Friday, February 13, 2004
Well Its Friday, 12:30, and I just said goodbye to the kids.
Traumatic. Wendy started periodically crying from the time I first got to the orphanage. She cries in this low=pitched wail that is especially disturbing for some reason. Ben and I had bought confitas (candy) and some trinket plastic toys for a fiesta. We played music, played and danced. With some of the kids in school now, things are much calmer. In Costa Rica, students love school, value it, enjoy going, and are always ready to show you their work and school uniform. Its a refreshing perspective. I helped Wendy with her tarea today. She is learning to form the letter `l´ and ´ll´. She has difficulty writing her letters, and cannot read, which at eight is concerning and likely the result of severe childhood neglect. However, she is patient, and with prompting, can stay focused on a single task for a long period of time. I worry so much where she will be in a year. Five years... the idea of her as an adult, independent person is really disturbing. I cannot imagine that she will ever function without assistance. Again, all people´s reproductive organs should be earned, not given at birth.
Karla started sobbing around 11:30, screaming te quiero (I love you) and por qúe (¿why?). Her grandmother came to visit this morning. She is an older overweight woman, who never smiles, and hardly seems to even talk to her granddaughter. Instead, they sit on the couch every Friday morning, eat yogurt and sometimes crackers or baby food. Karla is always dressed up, as all the kids are when family visits. I don´t know why Karla does not go home with her grandmother, and I do not know what exactly landed her in protective services in the first place. But like all the children of the horgarcito, she is fragile. I left her crying, after a long long long goodbye, at the gate of the orphanage. I better make school worth its necessary selfishness. I better put some of my education to use soon, because its hard to justify the easy luxury of my existence back home.
Juan Ramon would not even hug me, let alone kiss me. Jose Fabio screamed ¿why? repeatedly, angrily. I ended up just telling the little ones, when they asked, that I¨m going to the same place as Wendy and Suzanna (the volunteers who left when I came). They seemed to understand, then, that I would really not be back on Monday.
It worries me, of course, that the volunteers add more transience to lives already longing for persons and things of permanence. But in that place of sparse furniture, fewer toys, and the tias beyond reach, usually behind the kitchen barred gate, I know that is better that we are there. At least we can teach that adults can be kind, that human beings can offer love.
I am tired. Ready for lunch. Ready, in general, for more change. My only fears are the often paralyzing comforts of home, the staggering workload of school, the possibility that I will have to find another meaningless job. Well, really the only thing I can do about any of that right now is eat, so lunch it is.
Traumatic. Wendy started periodically crying from the time I first got to the orphanage. She cries in this low=pitched wail that is especially disturbing for some reason. Ben and I had bought confitas (candy) and some trinket plastic toys for a fiesta. We played music, played and danced. With some of the kids in school now, things are much calmer. In Costa Rica, students love school, value it, enjoy going, and are always ready to show you their work and school uniform. Its a refreshing perspective. I helped Wendy with her tarea today. She is learning to form the letter `l´ and ´ll´. She has difficulty writing her letters, and cannot read, which at eight is concerning and likely the result of severe childhood neglect. However, she is patient, and with prompting, can stay focused on a single task for a long period of time. I worry so much where she will be in a year. Five years... the idea of her as an adult, independent person is really disturbing. I cannot imagine that she will ever function without assistance. Again, all people´s reproductive organs should be earned, not given at birth.
Karla started sobbing around 11:30, screaming te quiero (I love you) and por qúe (¿why?). Her grandmother came to visit this morning. She is an older overweight woman, who never smiles, and hardly seems to even talk to her granddaughter. Instead, they sit on the couch every Friday morning, eat yogurt and sometimes crackers or baby food. Karla is always dressed up, as all the kids are when family visits. I don´t know why Karla does not go home with her grandmother, and I do not know what exactly landed her in protective services in the first place. But like all the children of the horgarcito, she is fragile. I left her crying, after a long long long goodbye, at the gate of the orphanage. I better make school worth its necessary selfishness. I better put some of my education to use soon, because its hard to justify the easy luxury of my existence back home.
Juan Ramon would not even hug me, let alone kiss me. Jose Fabio screamed ¿why? repeatedly, angrily. I ended up just telling the little ones, when they asked, that I¨m going to the same place as Wendy and Suzanna (the volunteers who left when I came). They seemed to understand, then, that I would really not be back on Monday.
It worries me, of course, that the volunteers add more transience to lives already longing for persons and things of permanence. But in that place of sparse furniture, fewer toys, and the tias beyond reach, usually behind the kitchen barred gate, I know that is better that we are there. At least we can teach that adults can be kind, that human beings can offer love.
I am tired. Ready for lunch. Ready, in general, for more change. My only fears are the often paralyzing comforts of home, the staggering workload of school, the possibility that I will have to find another meaningless job. Well, really the only thing I can do about any of that right now is eat, so lunch it is.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
So much drama for such a small house.
How could two groups of people function, behave, interact, act, breathe so differently?? My group was a nurturing orgy of creative, intelligent, energy. Everyone worried about their contribution, about their ability to carve a bit of the bad out this world. Everyone appreciated the other´s beauty and felt given a gift by enjoying each others´ company. I have never trusted fate as the master of my ship before the last couple of months. But the beauty of wide white beaches kissing dark blue waves, juxtaposed next to the overwhelming generosity, care, and intelligence of friends instilled in me a calm, peaceful, hope. I have been greatly greatly blessed.
This new group however, consists of a couple dozen conniving, back stabbing, survivor-like, children. They exclude, they alienate, they spread rumors, they hurt feelings, one has even moved (in my opinion) far into the red realm of sexual harassment, if not attempted assault. I am far far from these matters, having barely interacted with a single one of them, choosing to savor the last days of Nora´s and then Willie´s company, and then savor their lasting impressions in semi-solitude and reflection. However, one poor Del Mar compatriot of new group has sought refuge in me and confided more drama than I would ever wish to hear.
Perhaps it is a good transition back to reality, a reminder that the whole wide world cannot consist solely of great, true people. But really, the world is only as wide as you choose, and I chose long ago to draw the curtains around anyone as careless and destructive as these people seem to be. (and God knows Shan and I dealt with these bastards in high school) So I really cannot say it is any sort of transition. Given that I will return on Saturday to the warm safe house of friends and family who have saved me a hundred times over from various dark and dramatic fates unknown.
So again, I am ready to come home, to leave the CCS house, but not to leave Costa Rica. And again, I am so lucky, so blessed to have had the experience I had that I can only enter the world more hopeful, more strong, and more at peace with my own ability to move around a little, breathe deeper, and maybe leave more than fingerprints behind.
How could two groups of people function, behave, interact, act, breathe so differently?? My group was a nurturing orgy of creative, intelligent, energy. Everyone worried about their contribution, about their ability to carve a bit of the bad out this world. Everyone appreciated the other´s beauty and felt given a gift by enjoying each others´ company. I have never trusted fate as the master of my ship before the last couple of months. But the beauty of wide white beaches kissing dark blue waves, juxtaposed next to the overwhelming generosity, care, and intelligence of friends instilled in me a calm, peaceful, hope. I have been greatly greatly blessed.
This new group however, consists of a couple dozen conniving, back stabbing, survivor-like, children. They exclude, they alienate, they spread rumors, they hurt feelings, one has even moved (in my opinion) far into the red realm of sexual harassment, if not attempted assault. I am far far from these matters, having barely interacted with a single one of them, choosing to savor the last days of Nora´s and then Willie´s company, and then savor their lasting impressions in semi-solitude and reflection. However, one poor Del Mar compatriot of new group has sought refuge in me and confided more drama than I would ever wish to hear.
Perhaps it is a good transition back to reality, a reminder that the whole wide world cannot consist solely of great, true people. But really, the world is only as wide as you choose, and I chose long ago to draw the curtains around anyone as careless and destructive as these people seem to be. (and God knows Shan and I dealt with these bastards in high school) So I really cannot say it is any sort of transition. Given that I will return on Saturday to the warm safe house of friends and family who have saved me a hundred times over from various dark and dramatic fates unknown.
So again, I am ready to come home, to leave the CCS house, but not to leave Costa Rica. And again, I am so lucky, so blessed to have had the experience I had that I can only enter the world more hopeful, more strong, and more at peace with my own ability to move around a little, breathe deeper, and maybe leave more than fingerprints behind.
Monday, February 09, 2004
And now there is one...
I rode home from the airport today (after going with Geraldo in the van to drop Willie off) all alone. It was the same white CCS Toyota van that picked me up almost seven weeks ago. While Willie and I rode into San Jose, we could not help but relive the first van ride home (I say home meaning Quesada, notice). And now I am the only one left from that journey. I held myself together today a bit better than when Nora left. Although that is not really giving myself many kudos, considering I was inconsolably sobbing when Nora left, literally as she drove away in that same damn van. Anyway, I somehow know I´ll see Willie soon. Utah isn´t quite Deleware at least. I am surprised Jose let me accompany Willie to the airport, although I think he could tell ´no´ really was not an option.
The drive home in the van with Geraldo was actually quite perfect. We talked (in Spanish) for about three and a half hours. I learned all about farming and trucking in Costa Rica. I learned about the different climates and the different jobs Geraldo has had. I learned about how Costa Rica has changed, and why Quesada is the perfect place to live. It has a clear and bright day, with a few high puffy clouds. The countryside between San Jose and San Carlos consists of rolling green mountains, patched with dairy farms, coffee fields, and recently cut corn. Cows graze in large pens (usually) and giant trucks amble by, piled high with the caña (corn) cut in arm length pieces by a machete. Every third truck is a bright which leche camion with the extremely familiar ´Dos Pinas´ logo on each side. Upon inquiry, Geraldo explained that ´Dos Pinas´is a co-operative Costa Rican dairy company--really the only dairy company. They buy milk from the family farms and purify it for public sale. However, many families (and the orphanage) buy their milk ´pure´, directly from a farm, delivered daily by a man who pours it from a barrel to a bucket. (Each day the kids greet the man, saying, ´ola, leche!´)
Let me re-wind a couple days...Thursday, I met Willie´s parents, who came to CCS to see what he´s been up to all these weeks. That happens to be the same day that Nora left, so I was a tad upset. However, after I pull myself together, the four of us go to Tabacon for the evening. Tabacon is one of the hot springs in La Fortuna. La Fortuna is the town about 45 minutes away from Quesada where there is an active volcano. Willie´s mom and his step-dad are extremely nice, as expected, and we actually get to see a LAVA FLOW. This is especially exciting because we had been to La Fortuna about 800 times and were never able to see the lava due to cloud cover. Anyway, we then have dinner. After dinner I begin to feel a bit dizzy. Okay...no...really really dizzy. Willie rounds his parents up and all are considerate enough to end the night a bit early. They even pay for a van (as apposed to a taxi) so that I can lie down. Before the van leaves, however, I realize that I really MUST vacate the van, and proceed to vommit basically everything I could. Now this is a merely disgusting addition to my blog, unless you realize the significance...this is the first time I had vomited in almost 15 years. So you can only imagine my joy and excitement. Emotions multiplied by the fact that Willie´s parents were able to partake in the experience. I had to have the driver stop the van within ten minutes, due to my body somehow believing it had missed some morsel of food. And, Sarah, know that I now understand what it feels like to be sick and in a bumpy, moving, vehicle. Good God. Well I made it home, in no small part thanks to Willie, who I slept on, and who enjoyed my nails digging into his arm at every turn and bump.
That night, throughout which my stomach continued its festivities, I was joined in my now-private room by a compañera de enfermo, Laura, who was significantly and horribly more sick than even I.
Therefore, I entered my Friday morning, empty, sick, sore, on less than half-an-hour of sleep, but ready to go to the orphanage, anyway. (Not to mention, Wed. night was Nora´s last night, and I had slept only three hours). Willie accompanied me to the orphanage, which was greatly appreciated. As the kids ran and jumped onto me, climbed up my back, and plopped violently down on my lap, I relived in perfection my mother´s experience at times, when we were young. I was much less patient, I believe, and much less able to hide my discomfort than my mother, however. Anyway I left a tad early, (knowing I would have to rest periodically on the walk home), enjoyed an hour of the worst heartburn of my existence, showered, packed, and jumped in the van, headed for Playa de Jaco for the weekend. There is nothing like being sick. Our bodies are so integral to our experience in this life. I need to listen more closely to mine, and respond with better care.
OOOO Friday was the day of my one significant victory with Jose Fabio--successfully getting him to apologise to Wendy for slapping her. Later however, I learned it may have had to do more with the fact that Willie was standing behind me, glaring at him in a --seriously do not mess with her--sort of a way...oh well a victory is a victory. Those kids need a strong male figure so badly. And Willie would have been an incredible asset. Of course he did basically start (with Jesse and Jenny) his own day camp in the worst neighbourhood in Quesada (CCS provided an armed guard) and became a father figure for about half of that town--well at least big-brother figure. So I guess that´s enough.
Back to Jaco...Alas, my body was in no condition to surf, but I was nursed back to semi-health by the salt water and the air conditioning of the hotel room, not to mention Willie and Laura´s constant consideration. AND food and water entered and remained (not indefinitely, but as it should) in my stomach.
You know, come to think of it, the functions of my body may be a less than interesting blog. But you have to understand that after living communally with people that are periodically very ill, there is nothing you won´t discuss over a plate of gallo pinto, incluyendo the most intricate details of bowel movements and respiratory discomforts. Happens when you only have two bathrooms, anyway.
Now that there is really just me, and a slew of dramatic-problematic volunteers that I do not know (some definitely excepted) I´m almost ready to come home. I miss my cats, and I miss Shan everyday, but I have no desire to leave this country, and feel there is so much I still need to see, and know. I look forward to cooking Costa Rican food for Nick and Phil, and seeing my family at the airport, I guess I wish all could just come to me, instead. Of course, Costa Rica has shrugged a bit into the shade for me, with Nora and Willie´s brilliant presence out of sight.
I rode home from the airport today (after going with Geraldo in the van to drop Willie off) all alone. It was the same white CCS Toyota van that picked me up almost seven weeks ago. While Willie and I rode into San Jose, we could not help but relive the first van ride home (I say home meaning Quesada, notice). And now I am the only one left from that journey. I held myself together today a bit better than when Nora left. Although that is not really giving myself many kudos, considering I was inconsolably sobbing when Nora left, literally as she drove away in that same damn van. Anyway, I somehow know I´ll see Willie soon. Utah isn´t quite Deleware at least. I am surprised Jose let me accompany Willie to the airport, although I think he could tell ´no´ really was not an option.
The drive home in the van with Geraldo was actually quite perfect. We talked (in Spanish) for about three and a half hours. I learned all about farming and trucking in Costa Rica. I learned about the different climates and the different jobs Geraldo has had. I learned about how Costa Rica has changed, and why Quesada is the perfect place to live. It has a clear and bright day, with a few high puffy clouds. The countryside between San Jose and San Carlos consists of rolling green mountains, patched with dairy farms, coffee fields, and recently cut corn. Cows graze in large pens (usually) and giant trucks amble by, piled high with the caña (corn) cut in arm length pieces by a machete. Every third truck is a bright which leche camion with the extremely familiar ´Dos Pinas´ logo on each side. Upon inquiry, Geraldo explained that ´Dos Pinas´is a co-operative Costa Rican dairy company--really the only dairy company. They buy milk from the family farms and purify it for public sale. However, many families (and the orphanage) buy their milk ´pure´, directly from a farm, delivered daily by a man who pours it from a barrel to a bucket. (Each day the kids greet the man, saying, ´ola, leche!´)
Let me re-wind a couple days...Thursday, I met Willie´s parents, who came to CCS to see what he´s been up to all these weeks. That happens to be the same day that Nora left, so I was a tad upset. However, after I pull myself together, the four of us go to Tabacon for the evening. Tabacon is one of the hot springs in La Fortuna. La Fortuna is the town about 45 minutes away from Quesada where there is an active volcano. Willie´s mom and his step-dad are extremely nice, as expected, and we actually get to see a LAVA FLOW. This is especially exciting because we had been to La Fortuna about 800 times and were never able to see the lava due to cloud cover. Anyway, we then have dinner. After dinner I begin to feel a bit dizzy. Okay...no...really really dizzy. Willie rounds his parents up and all are considerate enough to end the night a bit early. They even pay for a van (as apposed to a taxi) so that I can lie down. Before the van leaves, however, I realize that I really MUST vacate the van, and proceed to vommit basically everything I could. Now this is a merely disgusting addition to my blog, unless you realize the significance...this is the first time I had vomited in almost 15 years. So you can only imagine my joy and excitement. Emotions multiplied by the fact that Willie´s parents were able to partake in the experience. I had to have the driver stop the van within ten minutes, due to my body somehow believing it had missed some morsel of food. And, Sarah, know that I now understand what it feels like to be sick and in a bumpy, moving, vehicle. Good God. Well I made it home, in no small part thanks to Willie, who I slept on, and who enjoyed my nails digging into his arm at every turn and bump.
That night, throughout which my stomach continued its festivities, I was joined in my now-private room by a compañera de enfermo, Laura, who was significantly and horribly more sick than even I.
Therefore, I entered my Friday morning, empty, sick, sore, on less than half-an-hour of sleep, but ready to go to the orphanage, anyway. (Not to mention, Wed. night was Nora´s last night, and I had slept only three hours). Willie accompanied me to the orphanage, which was greatly appreciated. As the kids ran and jumped onto me, climbed up my back, and plopped violently down on my lap, I relived in perfection my mother´s experience at times, when we were young. I was much less patient, I believe, and much less able to hide my discomfort than my mother, however. Anyway I left a tad early, (knowing I would have to rest periodically on the walk home), enjoyed an hour of the worst heartburn of my existence, showered, packed, and jumped in the van, headed for Playa de Jaco for the weekend. There is nothing like being sick. Our bodies are so integral to our experience in this life. I need to listen more closely to mine, and respond with better care.
OOOO Friday was the day of my one significant victory with Jose Fabio--successfully getting him to apologise to Wendy for slapping her. Later however, I learned it may have had to do more with the fact that Willie was standing behind me, glaring at him in a --seriously do not mess with her--sort of a way...oh well a victory is a victory. Those kids need a strong male figure so badly. And Willie would have been an incredible asset. Of course he did basically start (with Jesse and Jenny) his own day camp in the worst neighbourhood in Quesada (CCS provided an armed guard) and became a father figure for about half of that town--well at least big-brother figure. So I guess that´s enough.
Back to Jaco...Alas, my body was in no condition to surf, but I was nursed back to semi-health by the salt water and the air conditioning of the hotel room, not to mention Willie and Laura´s constant consideration. AND food and water entered and remained (not indefinitely, but as it should) in my stomach.
You know, come to think of it, the functions of my body may be a less than interesting blog. But you have to understand that after living communally with people that are periodically very ill, there is nothing you won´t discuss over a plate of gallo pinto, incluyendo the most intricate details of bowel movements and respiratory discomforts. Happens when you only have two bathrooms, anyway.
Now that there is really just me, and a slew of dramatic-problematic volunteers that I do not know (some definitely excepted) I´m almost ready to come home. I miss my cats, and I miss Shan everyday, but I have no desire to leave this country, and feel there is so much I still need to see, and know. I look forward to cooking Costa Rican food for Nick and Phil, and seeing my family at the airport, I guess I wish all could just come to me, instead. Of course, Costa Rica has shrugged a bit into the shade for me, with Nora and Willie´s brilliant presence out of sight.
Saturday, January 31, 2004
Today is Saturday, which is rather scary as I´m off to CCS early tomarrow morning. I am sitting in the PizzaNet cafe in Montezuma. We arrived about half an hour ago from Mal Pais after a bus and taxi ride. Strangely this feels like home, as we were here earlier in the week and were actually able to rent the exact same room, with a cold cold shower, the beach within 200 yards and hammocks lining the deck.
Since Wednesday we were staying in Mal Pais, a rural beach town with one long long dirt road that smelled purpetually of molasis from the local store and cabina owners tarring it to seal out the dust. The dust was winning.
We spent Wednesday night at Surfcamp a hostel-resturant-bar with a mechanical bull of all things, and live music. They actually played a little Dave Matthews which made me more than a little happy, and Nora and I spent the evening dancing and talking to quite a few French men (who are all on their month long vacations apparently). We had a beautiful night, and then a long dusty walk home to our cabina.
Thursday we moved to a room actually in `town,` using a taxi to move, avoiding another marathon hike in the sun with our backpacks. However, upon arrival at Charlie´s Cabinas, Willie realized that he did not have my special little packet of creditcard, bankcard, driverslicense, and phone cards. So shit. We find a taxi back (actually the same one as there is only one in town) and I talk to the cleaning woman there. Again, so thankful for the pathetic Spanish I have. She says that she has cleaned the room and there was nothing there. After quite a bit of talking to a variety of people, she tells me to call tomarrow as one of the cleaning men is not there and may know something. I have no pen to write down the phone number, however, and so we walk over to the manager-waitress-cook`s end cabina to get one. As she slides the pen through the window, I see my happy little packet chillin in the inner window sill. So I snatch that up and head off with a happy stomach. Do I think they were trying to steal my stuff? Actually no, but it was interesting nonetheless.
Thursday was the happiest day of my life BECAUSE I LEARNED TO SURF!!! Nora scored us two boards (as neither one of us could afford the ten dollars to rent one) from a sun-burned girl who was done for the day. And yeah, I headed out a bit concerned, as I haven´t spent vast amounts of time in the ocean lately. But within twenty minutes or so I got up, fell prompty most of the time, was completely wiped a couple of times, BUT GOT UP! hmmmm...so I have now a new past time to bring with me to San Diego, and a new use for my beautiful clean Explorer (thank you Dad) as transportation for my board...hmmmm...maybe a birthday present.
I went out again later that day, and had to fight to even get out far enough to catch waves big enough to bring me in. I could feel with every hit of a wave that my body was pretty brutally beaten, but I was still surprised at my black and blue hips, knees, and elbows. Don´t worry, I took pictures of my battle wounds for vicarious consumption...oooo and Nora actually got a pic of me on the board.
Friday was the morning from hell. I needed to get in touch with CCS, figure out how exactly to get back to CCS, and get money, as Nora and I were completely broke. Well.... bank cards in Costa Rica work about half the time and the only bank around here anyways is about a half hour bus ride. And we missed the bus. By about ten minutes. The next bus we could not take because I needed to be on the phone at noon to call CCS. So what to do. We had enough money to get a taxi there, but if we were unsuccessful in withdrawing money, we would be stranded there. So we spend the next hour trying to decide what to do. Willie is gone to some distant beach or whatnot at this point, thinking that we made the bus. So we decide to take the taxi. We get there. Enter the bank. And after some preliminary problems, successfully withdraw money. Money that is counted out in front of us. In front of everyone at the bank. Not to mention people generally know why you are in a bank anyway.
So then we put the money in Nora´s money belt in her pants and walk outside. Now we are faceing an intersection of two streets which is the entire glorious town of Cobano. Each street corner has a couple shops, outdoor vegetable carts, and about a dozen men, mostly cab drivers and who knows what else. Now this isn´t an especially sketchy area. Its not a big city or a den of theives. But we were concerned, none the less, about entering any taxi as two girls with money. Taxis are such strange things because in ANY situation in ANY country when a girl gets into a cab driven by a man she is trusting him in a way she would probably not even trust a coworker or aquaintance. (is that nearly spelled right?)
So we get in this cab, one new and with a proper sign. And he drives the wrong direction, mumbling something about needing to get something. Nora and I simultaneously, instantaneously, yell for him to stop. I think he hit the brakes more out of being startled than anything else. We each open the door before even the taxi stops and get out as soon as possible. It is so comforting to travel with people who are so responsible and unconcerned with making a scene if it is for their best interest. Who knows, he was probably a great man, perhaps an aspiring priest or mayor. But good God its hard sometimes to live smart as a girl in this world.
Well we made it home, although I still had the task of getting in touch with everyone and coordinating it all. Thank God that all worked out smoothly because I was already sick from the morning.
Wow that was yesterday, weird. Anyway, last night we went to an amazing club called Tabu. Its a two story stucture with an open air bar below flanked by the ocean on one side and a dance floor on the other. So we danced quite a bit too. Great West Coast rap which made me miss Shannon horribly. Later they switched to techno and I spent an hour dancing by myself without being horribly harrased by anyone (like in the states). I just simply moved a bit away whenever I wanted too.
Okay, well Willie is trying to find out where his parents are and if they are even in Costa Rica yet...stressfull. So I better go see how its going...
I cannot believe tonight is my last night of travel.
Since Wednesday we were staying in Mal Pais, a rural beach town with one long long dirt road that smelled purpetually of molasis from the local store and cabina owners tarring it to seal out the dust. The dust was winning.
We spent Wednesday night at Surfcamp a hostel-resturant-bar with a mechanical bull of all things, and live music. They actually played a little Dave Matthews which made me more than a little happy, and Nora and I spent the evening dancing and talking to quite a few French men (who are all on their month long vacations apparently). We had a beautiful night, and then a long dusty walk home to our cabina.
Thursday we moved to a room actually in `town,` using a taxi to move, avoiding another marathon hike in the sun with our backpacks. However, upon arrival at Charlie´s Cabinas, Willie realized that he did not have my special little packet of creditcard, bankcard, driverslicense, and phone cards. So shit. We find a taxi back (actually the same one as there is only one in town) and I talk to the cleaning woman there. Again, so thankful for the pathetic Spanish I have. She says that she has cleaned the room and there was nothing there. After quite a bit of talking to a variety of people, she tells me to call tomarrow as one of the cleaning men is not there and may know something. I have no pen to write down the phone number, however, and so we walk over to the manager-waitress-cook`s end cabina to get one. As she slides the pen through the window, I see my happy little packet chillin in the inner window sill. So I snatch that up and head off with a happy stomach. Do I think they were trying to steal my stuff? Actually no, but it was interesting nonetheless.
Thursday was the happiest day of my life BECAUSE I LEARNED TO SURF!!! Nora scored us two boards (as neither one of us could afford the ten dollars to rent one) from a sun-burned girl who was done for the day. And yeah, I headed out a bit concerned, as I haven´t spent vast amounts of time in the ocean lately. But within twenty minutes or so I got up, fell prompty most of the time, was completely wiped a couple of times, BUT GOT UP! hmmmm...so I have now a new past time to bring with me to San Diego, and a new use for my beautiful clean Explorer (thank you Dad) as transportation for my board...hmmmm...maybe a birthday present.
I went out again later that day, and had to fight to even get out far enough to catch waves big enough to bring me in. I could feel with every hit of a wave that my body was pretty brutally beaten, but I was still surprised at my black and blue hips, knees, and elbows. Don´t worry, I took pictures of my battle wounds for vicarious consumption...oooo and Nora actually got a pic of me on the board.
Friday was the morning from hell. I needed to get in touch with CCS, figure out how exactly to get back to CCS, and get money, as Nora and I were completely broke. Well.... bank cards in Costa Rica work about half the time and the only bank around here anyways is about a half hour bus ride. And we missed the bus. By about ten minutes. The next bus we could not take because I needed to be on the phone at noon to call CCS. So what to do. We had enough money to get a taxi there, but if we were unsuccessful in withdrawing money, we would be stranded there. So we spend the next hour trying to decide what to do. Willie is gone to some distant beach or whatnot at this point, thinking that we made the bus. So we decide to take the taxi. We get there. Enter the bank. And after some preliminary problems, successfully withdraw money. Money that is counted out in front of us. In front of everyone at the bank. Not to mention people generally know why you are in a bank anyway.
So then we put the money in Nora´s money belt in her pants and walk outside. Now we are faceing an intersection of two streets which is the entire glorious town of Cobano. Each street corner has a couple shops, outdoor vegetable carts, and about a dozen men, mostly cab drivers and who knows what else. Now this isn´t an especially sketchy area. Its not a big city or a den of theives. But we were concerned, none the less, about entering any taxi as two girls with money. Taxis are such strange things because in ANY situation in ANY country when a girl gets into a cab driven by a man she is trusting him in a way she would probably not even trust a coworker or aquaintance. (is that nearly spelled right?)
So we get in this cab, one new and with a proper sign. And he drives the wrong direction, mumbling something about needing to get something. Nora and I simultaneously, instantaneously, yell for him to stop. I think he hit the brakes more out of being startled than anything else. We each open the door before even the taxi stops and get out as soon as possible. It is so comforting to travel with people who are so responsible and unconcerned with making a scene if it is for their best interest. Who knows, he was probably a great man, perhaps an aspiring priest or mayor. But good God its hard sometimes to live smart as a girl in this world.
Well we made it home, although I still had the task of getting in touch with everyone and coordinating it all. Thank God that all worked out smoothly because I was already sick from the morning.
Wow that was yesterday, weird. Anyway, last night we went to an amazing club called Tabu. Its a two story stucture with an open air bar below flanked by the ocean on one side and a dance floor on the other. So we danced quite a bit too. Great West Coast rap which made me miss Shannon horribly. Later they switched to techno and I spent an hour dancing by myself without being horribly harrased by anyone (like in the states). I just simply moved a bit away whenever I wanted too.
Okay, well Willie is trying to find out where his parents are and if they are even in Costa Rica yet...stressfull. So I better go see how its going...
I cannot believe tonight is my last night of travel.
