When I step out of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport it’s so hot it feels like my eyeballs are cooking in my head.

“It’s been 110 degrees for 3 days straight,” the van-man says.

That would be perfect if I was in town to cure meat.

“Take me to the bone yard my good man - and step on it.”

He shoots me a confused look.

“We only go to Sun City,” he says.

“Close enough. But hurry man. I have delicate skin.” read more»

Costa Rica 4/23:

Search parties found Costa Rica’s missing energy minister Saturday suffering from a nasty bite by a wild tapir after he got lost in a jungle reserve two days earlier. - Rueters

While no one’s willing to go on record and talk openly about the smug tapir in our living room, there appears to be mounting evidence that highly-placed government officials are being targeted in these vicious attacks. read more»

San Jose Costa Rica - I’m in the middle of another liquid lunch at El Patio when the waiter checks in.

“Listo senor?”

“No, traigame otra cuba libre por favor.” I tell him.

My table’s near the street. An odd assortment of mostly light-skinned people pass by: gringos, ticos, bums, old men hustling Cubans.

I have mixed feelings about San Jose. There’s danger and filth on every street corner. Still, it feels good to be back. The air is cool, the women stunning, and I’ve just found “Ask The Dust,” over at Mora Books.

I caress the worn paper cover as if it was an old lover. It cost me 3000 colones. That’s about $7. Cheap here. But in Nicaragua I could get a bottle of Flor de Cana, and still have enough cash left over to rent Daniel Ortega’s stepdaughter for the night.

As silly as it sounds, I need this book, and all the rum. It’s keeping me from getting angry with the dark-skinned Nica who’s holding up my lunch.

When she finally arrives, Nita’s bristling with energy. She drapes a leather pouch over the chair, takes off her wrap-around stripper shades, sits, and folds her arms across her chest.

“You’ve changed.” she says

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