posted
Eds, don't get me wrong: I was once a horny young buck, myself, even if I didn't make quite as much a game out of kiss and tell.
But I remember that you wanted to go to Africa -- and then Central America -- to make a difference, to help people, to discover and transform yourself. This could well still be at the front of your mind, but it's not what you're talking about; instead, this sounds kind of like an adventure vacation.
What are the trails for? Why are so many young ex-pats working on 'em? How long has Ian been there, and what does he hope to accomplish by the time he goes "home?" Do you feel like you're doing something useful? Have you become more optimistic about the process? What would you change about things, if you could, and would you put any different priorities on resource allocation?
I hope to GOD that you won't really find yourself by reading science fiction, getting profoundly drunk, and humping desperate, barely pubescent locals; that's like dredging the gutter for a personality, and I KNOW you're a better man than that.
If you'd taken off to Amsterdam or Thailand or something with a cheerful, "Off to get laid," I'd've shrugged. But this trip was supposed to be the "Eddie learns what it's like to serve others" voyage, if I remember correctly, and so the mental disconnect occasionally jars.
What you're putting together is one of those autobiographical backpacker travel novels, the ones where the authors do a lot of pot and sleep with a few twins before fleeing for their lives from some kind of riot in southeast Asia or Arabia, at which point they settle down in the last chapter and write something presumably meaningful that they've learned from their travels. But you ain't gone nowhere if you're stuck inside your own head for the whole trip.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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Kiss and tell? You have a point -- if what I'm doing isn't bragging, it's painfully close -- but I don't consider it immoral, since none of you have any idea who I'm talking about.
My work is difficult, and my work is educational. But it's hardly interesting reading material, nor what I'm looking forward to reminiscing about years from now. I'm keeping this journal for myself as well as you -- and once I get back to my own computer, I intend to save it to my hard drive for future reference.
I'm sure you'd love to read about how obscenely grateful I become after hiking Death March for a foot-long strip of ground which is angled less than 45 degrees, or that you'd want to know just how difficult it is to slog through waist-high grass to a flatter portion of a mountain, whack at the grass with a blunt machete, and eventually clear enough for a hole deep enough to give your tree any chance of survival. Or how goddamnably annoying the insects are around here, with their various bites, stings, and egg-laying (within your skin).
Myself, I find myself more than a little traumatized by the damn insects, and I doubt I'll ever manage to forget how difficult the work is around here. What I WILL forget, though, are the details -- more accurately, the people and places I've stayed with, events I've done, and things I've bought. And I never want to forget how beautiful Tikas are. I intend to return in two years or so (reserving next summer for a road trip, hopefully -- maybe doing as Irami did and biking across the US) and I'll keep a similar journal recording my thoughts and experiences, comparing then with now.
If you've noticed, I left out Friday's events in my last post. Why? I don't remember what happened. If I don't keep this log, it's likely that I'll have forgotten virtually everything about my experiences here, except to write them off as a tree-planting summer.
I see what you mean, of course. You think I'm not living the humanitarian purpose I originally set out to do. But whether I'm weeping about my angst or laughing over a beer bottle with friends, the work's still getting done. I don't see any particular need to suffer in order to do good deeds -- nor do I see sainthood and pleasure as necessarily seperate.
What would you have me post, Tom? A particularly exciting anecdote about a tree? I certainly can't write about helping a person -- as primitive as the place is, dude, the people here are happy. I'm helping to replant and preserve the rainforest -- if I go out with friends at night, I fail to see how it detracts from my greater purpose here.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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quote:as primitive as the place is, dude, the people here are happy
It's true. The Ticos I've met are among the happiest people I know. There's a certain lust for life they have that you rarely see in the States.
Posts: 4534 | Registered: Jan 2003
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Tom's right. I just reread what I wrote, and though I've been trying to convince myself that what I've been writing ISN'T little more than patting myself on the back (I've yet to mention a single instance of myself having sex, for example), it's painfully obvious that my writing, while helpful to remember the good times, is more than a little influenced by my surprise at my newfound attractiveness.
Tom, of all people, should understand. He and I have both been fat before in our lives -- we both know how goddamn difficult it is to live life with that kind of handicap. I'm by no means attractive, even now that I've slimmed down, but it's such a rush to be the object of these beautiful women's desires that I've all but forgotten that I should have a few ounces of humility in my writing.
If it makes you feel any better, Tom, I got shot down today in the bus. Possibly because my clothes reek -- not much chance to wash the things out here.
As for the journal, I think this is my last post. I'm coming back in a week, and I may not be able to escape Ian again. All I've been doing the past few weeks is working my ass off -- the damnable sendero, for the most part. There aren't too many breaks with Ian around.
I'm starting to worry about my health, though. Yesterday I was sawing some wood when the damn saw slipped and I cut fairly deeply into my hand. For a serrated blade, it was actually fairly painless -- but when I pulled on either side of the wound to check out if any splinters or rust had rubbed off inside, I saw purple flesh. I'm almost certain it's not usually that color. Is this normal?
Also, I've been strangely exhausted lately. I'm in good enough shape to handle most anything that comes my way around here -- yesterday I went up and down and up and back down Death March to fetch tools -- but even though I sleep 9-12 hours a night nowadays, I've still needed to take an afternoon nap after I finish my work. What the hell? I KNOW that isn't normal. It's the same exhaustion I experience when, on my normal schedule, I sleep 4-6 hours a day. What's going on?
Ian and Jenny want me to experience more of Costa Rica -- they told me to take off for the Dominical beach today. I'm not going to, if only because the Rio Sendero isn't complete yet, and I'll be damned if I'll leave a job half-finished. But it's tempting. Oh damn, it's tempting. I'm not sure whether to stay or go.
I've no idea what to type, since I don't know how long it's been since my last post, nor what's happened in the meantime. Looking forward to antipasta and those delicious salads from Jack-In-The-Box. Mmm mmm good. See you soon, you vegetable-eating paved-roaded wasteful greedy imperialist Americans you.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
Okay, so you'll be wanting the journal bit. I wish I had it. I dimly remember hitting a bar with Patooky, Lobo, Erik, and Chico. A couple more girls. Growing closer with Roxanna. Big party at Ian's casa. Another couple bars. Ridiculous shitloads of work now that Ian's back in town. Etcetera.
I can't believe I'm getting bored with all these parties.
Never get tired of looking at these Tikas, though. Jesus. This is what art should look like -- enough with the damn headless Greek women.
Be back in a week. Time flew. I'm so coming back in two years.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
I've been having the usual adventures. A few days ago (I have no idea how long ago -- I think two days, but the place is rather timeless) I did my WeedWhacker impression for Ian. Cut estacas for him from a ridiculous amount of trees -- then Ian insisted I climb up on a rickety ladder held together by one-and-a-half nails, reach way the hell between two trunks, and take down a thickass tree with a handsaw.
I got it about 80% of the way through, but it was virtually impossible. Jenny got Ian to insist that I stop, and I escorted them down the mountain to their dinner. (The next day, I came up late to the casa and proceeded to cut the tree down. Lobo stopped me, telling me I was about to kill myself, and had Patooky use the chainsaw to cut a wedge on the other side of the tree. Apparently, the way Ian instructed me to cut it down would have had the thing crush me. When Ian walked up later and I mentioned the wedge he never told me about (not to mention the goddamn chainsaw) he nodded knowingly and agreed there should be a wedge if I didn't want to die.)
They continued on to Maria's after I stopped at the Roca Dura for a few drinks with Roxanna and Ingrid and a couple others. Lobo drove by later in the night, apparently crushing the head of a "pit viper." I saw Tikos poking it with sticks, so I, I being a big dumb gringo, reached down and picked it up, holding it closer to my face.
That was when Lobo told me it could bite me after it died.
I can still hear my yammering.
But yeah. So the night progressed. Turns out a girl I spent the night with has decided we're novios -- it's fine with me, at least I don't have to go scrounging around in the bar anymore. I've told her time and time again that I'm leaving Sunday, but in the meantime, she apparently wants to show off the trophy gringo to her friends. Flattering as hell. Since when am I a trophy?
But, yeah, I promised to meet her last night. Didn't do it, because was out with Lobo and Erik and Joe and the wives and Richard and a bunch of others getting drunk. Learned a bit about pool -- am now more aware than ever about how shitty I am at it. Erik kicked my ass. He even beat Patooky. V. impressed. Not happy, since Erik won a six-pack from me. Wound up drinking most of it as revenge, back at his house -- we wound up there at the end of the night watching Matrix: Reloaded. And what a shitty movie that is. I haven't seen dialogue that stilted since Bush's last speech. I mean, the only major plot development was to show that Zion was just another level of the Matrix -- in the next movie, we'll see that the Matrix seems endless, or it all may be only a dream of Neo. Something cliche. Sigh.
Anyway, driving up, I think I saw the girl I was supposed to meet. Too dark to be sure, and I didn't want to act the fool by jumping out of the truck (and Lobo was hammered enough to leave me behind, I promise you) so didn't. Haven't seen her yet -- hopefully will tonight. Owe her an apology. I am flake, hear me roar.
Wandered down in the dark after a little spat with Erik. We've never gotten along, but gah. I really do like the guy for who he is -- if he wasn't such an asshole, we could probably be friends. But he is, and we aren't. Joe's a decent dude, though we had a slightly drunken argument last night -- he kept trying to insist that there's something MORE, that I'm not spiritual. Could not identify what is was (actually, he insisted that was the point), where it was, how it came to be, or how it affects us. Nor how he discovered it.
For a guy who used to be a bartender, Joe can't handle liquor very well.
Lobo's his usual amazing self. Fixed two motorcycles yesterday as I watched -- drunk as a preacher the entire time, but still brilliant about it. I'll miss that guy.
Etcetera.
This morning, I woke up fifteen minutes too late for the bus. Ran to Luis, asked if the bus had arrived yet (remembering to pull on a pair of boxers on the way, hooray hooray), and he suggested taking the milk truck instead, hitchhike it into town. Francine chimed in behind him, telling me to walk/hitchhike.
I didn't really feel like walking. Brushed my teeth while I waited for the truck -- ran like a mother****er to catch it after I heard it pulling away. Caught it. Did milk truck things, loading a ridiculous number of those large metal milk jugs -- since Johnny (the driver of the milk truck) had a large gringo in the truck with him, may as well put him to use.
Some redneck came to my rescue in his pickup. I was loading jugs when he drove by, and I asked for a ride -- Robert gave me a lift in to San Isidro, myself riding on the back of the truck.
That's really a highlight of my experience. The guy speeds on EVERYTHING. Looking back, I should've taken off my shirt -- but, no, still too pale.
Though, on that, a surprising number of people are mistaking me for a Tiko now. I'm still gringo as ****all, but apparently my skin's darkened enough (not very dark at all, in my opinion, but at least I look like a tanned white boy) to where it can work in combination with my Mexican genes to confuse people. V. flattering.
Am pissed, since cannot wear expensive cowboy hat I bought before I left. No use for it. V. annoying, since hat is black and rather sexy for an idea that was popularized by Texas.
May wear it on the airplane. Promised Feyd I'd do so.
Talked to Jeni for the first time in, what, two months? About time. If she wasn't on Canadian time, I'd have to blame her for our suspended inane banter.
I'm hoping the Chirripo's open today -- it was closed when I arrived, and I could REALLY go for one of those delicious hamburgers. Too bad they don't have dill pickles.
There's a couple days here I'm not accounting for, and I'm very aware of that. If I felt more interested, I'd write something about them -- if I was more interested, hell, the chronicle might be a bit less dull than it currently is. I've been doing shit that rivals my first month, easily -- but for some reason, I've all but lost interest in writing it down. Will regret when am old dirty man.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
Well, it's about goddamn time -- no more wanking off about time spent in bars, no more whining about how gorgeous Tikas are. Eddie has an Adventure!
But Eddie also has a bus at 11:30, and a ridiculously heavy pack to carry across town. Eddie will tell you about it tonight when he gets back. Anyone want to meet me at LAX, I'll be on the incoming 2:00 AM flight from San Jose. Or whenever the hell it arrives. Personally, I'd hope you'd have better sense than to meet me at such a godawful hour and in a place better equipped with coffee and masseuses.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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Okay, so, after writing that last big one, I'm heading home to the Roca Dura on the bus. It's the usual bit -- I notice an energetic tanned gringo with a ponytail pumping his way up and down the bus with a big smile, I strike up a conversation with three other gringos, none of whom know each other. The four of us head off to the Roca Dura to drink a bit, and I find out they -- they being Ross the Scot, Rich the Coloradian Biologist, and Josh the Texan (but I liked him anyway). Turns out we all met each other for the first time on the bus, and the three of them were heading up to Chirripo. In fact, by my coloring and Latin features, they thought I was Tico.
I wish there was a blushing smiley.
In truth, I'm outrageously gringo. I'm sure it was only their inexperience with Hispanics to mistake me for a native.
But yeah, so, they were heading up Chirripo. Nacho had walked in, and I had bought him a beer (and he was harassing me about the girl who chose me for a novio -- ever since he found out about it, he's been doing that obnoxious thing with his eyebrow and questioning grunt. You know what I'm talking about.), and Nacho asked why the hell don't I head up Chirripo with them. We were drunk enough to consider it, and eventually decided that if I felt like it, I'd head up at six to eat a breakfast with them and head out.
Morning came. I woke up at six, god knows why, and I did not feel like climbing the highest peak in Central America. I did not feel like climbing out of bed. But hell, they might be waiting for me, and I may as well say goodbye. So I stagger upstairs to apologize for not going, and run into Rich. Who is a very very cool bastard. He's just so damn friendly that what the hell, I may as well see him to the trailhead (the trail starts from the road only a short distance from Erik and Sandra's house -- then again, Erik and Sandra's house is, what, third from last at the end of the road). And after that I'd probably head off to work, and it might rain, so I grab my backpack and take off. In my backpack's naught but an umbrella, a flashlight, and my CDs. Boy Scouts got NOTHING on me.
So yeah, we reach the trailhead, but they're just such nice bastards. The first shelter's halfway up the mountain, and I figure it'll be a good excuse to hang around with my new friends for a while, and besides, the rangers say the average hiker reaches the trail after about six hours of hiking -- still enough for me to turn around for the Roca Dura before the rain comes.
Now, the average hiker reaches the first shelter in six hours. We reached it in three. We were SOLDIERS that day, you should've seen us. I felt more than a little Sherpa that day, actually, especially with the disproportionate time I spent ahead of the pack. Ross and Josh were light little fellas, and could keep up quite easily. Rich, a 30 year old biologist, was in great shape but couldn't quite match my long strides nor dance ahead like our two spritely companions. Still, he was slow but steady, and actually pulled ahead of me at times.
But yeah, so, I figure I'll go until noon. Still enough time to make it down, if I hurry, and these are SUCH nice guys.
At 12:30, I see some beautiful women heading toward the shelter. With a war cry ("Chicas bonitas!") and a spring in my step, I put on a boost and catch them. Rich, who's declared himself past the sow-your-seed stage in his life, decided to plow ahead while I talked with the chicas bonitas.
But these weren't just chicas bonitas. These were BLACK chicas bonitas. Oh god. Black women. It's been SO long. And one of them was really, truly beautiful -- her name was Karyn, and jesus I dug her. Her companion, more homely but way funnier, was Radha. She doesn't know why she has that name, either. Karyn made me promise to give her a back rub (she wanted it right then, but hell, I'm tired too) later that night, and they were both so tired I wound up carrying both their luggage up the mountain for them. Still, yeah, they're attractive, so I don't mind.
And since they're going to the shelter, the question of turning back is completely erased from my mind. I really should turn gay, if only to save myself this kind of hassle.
So I get to the shelter, and since I of course haven't stopped at the ranger station to register or buy a room, I have to buy it up there. It breaks me. Zero money left -- but at the time, I was sure I had $70 in my big pack back in my room, so I'm not all that worried. Yet, as my very presence there suggests, I'm not that bright a man.
But yeah. Going along with the whole "I'm a moron" idea, since I had no idea I would be up there until I was, I was not like every other person up there and equipped with a sleeping bag, food, a change of clothes, a JACKET, or money.
Hmm.
Ross gave me a plate of pasta-esque macaroni and cheese he made himself, and Rich made soup for everyone. I really love these guys. I mean it, best guys in the world are tourists.
There's nothing to do, so we largely sit around and play moronic card games. Taught to us by Josh the Texan. Coincidence? I ask you.
But I get up and get the two assholes up front to get me a chessboard -- they may as well EARN all that money I gave them. I take it back, and lo and behold, the vigorous Spaniard from the bus is there, chowing down on a HUGE plate of tuna and umentionables. He pumps his way over to me and I learn his name's Ruben, and he's like to play chess. Again, a great dude -- the personification of "vigorous," but friendly as all hell -- and he even beats me on the first game, since I was too busy focusing on my pawn structure to pay attention to his queen. I slap myself for the idiocy and, in the next four games, strip every ounce of chess pride the man had. Still, we part amicably (I take off for bed when the girls do -- they were playing some obnoxious card-slapping game, and god alone knows how many times they slapped the table, knocked over the chess game, apologized, rinsed and repeated).
Once there, hey, we figure out it's COLD. Seeing as how I'm freezing, wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of those Nike sweats with holes throughout them, I ask Karyn to share my bed with me. No sex -- I did NOT want to find out how fast bodily fluids would have frozen -- but just for the body warmth. Unfortunately, the bed was just too damn small for the two of us. Just as well -- my clothes and I were skanky enough to gag her if she had managed to spend the night. (Did not take shower, as Costa Rica likes to tell gringos that in every building they have, there is no hot water. Costa Rica is a bitch.)
So I shivered my way through the night, determined to head back to the Roca Dura with the girls in the morning, after some healthy huddling and whimpering under my sleeping bag until at least 9:00. Seeing as Radha had actually passed out for a brief second on the way up, I was sure they'd stick their plans.
Unfortunately, it seems the girls are as consistent as I am. Radha herself declared that since she was up that far, may as well go the rest of the way. Cannot let pretty girls one-up me (note to self -- kill that damn male ego) so when I find out about their plans at six in the morning, I immediately, swing out of bed and head up. Run into Ross, Josh, Rich, the vigorous Spanish Ruben, and maybe someone else -- they'd all went up at 3 to see the sun rise. Rich warned me about hypothermia. I was, may I remind you, clad in naught but a T-shirt proclaiming Cinco de Mayo and these Nike sweats that are full of thousands of tiny little holes. They were clad in full-out snow gear like thick jackets, puffy pants, and geeky little hats.
But I am a man, and men don't turn around (or, at least, let pretty chicks know that we did), so Ruben shakes my hand vigorously, and I promise to see the other dudes down at the Roca Dura. I head up to the peak alone. Mount Chirripo's actually the highest peak in Central America, or so I was repeatedly told, and I'm sure I should have felt some awe at the insignificance of my existance or blah blah blah, but what I felt was ****ing cold. Really ****ing cold. I opened up the ledger, read some obnoxious posts thanking Jesus (they also used plenty of exclamation marks! If they were there, I would have thrown them off! Thank you for your Creation, Jesus! It's just PERFECT for moron-tossing!), and wrote an irate, two-page long rant at the elements, the other morons who posted before me, my miserable situation, and Rich for dragging me up here.
Actually, though I was up there without my permission, I couldn't exactly blame anyone, least of all Rich. Still. Can't admit that in ledger. The girls came up while I wrote. We stood there feeling cold for a while, then headed down, the girls bitching about their hands all the while. I remember feeling smug about having my entire body gone numb so I didn't have to feel the frostbite set in. We get back to the shelter, and lay around feeling angry for a while. Then, since we finally feel something that amounts for peppy, we head down. I carry their luggage the entire way, along with three rocks I jacked from Chirripo (new personal motto -- "bringing down Chirripo; one stone at a time"). All told, the pack weighed somewhere between forty and fifty pounds. Not fun.
The walk down was SO much worse than the walk up. My joints are still creaking. I could have gone way the hell faster (and way the hell smoother) on my own, but I was behind Karyn most of the way, and there was no better view on the mountain. There's so much of that hell-march that I can't write down -- suffice it to say that we were laughing hysterically most of the way, partly due to Radha (who, as we got farther down, pointed out places where yesterday, walking up, we were HAPPY; or how if we saw one more jackass prancing up the mountain, we were going to seize them and make them prance back down to San Gerardo or the Caribbean), and partly due to the fact that if we weren't laughing, we'd be crying.
Then we ran across the cows. There were two, a real live cow and its real live bull. I made my way past the cow well enough (bravely going around it), then bravely fled in terror when the bull tossed its head at me. I ran up the side of the mountain where it couldn't follow me with anything more than its eyes, then asked the girls to holler at it to attract its attention. When it turned away, I jumped down, and ran away.
When the girls caught up with me later, they thanked me for leaving them with the man-eating bull. Did not respond, as felt all strategic retreats were forced to suffer some element of casualties. A tragedy. Hell, I even told them that if I had heard them screaming in the distance, I would have felt bad about it.
Did not get laid that night. Just as well, as was not able to move my body.
We got down to the Uran, and Francine's place was right next to it. We couldn't have walked down to the Roca Dura if we had wanted to, so we wept and begged Francine for a ride. I was very close to allowing her to fondle my breasts when I found out she was heading down anyway to see Luis. We waited in the Uran with PowerAde and moaned.
That was when Francine drove past us.
You've never seen me move so fast. I yammered my way down a hundred yards, screaming at Francine to please please stop oh god my feet Francine please god help me I hate you die may Luis leave you for a hot Tika you ugly spiteful bi-you're stopping! I love you! Please! Let me lick your feet clean!
The girls caught up some minutes later. Did not thank me for my unbelievable feat of speed, or for destroying the remnants of my feet. Think they were pissy about man-eating bull.
We wound up at the Roca Dura. Despite not eating anything but a bowl of soup and a bowl of macaroni for two days, was not hungry -- still hate some fried chicken since gave me an excuse to hang around the girls. Then Luis sidles over and tells me Ian and etcetera were throwing me a party that night, in honor of my departure.
I don't think I've ever wept more bitterly about a party.
But it's a sweet thing to do, so I go downstairs and pull on clothes. Then I sleep, until Lobo pounds on the door and tells me to stop spanking myself, it's time to go to a party. I stagger the inch to the door, and Lobo and Giovanni are standing there. When Lobo sees the shape I'm in, he tells me he's calling the party off, and I'd better sleep or he'll kick my ass.
I really do love that man. If Givan ever leaves him (or dies... I should really be fingering a blade evilly right now...), I'm SO going to convince him to take it like a man.
But yeah, so, I pass out for the night.
I wake up the next morning to the sound of Lobo's sweet pounding on my door. Joe the new volunteer (have I mentioned Joe? Sourpuss dude) is with him, and we all wind up heading up to the casa.
Now, Ian's been here about three days, and I have yet to stop by and see him or his wife or his two daughters or his daughters' friend or his daughters' friend's mother. So I jump off the truck as I normally do, forgetting my legs don't work, and wind up yowling when I hit the ground. As I mince my way to the casa, I hear the sound of feet pounding their way up the staircase -- the daughters' friend's mother, whose name I forget (but whom I'll call AOW from now on, for Attractive Older Woman) greets me. She's a fairly shapely woman, with a small, distinguished streak of white in her hair, and she apologizes for the girls. They saw us approaching, and ran upstairs to make themselves pretty.
They eventually come down, and sure, they're pretty enough, but there's no way they'll ever be attractive to me. Ian's youngest is thirteen (called Laurie or something) and his other fifteen. Though the older one sported a rather impressive pair of breasts for her age, they both looked about eight years old. Was not interested, even if they were both eighteen and not my boss' daughters. Their friend was another black girl, who was sixteen and looked even younger than Ian's kids. To be honest, I was rather relieved -- I know I would've had a huge moral conflict with myself if the girls had been of age and attractive.
Ian and Jenny show up a little while later. I want to help Chico out with the garage construction, but Ian insists I hike with him and his group up the mountain. Both Erik and Joe get dragged into it as well. On the way up, Ian tries to show off for his kids and has Erik climb a tree, then help Ian climb his own way up. The girls didn't even look. Poor Ian.
We all head up to a river, and Ian again shows off by stripping and diving into the ice-cold river. Just as well -- he wanted a rope tied across the river to catch anyone swept away, and if the girls weren't there, he would've made me do it. So the girls jump into the water from a rock, Ian helps them out, and rinse and repeat. God alone knows how cold Ian must have been. I went in up to my ankles, cursing at the stones' effect on my blistered and sore feet, and watched the show. The girls got tired of it after a time, despite Ian's showing off (the poor bastard climbed the other rope we'd strung up, only to fall on a shitload of large rocks, on his back; he also did many other humorous things, such as constantly losing his shorts in the stream).
But yeah. The day goes on. We have a spaghetti lunch, yadda yadda. When we head down on the truck, myself and the girls riding in the back in the pouring rain, I get dropped off at Richard's place, since I need to get my George R. R. Martin books back. When I get there, I stay with Richard, a vaguely creepy one-armed German dude, and the German's Indian wife and watch Rush Hour. The wife was actually fairly attractive and sweet, I'm not sure what she was doing with him.
Still, had a good time. I just sat there and shivered, then Richard took me back to the Roca Dura and pulled a beer run. I spent the rest of the night talking art and politics with Francine's friend (Joy?), who was a delight to talk with, even if she seemed rather extreme to the liberal side. Lobo showed up as we had dinner (well, Luis and Francine and Joy had dinner; I had a small plate of nachos, since Luis insisted Francine toss in a little extra for me. I love that man, also.) and said goodbye. Very emotional. Hugged, even.
Then I paid Luis for my stay, especially since I had just found out some gringos had run up a 60,000 colones tab on him, then borrowed $30 and ran out. He insisted that I was diferente, but I knew I had to take off the next day to spend in San Jose. I had take it from the extra money I had stashed, and which I thought was $70.
It was $50! Imagine my surprise!
So I was left holding about three dollars and change after that. Not fun. I sat around and mooned for the rest of the night -- when Nacho showed up, doing that obnoxious thing he does, I told him I had problemas de dinero, and took off to mope downstairs. Luis shows up, offers to buy my CD player off me, but then Francine drags him off to bed and I'm left with a new hope.
You see, airports now charge you an extra $30 or so just to use them. Bastards. I couldn't leave the country on the money I had remaining -- hell, I doubt I could've made it to San Jose. And I did NOT want to borrow money. So the next day, I head up to the casa to hang around with Rich and Joe all day. Ran into Ulani for the last time, along with a couple other Ticos. Had a bunch of rice and beans prepared by Joe. The day was a drag, really.
Later, I spent my last night in the Roca Dura with Rich. We're both fairly toasted from Chirripo still, so the talk's quiet and pleasant. Sold my CD player to Luis for half of what it was worth -- I think we both felt cheated, which is always the sign of a good compromise. Took a few desperate last-minute shots of the people around there. I wanted to take some of random hot chicks, if only to tell my friends I slept with her, I slept with her, and with her, and damn she was good -- unfortunately, only Roxanna showed at the time, and she didn't stay long enough for a picture. Did get my big buddy Juan-Carlos, though, along with a friendly weaselly dude who spoke decent English. Joe, Rich, Lobo, Francine, and Luis. Etcetera. Lobo showed up, and did the Nacho-thing of telling me to hunt down that girl; apparently, she was asking after me the night before.
Spent my last night cold and alone. Was out and ready for the 7:00 bus at six, and Rich joined me at 6:30. What a monstrous bag I carried, too -- even I could barely carry it. I would've loved to see someone try to steal it. Spent an hour in the Internet cafe, then took off on the 11:30 bus to San Jose. Chick behind me tried to start conversations, fed me some chips, and flirted like mad throughout the trip, but she had to have been in her mid-forties -- and while not always bad, in her case, it was. Still, quite flattering. Took a taxi to the airport, and sat around there waiting for my flight to leave, nibbling at a Burger King meal I'd bought for over two hours.
The flight back was uneventful, though during the landing I had the strangest impulse to leap up and claim the plane in the name of Allah. Did not want to be beaten to death by fat vacationing gringos, so did not. Got back here, wrote a choppyass version of the events.
Used the bathroom -- never realized how underappreciated that toilet is.
Now I'm off for a hot shower and a comfortable bed sans cockroaches. Life is good. I'm sure I'll have my wiser reflections later.
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
Also, yes, I think I've next summer planned. A bicycle trip across the US? I'm thinking I head up the Pacific coastline, then swing east once I hit Portland. I'll end up in NY, but I should be able to hit Wisconsin and meet some of you Brand Xers along the path.
Irami, for your trip, where'd you take yourself?
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
I'm bumping this since it's fallen uncomfortably far behind, given the Cards' penchant for deleting older threads. My apologies for that last entry on the first page -- my, I was a horny buck in Costa Rica...
Posts: 3293 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
Ditto on BannaOj's suggestion. This has the feel of a 'life' thread, though covering a shorter period of time.
Posts: 8501 | Registered: Jul 2001
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I can still hear my yammering.
