This weekend, I find myself musing on follys, both verbal and structural. In my early twenties, I joined a turtle conservation organization for two weeks on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. It happened to coincide with the Semana Santa weekend, and in this remote little village that we reached by a two-hour boat ride along forest-fringed rivers, it was a big deal and the main celebration of the year. I didn’t observe much religious devotion, but I did observe a lot of drinking and a haphazard, thrown-together BBQ that we all gathered around as night fell.
On Follys and Conollys
On Follys and Conollys
On Follys and Conollys
This weekend, I find myself musing on follys, both verbal and structural. In my early twenties, I joined a turtle conservation organization for two weeks on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. It happened to coincide with the Semana Santa weekend, and in this remote little village that we reached by a two-hour boat ride along forest-fringed rivers, it was a big deal and the main celebration of the year. I didn’t observe much religious devotion, but I did observe a lot of drinking and a haphazard, thrown-together BBQ that we all gathered around as night fell.