Caribbean Nights: Mosquitoes and Salvation

'This is probably the worst time of year for the coast, and I have to come here now.' Cursing a thousand curses, I decide to commit mass murder of potentially stinging or biting crawling and flying insects with insect repellent spray.

It is August and along with the heat comes the rain. It doesn't offer a successful cooling off, but instead adds moisture and more breeding grounds for mosquitoes, especially if things go really wrong, in my own bedroom. Because what looks like a roof doesn't necessarily mean it's watertight.

People on the coast are different. Locals and backpackers are closer here than anywhere else. For example, in Palomino or Taganga. The small, once romantic fishing villages are now a haven for those tired of capitalism and full-time stoners.

Somehow, everyone here is very close to the universe and they like to show it with what can sometimes look like an exorcism-like dance in front of restaurant guests.

Well, with enough alcohol and marijuana, it's not that far to the gates of heaven anymore.

Somehow, I feel out of place here with my bourgeois demands. Perhaps it's also because I have a less pronounced spiritual connection to the universe and I want to shower more than once a week, I don't find it charming when the guy in the store puts the moldy cookie he just complained about back into the plastic container, and I don't want to consider it a travel experience to have as many insect bites as possible, including dengue fever or malaria, because I'm against capitalist insect sprays.