Take It Like A Mangrove

Two important events occurred today.

One was that I bought an alarm clock. A really crappy one--for two bucks, from a street vendor, who had to set it for me. Later I had to go back to have him explain to me how he did that because "Para mi, no funciona," as I explained to him in my best 8th-grade level Spanish. Okay, maybe high school level. But not a really smart high schooler.

The other event was that I missed my bus, the one leaving at 6:45am, the only bus of the day to Muisne, a town in the Esmeraldas province of northwestern Ecuador (see map). It was also the only bus containing my new friend, Claire, who's English, and who was probably not all too happy with me this morning when I stumbled over to our meeting spot 10 minutes late, without my baggage, to tell her to go on without me, because I had overslept and besides, I couldn't check out of my hostel because no one was awake. In other words, I flaked. Geez, and I'm older too--she's 22. But, you know, she's European. Our learning curve is a little different...

The important thing, though, is that I have another chance. I bought another bus ticket, for tomorrow, and if my pint-sized clock does what it claims it will, I'll begin a 9-hour trip tomorrow morning at 6:45am.

I'm not going where I said I was going to go. I was planning on volunteering, for three weeks, at a place called La Hesperia--a biological reserve/farm/tropical mountain gorgeousness hub. But upon learning that it typically hosts around 20 volunteers, most of them English-speaking, I decided to try out a little different, smaller, more distant place, where my Spanish skills are more likely to improve, thanks to the "tough love" teaching methods unwittingly employed by those Ecuadorians who don't speak a word of English. I also took into account my lack of cold weather clothing (I'll try not to rub it in... really though, I did have long underwear, purple ones, before the Costa Rica Thief decided he needed them more than I did) and the fact that as much as I live for farming, especially farming of things that don't take any work to love, like pineapple, I'm feeling a little sustainabilitied out at the moment (more on that later), and the goal for this trip is simply to follow my nose, not my predetermined values, or my brain. Or the gringo train, for that matter.


So, as it happens, I'll be following my nose (appropriately) to a rather odorific and apparently beautiful, locale: Congal Reserve. Odorific (I predict) because they raise fish there--shrimp, land crabs, fish, agouti (huh?), clams, and small iguanas (don't ask me what they do with those). And beautiful because it's on the beach, amidst mangroves, in the Western Choco-Darien bioregion, which is incredibly biodiverse. I have to take a short canoe ride to get from the town where my bus drops me off to the site itself. Actually (aw geez) that's a lie. I have the option of taking a canoe. But the jeep is cheaper. Dangit.

As for what I'll be doing at Congal, I am told that it will include the following: "Mangrove and tropical forest restoration, working in organic gardening and fruit orchards, harvesting mangrove clams with women’s groups, harvesting of bamboo, tagua, toquilla and other wild fruits/seeds, participation in shrimp, fish and crab harvests from aquaculture ponds, and handicrafts." I am so going to rock those handicrafts.

Anyway. I don't know where and when I'll next encounter the mighty Wi-Fi signal, so I'll see you when I see you. Heck, it could be in ten minutes. Or it could be "un ratito," as they say, which translates to "a cute little while."

Something Lost, Something Gained

Heavens. Where to begin. I just arrived in Quito, Ecuador today, and I feel as though a heavy load has been lifted from my chest. I feel lighter, everything´s brighter, and well, there aren´t nearly as many tall, prison-like fences with menacing-looking razorblades on top of them. Goodbye, San Jose.

Not that I didn´t love San Jose, in some ways. In fact, it did serve, as many suggested it would, as good practice for navigating Latin American countries. But not because it was Latin America Light. Quite the contrary. Much to my surprise, I found San Jose, and Costa Rica in general, to be quite challenging indeed. But I´m getting ahead of myself.

What I haven´t mentioned yet, because I´ve been WAY out of the technological loop, is that I had my backpack stolen on a bus the other day. But that´s the good news.

Okay, that´s actually really crappy news. But it was also a miracle of sorts--because I DIDN´T lose anything majorly important--no passport, no money, no camera, none of the stuff that really would have taken the wind out of me. Rather, I lost a bunch of clothes that I probably shouldn´t have brought anyway, and a couple things that will be a pain in the butt to replace, like my computer power cord (I used my last 15% of battery power to upload the photos you see here...not sure how soon I´ll be able to upload more). Oh, and I also lost three months of malaria meds and some photocopies of documents that I´m crossing my fingers won´t get into intelligent hands.

So, the good news is the fact that I DIDN´T experience one of those nightmarish thefts where you´re left alone in the middle of nowhere with no money and no ID and no believes you are who you say you are, and you end up in a Third World jail essentially forever.

But there´s another little silver lining to the whole ordeal. And that is simply that it has made me worry less. I´m traveling lighter. I´ve had to let go of a few travel comforts and that has made me sink in ever further to the places I´m visiting.

It´s funny. I haven´t intentionally maintained a distance from my surroundings. And yet, I´ve been a little bit preoccupied with maintaining my own personal comforts--keeping my computer charged so I can take advantage of the occasional wireless connection, making sure I´ve got my own little coffee kit in case (heaven forbid) I go anywhere where people prefer tea-- and yet, suddenly, all of those little doodads are gone, and I am still here, alone, and I still have clean underwear and a toothbrush, and all of my necessary identification. And there have plenty of people around to help me find what I need (and plenty of people back home to help me iron out a few emergency details :). In general, it made me feel closer to Costa Rica, and now to Ecuador, to have to rely on people a bit more.


But I digress. I´d really like to dedicate this entry to my darling homestay family at EcoFinca Andar. I stayed with this family for only two and a half days, and yet, they truly made me feel like home. And that home just happened to have a bathroom constructed from cinder blocks, a kitchen with fences instead of walls, and about 15 inhabitants, not counting chickens, dogs, and cats, all coming and going at every imaginable hour.

First, there was my homestay mom, Mora, who stole my heart with her soft but wrinkled hands, always moving, usually cooking, and then my homestay sisters, Marialuz, Marisela, and Gisela, all of whom were totally fascinated with the little hairdo I do with my bobby pins, and then there was little Priscilla, daughter of Marialuz, who just loves the little red poison dart frogs she calls "Pantalones" because they have blue legs.

Then there was the ever-energized Farmer Julio (says it´s all the sugar cane juice), and his dog, Brisby, who has given birth to virtually every dog in town, and also my homestay family´s dog, who barked incessantly and enjoyed squaring off with the antagonizing neighborhood rooster.


And of course, there was my favorite mammal for the week--this goofy sloth we saw hanging from a Mandarin orange tree. Now seriously, sloths are just ridiculous--they look like Muppets, for crying out load--Really long fur, slimy little noses, big round eyes, and slow as hell. If they could talk, I have no doubt they would have low, dopey voices, kind of like Eor, if you know what I mean. And boy, someone should really tell them to try the actual oranges on those trees--they only eat the leaves!!!

Also highly worthy of mention is the fabulous group of American students I ran into at La Finca Andar. They were on their semester abroad, with (I think) the Institute for Central American Development and, most of them being from liberal arts colleges, they brought with them an inquisitiveness and sense of humor that was, to say the least, incredibly refreshing, and comfortingly familiar.

One thing that kept coming to mind as I got to know the group (over our two days working on the farm, we harvested nonies together, raked ditches together, sorted oregano, drank Chicha, looked for monkeys, and talked about that everpresent question that seems to hover over 20 and 21 year old Americans..."What do I want to do with my life?") was just how goshdarn different it is to be traveling solo than any other travel I´ve known before.

Study abroad, in my opinion, is incredibly rich, and I would insist that any student given the opportunity absolutely leap at it. I think I learned more during my study abroad semester than I did during my first 3 years of college. And when I look back on my four months in Australia, and one in New Zealand, I of course remember an assignment here and there, but what I really recall are the experiences that sort of came with the package--staying with an aboriginal community in Broome, studying deep ecologists in New South Wales, learning about hydroelectric development in Tasmania.

And yet, at the time, I didn´t have to think about how to get from place to place, or how to develop a good relationship with an aboriginal community, or how to avoid the tourist track but still get a chance to see the jungle and the incredible wildlife. Much like the wakeup call I experienced short after I graduated from college, when I suddenly realized that there were all sorts of invisible expenses that had made my life possible thus far and that now I was going to have to take them on, I´m realizing now that the study abroad experience of travel depends upon a certain invisible infrastructure, and it looks a lot different when you take that away.

Which brings me back to the many sides of Costa Rica. I had pictured Costa Rica, ecotourism hotspot that it is, as a big jungle full of brightly colored frogs and birds, with all sorts of deluxe huts for Westerners to come and inhabit without sacrificing the comforts of home. And it is that, if that´s what you want it to be. You could easily sign on to a 10-day package tour of Costa Rica, and see all the sights, and get picked up at your hostel and dropped off at the national park trailhead, and you´d probably go home thinking, "Boy, those Ticos are wonderful, friendly people" because the only Ticos you met were your taxi drivers and the hotel staff.

Or, you could spend two weeks in el campo, staying with an extremely poor, mostly illiterate, traditional family, and go home thinking, ¨Boy, those Ticos are nice and everything, but geez, I could never live there," or "Wow, there´s a serious machismo problem in this country."

As for me, I don´t know if I know Costa Rica at all. For me, Costa Rica was green mountains and toucans and monkeys and sloths, and also extreme poverty. It was theft, and it was "ecotourism" at its most ironic. It was kindness and tradition. It was a paradise of fresh fruit. It was a labyrinth of complicated buses. It was breathtaking beaches and it was really expensive to call home. It was many things to me, and is probably not the same to anyone else.

I´m excited about Ecuador. I´ve got at least a full month here--3 weeks at La Hesperia reserve in the mountains northwest of Quito (beginning Wednesday or Thursday), and then ten days with my darling fella, Eric, who´s coming to visit at the end of March. And then I have one month more, to do whatever (and wherever) strikes me. I have no doubt there will be many adventures between now and then. Let´s hope none involves my passport.

Welcome to Earth

I'm sitting in the peaceful sala (lounge) at Earth University in Guacima, Limon, Costa Rica, at this moment, enjoying a delightful tropical breeze, and as usual, completely unaware of how this day will go. Will it bring awkward cross-lingual misunderstandings? Will it bring bus rides in the wrong direction? Will it bring penetrating stares from Ticos who've apparently never before seen a girl carrying her life in a backpack (along a few other supplementary bags)???

Ah, time will tell. It's going well so far. This place is remarkable. It's a huge campus, for one thing, and beautifully manicured with banana trees, heliconias (featured in the photo), vast green lawns, and brightly-colored birds flitting about. It's peaceful. And probably really expensive to keep up.

Earth U is essentially an undergraduate university--students come here for four years, from countries throughout Central and South America, and also Africa, to learn a combination of sustainable agriculture, entrepreneurship, technology, and ethics. They also get some of the basic college classes.

It's incredibly competetive--about 1500 students apply each year, and only 125 make it in. Many of them are students who would otherwise not even attend college. They're chosen for their leadership abilities, and the hope is that they'll go back to their communities and implement new ideas, businesses, etc. that are economically durable and yet easy on nature.

The school itself, which is a nonprofit, is bursting with creativity. There are all sorts of projects that make money for the school but also serve as educational tools. For instance, there are a whole bunch of experimental farm plots, and operations that produce yogurt, coffee, pineapples, banana-based paper, and other stuff, for sale to the outside world. Apparently, Whole Foods gets a lot of its bananas from here. I had the yogurt for breakfast this morning--pretty darn good, though I like mine a little sourer.

I go on tour in about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, someone, somewhere around here, is doing my laundry. I really like this place.

By the way, an alternate title for this post was "I left my pants in Playa Chiquita," cuz I did. But don't worry-- they're making their way to San Jose by bus, thanks to my gracious hosts at Miraflores Lodge.

Un Hotel Limpio, Por Favor

Rather than try to sum up the last few days--which have brought moments of pure joy (my first toucan sighting) and utter dismay (my first bout of traveler's belly)--perhaps I should just try to capture the last 3 hours, which felt like 3 weeks. Surely they're somewhat representative.

Right now, I'm sitting in a rather cush (for Costa Rican standards) hotel room in Guapiles, Costa Rica. I am paying 55 U.S. dollars to stay in this hotel room and I tell you, I am going to drain every last ounce of value out of it--the private shower, the telephone in the room, the coffeemaker, the minifridge, the pool, the ridiculous mini golf course (!)...and oh yes I will have a second helping of that big buffet breakfast tomorrow morning.

Why in the world am I spending my precious "plata" on a hotel that belongs on the side of a U.S. interstate? Well, believe it or not, this is the second hotel I've checked into today. The first one cost 6 bucks.

It's the rain's fault. It started raining, in this doggone predictable rainforest, about 24 hours ago and it's been dumping ever since. When the rain began, I was staying at Miraflores Lodge, this rustic jungle paradise hotel where I enjoyed a delightfully firm king size bed and apparently used up all of my good karma, hopefully not for this entire trip. While I was enjoying a nice afternoon swing in the hammock, listening to howler monkeys bickering in my temporary backyard, my neighbors and new gringo friends, Dominique and Phil, were getting antsy for a little sunshine, since they've only got ten days in Costa Rica and love to snorkel. It was about time for me to move on anyway, so I jumped at the chance to hitch a ride with them towards an area I'd been wanting to check out--the northeast of Costa Rica, near Tortuguero National Park and also Earth University, a non-profit school focused on tropical sustainable agriculture.

Before heading on to Montezuma, on the Nicoya Peninsula, they dropped me in the town of my choice, Guayapil, a "lovely, prosperous town," according to Lonely Planet, which was supposedly a good base for checking out the areas mentioned above. Unfortunately, the only real lodging LP listed was "Hotel Wilson," where I had Dominique and Phil drop me off, in the rain, with my baggage.

Six dollars later, I was sitting on a tiny, saggy bed that reminded me of an old U-shaped horse just daring you to ride it around that godforsaken nature trail one more time. The room was awful--small, loud, dirty, sketchy, and, mysteriously, smelling of sewage. Frankly, the whole town kinda stank. I'm not sure where all of this prospering was supposed to be taking place, but this was not it. Did I mention it was pouring rain?

So there I was, lonely, wet, annoyed, and suddenly unsure of why I came to Costa Rica in the first place. Who cares about monkeys, anyway? Squirrels are just as cool.

After I had gotten my fix of self-pity (which included calling my mom), I did what any thinking person would do when semi-stranded at a sketchy, dirty motel in a random town in a foreign country during a huge rainstorm: I went underwear shopping.

Okay. Not really. But I did decide I needed to find someone who could tell me how to get away from all the nastiness, and the first clean-cut, friendly, female, individual I came across happened to be the owner of a store that sold mostly undergarments. It was a couple, actually, and they were angels. They wrote down a couple of names of places and even called to see what the rates were. They said they had relatives in Virginia. I told them so do I. We became friends.

So then all I had to do was grab my stuff from my hotel, drop the key off at the front desk (they didn't even notice...too busy being sketchy), and catch a cab to a hotel outside of town. The first hotel the taxi took me to was situated above a Burger King, if you can imagine. So I had him take me here instead, to Hotel Suerre, where I am now within walking distance of 9 holes of miniature golf.

Now, I skipped a whole bit about trying to use a local ATM and not being able to withdraw money, because los cajeros automaticos no le gustan el Mastercard, and a few other odd, disturbing tidbits, but you get the drift. Un mal dia, basically.

And it's too bad, because if I'd had internet access yesterday, I would have raved to you all about this amazing place I was staying, where I woke up to howler monkeys and all sorts of birds and a plate of fresh local pineapple and papaya and coffee, run by this great Argentinian fellow Leo and his luminous 7-months-pregnant wife Soledad. I would have gone on and on about the mystical experience I had with toucans, and then about this fabulous tour guide we had named Abel who introduced us (my 2 new American mates and me) to all sorts of crazy flora, and took us to the home of two Nicaraguan indigenous brothers who escaped that country during the Contra violence and have lived in a dirt-floored hut in the jungle ever since, eating wild bananas and sometimes fish.

I took the photo above in the town of Puerto Viejo. It's not really representative of where I am now, but I like it so much I had to share it. There's a whole settlement of Jamaican immigrants on the Carribean coast and it makes for some beautiful people, who look even more beautiful against a backdrop of azure waters and leaning palm trees.

Anyway, now's the part where I'm supposed to tell you now what I'm doing for the next few days, but I promised myself (and my mom) that I wouldn't think about it until tomorrow. I've definitely grown weary (already) of the logistical struggles of traveling alone--I'm looking forward to being planted in one place once I get to Ecuador. I'm also thinking that post-Ecuador, I'll try to find a one-month teaching gig or something, so I can explore a new place without racking up so much mileage.

Alright-- I must head out now. It just so happens that as I was typing that last paragraph, a Chilean fellow walked by, and--feeling chatty--asked how the wireless connection was working, and we got to talking...turns out he's here visiting banana farms, works for some big company that develops "biological products"...sounds interesting.

Ode to Fried Plantains

Oh the places I've gone. Oh the rice and beans I've eaten.

I'm back in San Jose now, staying at a hostel that has won me over mind, body, and soul. Hotel Aranjuez, you are my everything. This place is blowing my mind--seriously. I don't want to leave. Not even for monkeys would I leave. Get this: this place has private bathrooms, wireless internet access, a DELICIOUS buffet breakfast, friendly Costa Rican owners, a gigantic garden with a bunch of hammock-chairs swaying in the breeze, television in every room (I've been getting accustomed to a certain soccer fix...GOOOOOOOLLLL!!!), wood floors, firm beds, free use of beautiful white towels...and it's adorable to boot. It's actually a bunch of old houses, all converted into rooms and connected with funky little walkways. Oh, and so far: no cucarachas. And what ungodly amount of money am I paying to sleep and eat in such a heavenly haven? 21 dollars. That's right.

Now perhaps I wouldn't be so easily smitten with such a hostel, had I not spent previous nights in places that were memorable for other reasons. Like Hotel El Sueno, in Santa Elena, where my room smelled like cheap (strong) cleaning supplies, and I had to fall asleep to the sound of some Australian dude watching Terminator 2 (at full volume) and coughing every other minute, on cue, for reasons I suspect have to do with "la marijuana," as they call it round here.

Luckily, I was able to sneak away from that place to Tina's Casita's, up the hill. Not sure what the protocol is on switching hostels...did I offend? I wore my sunglasses when shopping at the supermarket, just in case.

Tina's Casita's was great, actually. The beds were mooshy as hell, and the walls were so paper thin that I could hear the owner's husband, Freddy, rolling over in bed in the middle of the night. But it had its perks. Like my two new Tica friends, Alison Pamela and Katherine (pronounced Kah-tay-reen-ay), the caretaker's daughters. Katherine, who quickly became obsessed with my camera and computer (sigh... technology is our common ground), is featured in the photo above. She's four, and not shy. Sadly, I didn't get any pictures of her sidekick, Coqueta, a dachsund-ish mutt.

So, okay, okay, it's not that I've had HORRIBLE experiences with hostels. But it has been a rough last two days.

First of all, Santa Elena, the closest town to Monteverde Reserve, is completely overrun with tourists. There must be twenty or more hostels/cabinas around town, the tackier of which feature giant, flashy signs promising the "ultimate nature experience." Incidentally, Santa Elena is ground zero for the adrenalin-heavy zipline jungle canopy tours, which I of course snottily avoided, purist that I am. Then there are the bars that have sprung up, superimposing "nightlife" on a place where you otherwise would hear only crickets and maybe monkeys at night.

Now, I realize I can be a bit of a snob about the tourism thing-- I mean, after all, I AM a tourist. As the guide who led me on a walk through Santa Elena reserve said in his endearing Tico accent, when I made some crack about the screaming tourists on the zip lines, "Maybe you should try it so you can be judgmental."

Yeah, yeah, I know. But seriously: it's heartbreaking. The trip up to Santa Elena took nearly 6 hours from San Jose, mostly on bouldery, steep, winding roads. It was supposed to take 3 hours, but, well, it didn't. And I'm not sure why. I tried to ask our driver, Roni, what the deal was (Que pasa, Roni?), but he didn't seem to feel any need to explain. Hmmm... I've encountered this a few times with drivers--is that machismo?

Anyway, the drive, while arduous, was incredible. For the last 2 hours, the only residences we saw were tiny and colorful, with dogs, kids, and goats running around, and, once it got dark, hardly any lights at all. Then all of a sudden, just when you're feeling like you're so far from civilization that you may never find your way back, Santa Elena appears, and broadcasts its presence with bright lights, loud music, dozens of fanny-pack-totin' white people, and, well, you get the picture.

Slightly bitter though I am, I must say that the area around Santa Elena is absolutely breathtaking. I got to enjoy it at length, when I was trudging down the mountain where Santa Elena Reserve is located, because I had completely run out of money, and thus couldn't pay for the public bus down. My ATM card, for mysterious reasons, did not work at the one ATM in Santa Elena, which I (stupidly) didn't figure out until I was low on cash. This led to all sorts of interesting adventures. Such as my paying one taxi driver partly in silver dollars (thanks again, Gregory!), which he eyed suspiciously as though I was trying to swindle him. Oh, Fabio, thanks for understanding. And then there's the fact that after walking halfway (okay, only a quarter of the way) down the mountain from the reserve, my guide, Jorge, swung by on his motocicleta and gave me a ride for the rest of the way. Amazing how angels appear when you really need them. My feet were so freaking tired.

The nature walk itself, which Jorge led in Spanish (at my request, and at times, to my dismay), was amazing. We came across several quetzals--this amazing, mystical bird with a big round red chest, and about a foot and a half of lime-green tail feathers. They make the funniest sounds--and so did Jorge when he was calling them (they never really answered back).

Even MORE exciting than that was the fact that Mount Arenal, a nearby volcano, erupted during our hike (which I guess it does about 20 times a day, but this was a really loud one). Afterwards, we could see the smoke spewing out of the cone. I asked Jorge where all the glowing red lava was, and he laughed, as if to say, "foolish American," and explained that you can only see the lava at night. Okay, I guess I knew that. I was just so darn excited that I forgot.

Oh, and I also learned all about these tropical ants that carry around little bits of leaves about 3 times their size, which they eventually use to cultivate some sort of fungus which they then eat. Or something like that--it was in Spanish, so, hmm... I'm missing a few bits of info, but that's the gist anyway.

Well, you're a real trooper if you've gotten this far in my post--and I wish I had something better with which to reward you. But at this point, I really just want to give a special nod to my two new favorite foods: fried plantains and Pepsi. Mmmmm, plantains--so ripe and thick and packed with flavor. They're served with practically every meal here, and I have to save them for last because otherwise I hardly have the will to keep eating because I'm so sad there are no more plantains.

As for the Pepsi part, I'm not talking about just any old can of Pepsi. While I was waiting for a connecting bus the other day, so thirsty from the previous sweaty bus ride, I saw an old man holding a frosty glass bottle of Pepsi and I had to have it. I ordered one fro this cute little kiosk, drank it to the very last sip, and well, the rest is history. Now, when I eat in a restaurant, I ask if they have Pepsi, and in particular, if they have it "en una botella de vidrio?" Because seriously, in plastic, it is NOT the same.

Okay, well, time to go watch soccer in my giant room with four beds (I like to rotate). Tomorrow morning, I head to Cahuita. A four hour (yeah, right) bus ride that hopefully, will culimate in azure blue waters and mango trees. I'm fairly certain I won't even have phone service there so it may be several days before I post again. But rest assured, I'll be collecting some good material. For better or worse.

P.S. Sadly, I have almost no photos from Santa Elena, because my camera ran out of juice, and I couldn't recharge it. Or rather, I could recharge it, but I didn't know that I could, because the outlets were funny-looking--two holes like pig nostrils--and I assumed that regular plugs didn't fit in them, but actually, they do.

Moving On

That's it. It's time. Time to move on from the city life. I've been in San Jose for 2 days now, staying at a hostel where I spotted my first (and hopefully last) cockroach yesterday, and I'm ready for some of that good old-fashioned vacation life-- you know the stuff, with the white sand beaches and the azure blue waters, the cheap, delicious Tico fare, and of course, the cabana I shall have all to myself, with a hammock strung between mango trees?

Okay, maybe that's a bit much to ask. In fact, I don't think I'll be swinging between mango trees until I head east to Cahuita, a little town on the Carribean coast, where I'll stay for one night before heading out to Punta Mona. Today, if all goes according to plan, I'll head to the famous Monteverde reserve--one of the last remaining pristine cloud forests in Central America. Except I'm going to be sneaky--rather than going to the actual Monteverde reserve, where there will surely be lots of tourists (at least according to the awful dream I had last night), I'm going to go to the nearby Santa Elena reserve, which is apparently JUST AS cool but not nearly as well-known. I'm crossing my fingers for monkeys.

Enough about big plans, though-- I want to make note of my weird and wonderful day yesterday. High points included a visit to a medicinal herb farm in the mountains north of San Jose, where I hung out with my friend's friend, Michael, who was SO fun, and was a great break from all of my urban struggles to communicate in Spanish. The farm was spectacular, with lots of unrecognizable, beautiful, Dr. Seussian, plants that Michael pointed out but couldn't really explain (not the farmer type). Another high point was when I ran into the two pups featured in this pic--except this is the PG version of what I saw. I also got a shot of them humping furiously, but I was laughing so hard that it's off-center and out of focus. Sorry; would have loved to share it.

Medium-high points included the satisfying challenge of navigating San Jose's convoluted bus system-- which I did in Spanish, thank you very much. I think I had to ask random people for directions at least a dozen times. (Don't worry, mom, they were all either policemen or fruit vendors and looked very clean-cut!). Besides, that's how one makes friends, right?

The low point of the day was this awful motorcycle accident I witnessed as I was walking to the bus station in the morning. The drivers are crazy here--so far, my technique for crossing the street has been to wait for a mother pushing a baby stroller to deem that it's safe, and then follow. So far, so good. The accident was surreal-- this guy was barreling, loudly, down a hill at nearly 50mph, heading straight for a bunch of cars stopped at a light. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open as I watched, wondering what the heck he was going to do. As it happened, he just skidded, lost control, fell off his bike, helmet flying (they wear helmets here, but the custom is not to buckle the chin strap--soooo smart, eh?). This guy easily could have died. Instead, he stood up, looking a bit bewildered and wondering where his bike had gone, and picked up his helmet. A cop happened to have been standing by and walked over to either help him or give him a ticket for reckless driving (hope it was both).

Well, I better head out. I heard a rumor from my Rough Guide that there's a restaurant that serves banana-macademia nut pancakes down the street. Need I say more?

Camacho Macho

Okay, okay, so I've only been in Costa Rica for about twenty-four hours. But it's pretty darn bloggable. First of all, it's painfully gorgeous here-- palm trees and all sorts of other green things hanging with fruit. Bright, bright, BRIGHTLY-colored everything--houses, flowers, buses, markets, fruit stands, etc. Holy cow.

The heading of this post, by the way, refers to the name of my taxi driver, from the airport to my hostel. He was my first experience of Costa Rican Spanish, and therefore my friendly reminder that time takes its toll on one's language abilities. I only understood about 60 percent of what he was saying. That included his name-- Camacho Macho. Camacho has 12 kids, and supports them all with the money he makes driving a taxi. You think he was just trying to get a good tip out of me? I went ahead and gave him 2 silver dollars (Thanks, Gregory!). Then he asked if I was going to pay for the ride itself. Oops-- I thought the hostel was supposed to cover it. Luckily I had $20. Costa Rica is expensive!!! Oh, and the local currency is very confusing-- 521 colones to 1 US dollar. Can you imagine how many colones it takes to buy a house here? Yikes! Bajillions.

I sat in a park in San Jose yesterday...overlooking the mountains, and surrounded on all sides by maniacal traffic. It was so peaceful, in its way. And there were so many other folks doing the same thing-- such as the fellow in this picture. Old men, just sitting, looking around, unafraid of the passing of time. No hurry.

Today, I'm off to a farm near Santa Barbara, in the mountains north of San Jose. A friend of a friend is staying there-- Ark Herb Farm (http://1-costaricalink.com/costa_rica_tours/the_ark_herb_farm_tour.htm). Gotta take 2 buses to get there--so I better leave soon. Love to all.

Countdown to Departure

Alright, imaginary readers. I suppose I may as well start practicing this whole blogging thing...

Three days until departure, still not packed. Why am I doing this again? Where am I going?

Just kidding. I actually have a ticket now-- so I am quite certain that by next Tuesday, I will be wearing an outfit quite different from the one I have on now (today's outfit being long underwear, fleece, big thick socks... and I'm still chilly). As for who I'll be sitting next to, or chatting with, and in what language I'll be chatting with him or her-- well that's a different story.

Eric and I are leaving to drive to Chicago either tonight or early tomorrow morning. From Chicago, I fly to San Jose at 2:00 am on Monday morning. I'll keep you updated.