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Home » Travel
Love, Lust, and the Jungle: Three Weeks in the Caribbean |  |
Product description
In 2009 Darla found herself 26 and divorced. Not knowing what else to do, she ran away to a hippie commune in Costa Rica-- despite having zero experience as a hippie. When a handsome stranger made her promise to return to Costa Rica for a dancing date, she never imagined that, two years later, she'd be returning to stay.
Three Weeks In The Caribbean is her true diary account of how she survived divorce, the jungle, and fell in love with a redheaded Costa Rican.
She currently resides in Costa Rica and writes about adjusting to life there, and blatantly lusting after her redheaded Costa Rican, at www.darlaantoine.com
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This book is a quick, entertaining, mildly embarrassing (for the author) beach or airplane read.
EXCERPT:
The way he stood in the entrance of the kitchen told me that he was a man who knew himself. He was sure of his place in the world and he made that place wherever he was. He radiated confidence without flashy swagger. He was steadfast, sure, and oh, was he strong.
I risked a glance at his face.
Shit.
The redheaded stranger was looking at me too. And I knew the look.
As our eyes met his opened a bit wider and he tilted his head back in muted recognition. My pulse began to race and my face flushed. I felt an immediate pull towards him, as if I should run over to greet him and let him envelope me in his arms in a familiarity that didn’t yet exist. I felt discombobulated and fuzzy. I couldn’t trust my body or myself. I knew that if I tried to speak or continue dicing vegetables that I’d probably squeak out something foolish or accidentally chop a finger off. I swallowed; put down the knife I had been using, and took a step back, just to be safe. I looked back up at him. I didn’t know what I was experiencing but one look told me that he was experiencing it too. His face looked exactly the way I felt.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Now he’s going to REALLY be a pain-in-the-ass! He’s going to try to show off and get my attention. And he’s going to want me to move to Michigan— or where ever the hell he’s from— and live in the suburbs and stay home and raise his babies while he goes to the city to teach botany and flirts with co-eds and, and —and I don’t want to live in Michigan! Or the suburbs!
He cleared his throat and shook the dazed expression out of his eyes. He stood up a bit straighter. Suddenly he was all business and in the place of surprised attraction there was now a steady, “I’ve got this— and Imma-gonna-get-you-too,” look in his eyes.
The guy was REALLY annoying me now.
The object of my annoyance began to open his mouth.
[The words that he is about to utter will change everything. They will mark the beginning of this love story. They will turn me on and make me want to drop everything to move to the suburbs in Michigan to raise babies—precisely because these words will tell me that the very last thing this man will ever make me do is move to the suburbs in Michigan to raise babies. Every assumption I just made about him will be turned on its head and send me reeling. Ready?]
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