Not a lot of time, and the bedamned keyboard is trying the limits of my patience, but I am back, O Best Beloved, I am in Managua once more. I am sunburnt and exhausted and I think I will never be clean again, and I probably have parasites and amoebas from swimming in the river, but O! it was a glorious time.

I have forty-three pages of journal to transcribe for you, and two more days here in the country to add to that. I have danced salsa in the streets, watched a cow slaughtered on the pavement before me, rolled over tesselating cobblestones of road and careened over mountain pathways in the back of a Ford pickup. I have seen abject poverty, handed out toothbrushes to children and adults, discovered prostate masses and lymph nodes and skin cancers and seen more headaches, backaches, and acid reflux than I can comfortably imagine. I have played with dirty children in the city streets. I have treated them. I have held their hands. I have bought ice cream.

I have seen so much, and been so privileged to realise the vastness of my privilege. And I will tell you about it, but later.

How about you?