I feel so horrible i forgot these 2’s names.
Walking back home sunday morning with my partners in crime, Becks and Pierre.
Linda & Katrin. They’re SUCH good friends neither one ended up winning this game.
That security booth, was our fave corner for unparliamentary activities. Protection from the constant strong sea winds. And there was never a cop there. Mancora…
When Pierre told Marianna to exercise cos her ass was getting big, she believed him. He also told her what exercise to do…
Lisa, my trainer, showing me how to make the pisco sour, which i eventually got someone else to make every single time.
Bath time. *lick lick lick MEAOWW*
On the bottom right, you can see James Brethwaite’s buttcrack. Brethwaite’s buttcrack. Brethwaite’s buttcrack. Brethwaite’s buttcrack. Tongue twister, innit?
took a few attempts but the town finally got the name right.
One of the gigs… for more of the damnations, you can see the pics on The Point, Mancora’s albums here:
I’ll forever be grateful to these two for joining the bar during that manic last week of Dec.
With Andres and Angie, after our early morning dip in the Pacific to wash away the sins of 2014. And the first spliff of 2015.
My balcony, with Manuel the Maniac, who made me smoke a crack joint. Oh wait, i must update that story…
Gabrielle, my mentor/trainer when i joined. He’s somewhere in Brazil now. Great guy.
L-R: Tamir (the owner), Marianna, Eliana (i clench my teeth), me, Andres, Theo behind him, and Augustin.
Vibes. Everyone who’s seen this pic asks ‘are those real?!?’
Chef Erika. Heart of gold. Tried SO hard to teach me spanish.