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#DREAM AQUARIUM FOR WINDOWS 10 FLICKERING KEYGEN#

‘You’ll be safe here,’ the immigration cop instructed me to park near the creepy-looking security guard in a particularly sketchy, unlit section of the lot around midnight, out of earshot of the customs office. They quite liked the looks of me, though, and made up some excuse for me to stay the night, alone in the van, in the otherwise empty parking lot at the customs building on the Nicaragua side of the border. Unfortunately, my trusty co-pilot hadn’t gotten his visa sorted in time, and the border agents had no mercy on his Venezuelan passport, turning him right around on the next bus to San Jose. The first 24 hours of our trip went a little like this: Fortunately, we bribed our way through customs with a faulty van title and an expired permit. Suffice it to say, Mercury had a whole bag of tricks up her sleeve, not to mention a few homegrown obstacles of our own.

#DREAM AQUARIUM FOR WINDOWS 10 FLICKERING KEYGEN#

So despite the pull of the planets, we headed north to the Nicaraguan border, hope in our hearts and a little extra bribe money in our pockets.

But after hosting our first surf, yoga and writing retreat, it was the only window of time we had if living our van-life journey were to actually happen. Mercury went retrograde the morning we left home, notoriously a time when travel plans go awry, communication gets wonky, and all the little details get mixed up into chaos and confusion – not exactly the most auspicious moment to be embarking on a month-long surf adventure across countries that make moms everywhere lose sleep when their daughters get up the guts and go. And as for staying gone as long as I wanted? Well, with real-life commitments of a thirty-something surfer girl on the hustle to make ends meet while living dreams of my own design, a month would have to do. In our badass converted 2004 Dodge Sprinter van, complete with solar panels, a big comfy mattress, and all the camping gear we would need. We’d make the trip backwards, from Costa Rica north to California.

Pedro, my Venezuelan surfer-babe boyfriend would be sitting shotgun as surf-partner-in-crime, personal security, self-appointed DJ and co-pilot with a mind for engine mechanics. And in the process, plans changed a little to fit my current life circumstances. I was 20 years old, hell-bent on hedonistic freedom, single as the day I was born and crazy enough to actually do it.īut as life would have it, more than a decade would pass before the stars aligned and all the pieces fell into place. I’d buy a car in California, find a dog to keep me company, and hit the open road on my own, chasing those sweet southern swells to my insatiable soul-surfing heart’s content, camping on the beach along the way, and staying gone as long as I wanted – or at least until I ran out of cash. Probably since I started surfing, just after I moved to Costa Rica – now going on thirteen years ago. A surf trip, driving overland, through Central America had been my dream for as long as I can remember.

Dream aquarium for windows 10 flickering