Living on the coast

There are some thing to love about living on the coast. Even when we work all day, we work in linen, and we take two hours for lunch. We have meetings in beatiful offices in old colonial houses. A couple days ago Tom and I got up early and played a set of tennis at the Hilton. My game was miserable, and I'm still sore in my shoulder, but it was fun to get out there. Now I'm by myself again, so last night I decided to take it easy. I made a little salad with romaine lettuce and tuna fish, threw some olive oil and pepper on it, and opened a bottle of red wine. Mia had sent me a New Yorker article about Saul Bellow written by Phillip Roth, and so I read the article and ate my dinner. I guess it put me in a high art sort of mood, because then I started listening to My Bloody Valentine and John Coltrane, and I spent the night re-reading "Humboldt's Gift" (The best Bellow I've ever read) out on my balcony. Reading Bellow charges me, especially with the waves crashing against the rocks and the Argentine wine and the lights of the Old City off in the distance.

And so if last night was a great Cartagena night, this morning was the nightmare. I'm supposed to have internet hooked up in my apartment, and finally I got the cable people to come over and install it. They showed up and said that something was missing in the building, and it would be another week before they could totally install it. I flew off the handle and told them I couldn't wait another week, that they had to send someone today. They made a bunch of phone calls and said someone else would come this afternoon and perform the necessary work.

ME: And so I'll have internet this afternoon?
THEM: Oh, no, someone else has to come and install the modem.
ME: What? When will that happen?
THEM: I don't know, maybe tomorrow? Or next week?

*GROAN* Life on the coast. Tomorrow morning I'm off to Bogota for a weekend of friends and family, and also some important meetings. Until later....