this weekend, Hugo planned a bit of a suprise for me. Saturday morning saw us at Largs Marina wheeling our bikes towards a very sexy rib. Strapping the bikes down, we jumped on and joined two of Hugo's friends. Within about 2 minutes, we were flying off across the sea, Mylo music pumping out, porpoises skimming the water next to us, all the way to Arran.
It was fantastic, wind in my hair, sail boats near us and the islands all magnificant ahead of us.

We cycled about 20 miles on Saturday, up and down massive hills and I realised how easy it is to get on and do things, if you just get off your bottom and make an effort. Arran, and countless other fantastic places are so nearby here, and I am absolutely loving living up here.

I do miss Nicaragua though (much more so than Costa Rica), and I feel guilty that I still haven't written to the family I met in Miraflor. Time has whizzed by, but they are no less important to me and I haven't forgotten. I've just been catching up with the past and seeing people and I feel that now, 5 weeks on, I've done it. I should have time to catch my breath this week, and perhaps even get that Spanish letter written afterall.