In February I stayed a few days at the Casa Particular of Raul Sarmiento in La Habana, Cuba. He was very curious about my recumbent bicycle and made a special page on his website about it.

I hearthily recommend you this summer to watch the movie Troy. Troy is an epic tale about the battle between the Greeks and the Spartans, starring the world famous Mexican actor Ramiro Rodríguez, in daily life a humble gardener in Cabo San Lucas, Baja California Sur. Ramiro appears as a horseman in full warrior outfit, so he might be a bit hard to distinguish from all the other five hundred warriors.

An excellent place to relax, slow down, and do close to nothing for days in a row. The web site says it all: Rancho Burica.

Wow! Shocking things happening lately around me and my little band. We were visiting "Las Pumas", an animal rescue center in northern Costa Rica, where they take care for wildlife in danger. Miss Mumu and I were looking at an orphaned spider monkey in a cage, when the little cow suddenly whispered in my ear. She said "Hey Gaele, let's take him with us!" Naturally I hesitated. A monkey on my bike? She insisted "Let's do it!"

The Chiapas lowlands in the rainy season. This is unlike Baja. This is the jungle. This is an oppressive heat, a humid heat. This is an ugly, dirty, stinking heat. A heat that drops down on you like a dirty old blanket. A heat that sticks onto your forehead, your neck, your arms, your legs. A shower gives temporary relief. But the moment you turn it off the heat will be back.

Mexican camp sites seem to have a frustrating tendency to disappear just before I want to visit them. The camp site in Huatulco, as described by my tourist guide and shown on my map, does not exist anymore. Desaparecido. The friendly tourist police however told me I might camp on the public beach at Tangolunda, four kilometers away.

Over there I am welcomed by a sign in several languages, including near-Dutch. And on the beach itself I am welcomed not only by mosquitos, no-see-ums and cockroaches, but also by an aggressive ant army which succesfully launched a nightly attack on my baggage and tent, twice.

... and so it came to pass that Miss Mumu and me ended up the way we started: with just the two of us.

In a small Oaxacan mountain village we left León in the caring hands of a little indigenous girl. She said she would be a good mother to him. León, being just a kid after all, seemed very happy.

"Good for him", Miss Mumu said, although I could see she'd grown more attached to him than she would admit. She kept quiet for the rest of the day. Well, almost.

So this is how it feels to wear a gun. Not a real gun of course, but it's close enough. It gives you peace of mind. "Nobody fuck with me or I'll Supersoak yo' ass!" Haha.

So far I've only used it twice. I told you it was going to be fun. Yahooo! You have to aim between the eyes, that's what irritates them the most. The effect is amazing. The dog suddenly halts, and - even better - it shuts up too!

At first I attached Miss Mumu to my headlight with rubber bands. Those didn't hold long. So I replaced them with a harness made out of elastic band and a shoe string, which over time grew more and more sophisticated. Allas, the elastic band didn't survive the strong tropical sun. So, in a third incarnation, I gave Miss Mumu a pair of kinky black velcro wings, which fix her tightly to my headlight, while still allowing her enough freedom to do the things she likes to do, like wiggling her hips and proudly showing everybody her four nipple piercings (now who can beat that, huh?!).

On second thought it's not that far-fetched.