Interlude - Day 8

Pumbaa: [about "Hakuna Matata"] It's our motto.
Young Simba: What's a motto?
Timon: Nothing. What's a motto with you?
[laughs]
From the lion king

I have nothing earth shattering to report. I had a lazy day, it didn't rain, I shopped for stuff, I had the best ice cream in the world again,  I met some folks from the U S of A with awesome southern accents. Five of us are now heading up to Arenal - to see the now dormant volcano... and do stuff.

So as an interlude, enjoy these photos of nothing in particular, for at this moment, I have decided just to be.

Where A New Culture is Shown To Me

“Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” Buddha

This was my day. It begins at before 6 am with a ride on a water boat to an airstrip, an airplane ride next to a volcano among the clouds, waiting for your driver to appear after a two hour delay (and ripping me off), meeting old new friends back at the B&B, a wonderful brunch, clean clothes!!!!, a siesta and a birthday party put on by a family in Alajuela.

Some photos from the day...

 Tortuguero Beach

 Some pretty flower thing

 San Jose Barrio from the air

Active volcano from above the clouds

Back to your regularly scheduled observer stuff. This is about the party.

I am full. Like really full. The amount of food that I consumed tonight would feed a small village for a week. At this party, I learned more about the Filopino culture than I ever could have from a book.

There are three main things I would like to tell you, dear reader.

They LOVE food. Roast suckling pig, sweet spaghetti, sushi and sashimi, sauces and stews, sweets and rice. All of it served in a courtyard, children running around, toys everywhere. Families eating and eating.

They LOVE karaoke. The machine was going all night, and the voices were surprisingly good, with a wide range of songs being sung – not competitive, just fun. It made for an entertaining background noise.

They LOVE taking pictures. Lots of cameras - FaceBook will be filled with new tags to celebrate the birthday of the now one year old boy. Pictures of everyone, people diving into the frame to be included, all smiling, posing purposefully. Recording for the future, celebrating the present among those who are family, friends, neighbours, newcomers. 

All are made welcome, and fed until they are full, then asked to eat more. Then the cake comes, more pictures, the beer comes out, more karaoke. More talking. Lots of hugging and handshakes.

There were Filipinos, Filipinas, little ninos and ninas, Costa Ricans, Columbians, Canadians and Americans.  Maybe 50 people, maybe more. A bright coloured dance of humanity, constantly moving, playing, living.

There was a really cool laser light that threw red and green stars around the courtyard, children flailing around on small bikes, boys playing soccer, guys barbequing even more food.

The hosts spent a small fortune that they probably don’t have and days to cook and get ready. There are chefs in the group, and the food is all homemade, delicious, subtle flavouring, sauces from scratch.

My taste buds explode, my senses are all engaged fully.

My new friends Denny and Rachelle share their life with some of those who enter their lives. They are special. It is fate that I have met them, and I am so thankful that I am included.

And as we prepare to leave, our hosts once again tell us to get a plate and fill it with leftovers to take with us. They have prepared enough food for weeks, so we all leave with a doggy bag. A doggy bag!

The people at this party have led lives filled with adventure. Moving to a new country to give those children a better life, caring for siblings, parents, bringing some along when they can, doing what they have to do to survive, working strange jobs in a strange place, meeting new people to include in their circle, lighting the candle and sharing it with all around them. 

Selflessly, they celebrate a birthday. They share it with others, and the candle never burns out.

I again wonder why they spend so much, but I then realize that this is the culture. One of sharing, being with each other and celebrating an event in their lives. Giving so much so others can be with them. Surrounding themselves with love. Creating the memories that do not break down or become obsolete, create clutter and competition.

I wonder why I work to accumulate things, when it is so much better to have more memories of friends and family, I already know I have too many things. Is it marketing that tells me I must accumulate? I am happier walking around with my life on my back. I will delve into this – perhaps to find out more about myself, perhaps to just not be the one who accumulates.

I am amazed at what has happened to me in one week. I am like a child, seeing a new reality, my world opening up.  

It was a day of discovery.

Day 6 - Meeting New Friends

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Tortuguero, Day Two And Three

On day three here it rained. A lot. I ate, slept, walked, contemplated, talked, listened, watched and shared. It was a good day. 

On day two, magic happened.

How does a friendship begin and how does one quantify or qualify the feeling of friendship? I am blessed by true friends at home and am so grateful.

I met two potential good friends yesterday. But why does it happen - what cosmic energy brings together people from different countries, seemingly randomly, those of different ages and disparate backgrounds? How do you know that signing up for a boat ride in the jungle will result in a special day? What spark of consciousness brings people together? Is it fate? Is it preordained? Whatever the cause and effect, I am so thankful.

At six am promptly, I met Roberto the welcoming tour guide by the dock. With us were two others - Germans by nationality, world travellers who are more than two months into a year long odyssey that will take them to most continents and definately change them as people.

Ten minutes into our adventure on the freshwater canals of Tortuguero, we three regonized a commonality- a sarcastic sense of humour, a childlike wonder of nature, a pureness of spirit. After an hour, we progressed to fast friends, sharing knowing looks and outbursts of laughter.

During the three hour tour (the three hour tour - obscure Gilligan reference for those older than the hills like me), we observed and tried to photograph monkeys, sloths, iguanas, toucans, egrets, turtles, and caimans along the many other boats trying to see the same things.

A shared humour, a sense of wonder, a recognition of the awe felt in the moment, helped immensely by the erudite and charming guide Roberto. Our day was underway. Breakfast together at the B&B open dining room facing the river, excitedly recounting our trek into the wild, and planning to take the two kilometer hike inside the jungle together. A quick change of clothes, and the fitting of the requisite rubber boots - for the trail is quite muddy. Actually, really muddy. Actually we looked really funny with the shorts and the boots, and I really should have worn longer socks. As you will see, it is a mistake I will not make again.

Once into the national park again, we stop to phtotgraph a spider the size of a fist. And begin to get eaten alive by mosquitoes (zancudo in Spanish - c'est tres cool, Zancudo). Stop, watch a gecko run past our feet. Whip out cameras. Feverishly apply bug repellant to ward off the horde of bloodsuckers, then ambling along, feeling the heat of the day, joking, laughing, a lizard - then awe for the leaf cutter ants, then another gecko. Then a lizard, more repellant, more sunscreen, freely sweating, a haunting bird call, drink water, liana wipes across our faces under the old growth trees and palms, ant colonies the size of an apartment, large growths hanging from branches, another gecko.


The ocean is near, so we detour for a potential breeze and a respite from the bugs, then back along the trail, sun filtering through, clothes wet, reapply bug spray. Another gecko. Still laughing, wanting to go to the end of the trail, the chaffing begins, the capillaries bursting along the surface of the skin on my lower legs, rubber boots rubbing viciously (is that why they're called rubber boots?). The mosquitos are finding their way into my boots, exacerbating the feeling. But we perservere, and are enjoying it all. At the end of the trail, we are pleased, but we have not seen any animals. Lots of geckos! Wonderful flora. We go to the beach for a break and look down the shore, drawn by about 12 large vultures jumping around on the beach. Fearing the worst, we decide to investigate, walking as quickly as we can in rubber boots, hampered by the sucking black sand, waving our arms to shoo these very large creatures away from the shore. We arrive to find baby green turtles. Disoriented, awoken too early in the day or through nature's cruelty, they have to deal with the heat and the circling predators while attempting their gallant run to the sea. They have not succeeded. I will not descibe the carnage we observed, for it sickened me. Our emotions were raw. Immense sadness, rage and then - we find one small turtle that is still alive. We watch. We wrestle with ourselves, all three of us, wanting to help this poor creature down the highway of searing black sand to the ocean, knowing we cannot interfere with nature's way and the instincts of our small friend. It struggles for a moment or two and then succumbs to the heat. We grieve. We try to commiserate together and then reluctantly bury our friend, and walk back towards the path in the jungle. Once again, we see geckos, more dumb geckos. We're sick of geckos. We're tired and hot and sad. The remorse hangs heavy in the forest, the silence deafening. Less laughter and more sarcasm. Damn geckos. Stupid ants. The path seems longer on the way back, hotter, foreboding. Each of us deep in our grief.

Then, a reprieve! A call, a sound, like a strange frog - but in the trees! We search, suddenly seeing two toucans, close and colourful. We watch and once again whip out our cameras. We are heartened. There is life where death has intruded.

Further on, near the entrance to the park, near the end of our journey, a sharp break of a branch, a drop of an unknown object on the forest floor. A series of rustling leaves and unknown noises bring us to a large tree, a wild banana tree perhaps, with white and black and brown occupants, no more than 10 meters away. A troop or a barrel of white faced monkeys, travelling along the forest canopy, finding food, eating and moving on. We watch, we try to photograph, but the light is wrong, so we just watch, and admire and appreciate. And get bitten by bugs.

Gracefully, they manoever among the branches, using their prehensile tails to agilely eat the fruits above. I see a mother with her baby on her back. This is incredible. They pause for a moment as they swing from tree to tree right above us, their faces looking directly at us, and I wonder if they know what we are. Then, they have moved on. We exit the park and work our way back to our temporary home for a well deserved shower. My legs are red and blotchy and itchy and I do not care.

This is mid afternoon, and over a cerveza under a tin roof, we decide we must go back to the beach before the dusk hits, to see if we can find some more baby turtles making their initial foray into the sea. We all feel we have to see success, since failure looked so grim. So off we go, arriving, suddenly running down the beach towards a group of like minded tourists, with a guide, and he's waving to tell us to hurry, and we run faster, arriving in time to see many small energetic baby green turtles reaching the sea. I am elated, and in awe. Their single-mindedness, their tiny flippers propelling them to the surf, where the receding wave takes them into the sea, only to deal with countless more dangers. Such is the life of this creature. I am filled with pathos, with acceptance of this great world, the danger and the beauty, the vicious and the sublime. We are all pleased and it blunts the grief.

A wonderful dinner followed by a sharing of photos, stories, emails and blogs. At 10pm that night, after spending almost every minute of the day together, we bid goodnight and in the morning before I wake, they were gone to their next destination. We may have an overlap in our plans next week, and I do hope we will be able to once again cross paths and enjoy another day filled with simple pleasure and discovery of nature and humanity. Friends perhaps forever, based on the adventures of one fateful meeting.

It was a day of wonder.

The Observer Begins to Emerge... I Relax

“Time is swift, it races by; Opportunities are born and die... Still you wait and will not try - A bird with wings who dares not rise and fly.” A A Milne


The Ride - Day 5 began at 3:40 AM, as the alarm woke me from a restless sleep. The driver was coming at 4 AM to take me to the regional airport for my flight to Tortuguero, a town in the north east corner of Costa Rica, with fresh water rivers next to the ocean, the town contained in the area between them, all 400 meters wide and miles long. Arriving right on time, I take my 28 lbs of backpack outside and climb into the car. The streets are deserted, the dawn has not yet come and the alarm-a-birds are silent. (Costa Ricans love hearing their car alarms - they go off regularly all day and persist for minutes before silencing - name courtesy of Denny). conversing with the driver, we make our way to the outskirts of the city, for I must be there just after 5AM. Barreling down the highway with plenty of time to spare, then disaster - the highway is closed. We exit where requested, and then he tells me he doesn't know how to get to Pavas, the airport, and has never been there. Talking on the phone with his boss and his dad, shifting and making u-terns, careening around the corners, blowing through stop signs at 30 kph, we get closer. Stopping to ask a man on the street, who gesticulates, not having a clue where to go, peeling off, finding a parked cab, stopping, rapid fire Spanish, then along the road once again, a couple of rights, over a speed bump too fast, jarring my fillings from my teeth, we find the unmarked road and spy a runway. Still dark, we arrive but five minutes late. I am only cursing the fact that I drank too much coffee before I left.


The Flight - Nature Air is the name of the company that flies to other cites and areas in Costa Rica, The planes seat up to 18 people, twin prop airplanes, shiny and new, smart looking pilots in crisp uniforms - speaking perfect English to the four passengers on the flight, three Americans and me. A wonderful 26 minute flight ensues, with the take-off reminding me of the car ride, a roller coaster of turbulence as we catapult into the air, calming as we reach about 1500 feet, skimming over the mountain tops, playing with the clouds.

As we descend and land flawlessly, I see the ocean next to me. I am picked up by the water taxi that moves along the river on the other side of the strip of land. Like the canals of Venice with a rain forest of buildings. Dropping off my bags at the hotel, I walk. Along the beach, a deserted black sand beach at 7am. Combined with a light mist, a pounding surf and a surpisingly fresh smell, I wander for an hour and a half. Joining me as I find the beach is a four legged creature that I call Sam. Sam likes me, and likes sniffing stuff and marking his trail on all bits of wood that cross his path. Sam decided I was his new friend. So Sam and I meandered along the surf, feeling the water wash over our feet. He was respectful, content to walk beside me, bounding ahead to meet other dogs, greeting them in the same ritualistic way all the world over.

Then one of them joined us, and we walked down the beach, no one wearing shoes, the sand becoming littered with 10 feet. Our acquaintance peeled off (to greener not pastures?), and the two of us amicably continued, feeling the breeze, watching the waves break and enjoying the morning. Eventually, we turn back, as breakfast is now available to me, and as we find the exit from the beach to the hotel, another human comes from the town, and Sam decides to go see him. We part without goodbye, for I shall see him again tomorrow.

There's thousands of incubating turtles under this sand, that will emerge daily and scramble towards the sea, running the gauntlet or predators lying in wait, protected by humans that have embraced their plight. the beach runs for miles and miles, and throughout the day,  I walked along the shore, feeling the stress of life dissipate into the air, feeling the hot sun on my skin (note to self - RE-APPLY sunscreen), the coarseness of the sand between my toes and the warmth of the water on my legs.  

When has French toast, fresh fruit - papaya, banana, pineapple, orange juice and coffee ever tasted so good? When you're on the back veranda, facing the river at Casa Marbella. I am in heaven with a breeze. When the resident cat slinks though your legs and purrs and even bites a bit, when the water taxis surge by, when the river otter swims next to you, when the birds sing in the trees. When the 30 foot long boat goes by with a stand up Coke cooler?! That's a mean thirst.

When I first come to a new place, I observe what is happening around me. Partly to reassure myself that all is well, partly for entertainment and mostly because the human race fascinates me. There are billions of us, and more every day, and each of us has dreams. It's overwhelming to actually contemplate how many of us share this planet. 


In a small place called Tortuguero, there are probably about 1000 of these humans. And seemingly 1000 dogs, and so far one cat, although I am sure more are hiding from the dogs. Many of the humans here are children. The small boy, probably three, with the great big blue umbrella, twisted out of its original shape, covering his whole body, then he coyly peeks out at passers by, smiling and hiding again. The little child in the bike carrier, almost asleep. Other observations - the man who serves fruit ice drinks on a mobile cart, making each one, crushing the fruit and serving them in cups made from casava. The five tourists, one with flowing pants, a puppy barking at her, then grabbing the pants and not letting go - all the way down the dirt path, she would stop him and he would run up to her again and bite on her pants. Her friends trying to help but laughing too hard. She's laughing too as the dog keeps hounding her. As they round the bend, the dog still won't let go...


I loved watching the man on the beach, fishing into the surf. One line stuck on a pole, waiting for a strike, the other wound up on a round contraption, not a pole, then when the lure is with him, he spins the lure hard, a circular blur and then with a practiced flip of his wrist, the lure flies into the ocean. Time and time again, he would cast his line and wind it in again. And it came back empty. But is the goal to catch the fish or just to be, out there amongst such beauty, casting with precision and grace, not expecting but enjoying the process? Is this what life should be? No expectations and enjoying the process?


A wonderful meal at a restaurant run by a Uruguayan who serves Italian food, a siesta, chats with fellow travellers, plans for drinks and food, a 6am tour tomorrow of the National Forest by boat to spot something predatory, almost stepping on a large toad, not getting bit by anything. Watching and observing life.


Day 5 was a great day.

Interlude - Day 4

“Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?”  A A Milne

 Tortuguero - from the window of the hotel...


As I walked back form a shopping excursion at the market yesterday, I came upon a school for some of the young kids of Grecia. Surrounded by bright green concrete walls and gates of iron, I first heard the squeals and laughing, the noise of outside play time. Behind the bars, a courtyard - a mix of grass and concrete, without an elaborate play structure. The teachers watching, painted with smiles as the children mill around. Boys and girls of mainly preschool age - say 3-6 years - all dressed the same. The boys with crisp white shirts, the girls with the same, collared and crested. Boys with blue shorts, girls with blue skirts, both with white socks and black shoes - a regulation outfit of conformity. Yet their personalities showed. The girl with the mop of curls, mouth open, screaming with amusement, pirouetting around. The four little ones, watching the road, giggling loudly as I smile. The boy, away from the others, looking down intently at the ground, contemplating life or just looking at a bug. The rest, about 40, executing a symphony of movement to their own internal aria, Prancing, hopping, majestic gesticulations, tiny whirling dervishes of humanity. Playing with no aim or reason, Experiencing the pure joy of being. It was but a moment, but it resonated and stayed with me. I perhaps shared in their time of being free, and rediscovered the child in me, yearning to come out and play.

Setting The Tempo

 My morning gecko friend greets you...

Three months is actually a short time in our life. You can blink and go on with your day to day machinations, and suddenly the calendar has flipped over three times. There will be days when I am here where there will be nothing seemingly productive accomplished. No writing, no overwhelming moment of discovery, no learning.

Day 3 and 4 are down days from one perspective. Why didn't I go climb up 500 steps to see a waterfall cascading down the side of the mountain?  Or teach children English? Or save a turtle?

Day 3 took care of some of the administration of the trip  - I searched for a store to get a phone, and a Sim card, and a new razor and some food and some wine and some more food. At the end of day three, I had struggled through the paperwork needed to get the phone and activate it, learned a couple of words that I will forget by this morning, bought the razor and some yogurt and a bottle of wine and some chicken to eat... all in different places, some by myself and some with the help of the B&B owners, who have proven to be helpful and wonderful and like family. It was interesting, humbling and confidence building.

Travelling very close to San Jose, there is a town that is called Escazu. Known as Little America, there are American restaurants and everything an Amercian living here would want. Affluent Ticos live there as well. Going to this mall was fun, http://www.multiplaza.com/shops_Escazu - there's more high end shops than in Canada. When we juxtapose that area with the barrios of San Jose, there is such a shocking difference. I am more comfortable when I am among the locals in this small town.

The thunderstorm was wonderful on Day 3. The thunderstorm today will be wonderful as well. Day 4 will be walking, playing scrabble, doing a bit of actual work and having my siesta. Pura vida.

I am getting up at 4am tomorrow morning and my driver will take me to the airport to take a small plane to Tortuguero, with black sand beaches and monkeys and bugs and heat. I'll be there for three days - going on tours down the mangrove canals, eating Caribbean inspired food at the four restaurants there, meeting tourists and eco travelers and locals. I will be out of touch from the world and will blog when I return on Monday. I wish all a wonderful weekend.

If you want to read a wonderful article that came my way this morning - one that puts our lives in perspective - one that is not judgmental of our life - read this - http://www.worldhum.com/features/travel-interviews/interview-with-henry-rollins-punk-rock-travel-20111101/ .

Be well...

Sights and Sounds

This is Day Two in Costa Rica.

I have gone to other countries on tours, where you stay at the best hotels with all the comforts of home. Or toured with someone special in Ireland or the US or Canada and experienced all with the language of English. I have gone to countries in Europe on my own where you walk amongst the locals but the richness is apparent and the tourists are plentiful. It's different in a Central American country.

There's a different pace. there's a different feeling. You see things that are familiar yet different. You do not understand the signs, the language or the customs. When you walk here in this small town in Costa Rica, you have to watch where your feet go - the sidewalks are wonky, the roads are uneven, the open sewer channels for the rain are deep. This is not the tourist area, where things are packaged at great expense for your enjoyment. This is real. The drivers have the right of way. Pedestrians are a nuisance.

The fear that we have for the unknown sometimes overwhelms us in life. We don't try new things because we are unable to reach outside our comfort zone.  Coming to a different culture is like making a change in your life where you are not sure of the outcome. It's exciting, filled with trepidation, a bit of fear, a bit of anxiety and a smidgen of homesickness.

Coming to this country is not a panacea for what ails you. It is instead a way to experience a life outside your own existence. It is not the romantic version in the movies. The sun isn't always out, there are no bugs or poverty, the people aren't singing in the hills. People are still people. As I walked aorund the town of Grecia today, I watched people taking a moment to just be, or a whole day to just stare, next to those who were feverishly texting friends. Familiar yet different. I watched them as they lived their lives, picking up bread at the corner store, cursing at the boys on the skateboards, mothers hustling their children away from the road, school children skipping down the sidewalk, women huddling together under the umbrella so they wouldn't get their hair wet. I was observing the same facial expressions as anywhere - concern, single mindedness, love and amusement, joy, annoyance and diffidence.

My fear dwindles. I observe those around me and welcome this part of the world into my life.

To report my day, my birthday on this earth, is purely selfish but that's what this blog is about! I ate wonderful food, walked around, talked to wonderful B&B owners, had a siesta, was too scared to go try and buy some floss bacuse I couldn't pronounce the translation, emailed and facebooked and skyped, and went to an amazing restaurant and was served a great steak and wine. The coffee tastes like liquid gold and the vanilla ice cream was so creamy that I was almost overwhelmed. I became a bit more comfortable in this foreign place - a place in which I was not born and will reside for a short time. It is yet one more step in this journey. I even learned a couple of words in Spanish that I will try to remember.

This place that I have chosen has plants that I see inside a house in Canada. I see impatiens growing on old gnarled thick vines along a wall. I see imperfections in walls and houses and roofs. I see bars on windows and broken doors and razor wire. I see perfection in this imperfection. I see a new reality in a different place.

It rained most of the afternoon and into the evening. In the back yard outside the back of the B&B is an area with a tiled floor and a tin roof. I am sitting on a couch typing this to the world, listening to the sound of the rain on the tin roof, hearing the rhythm of the water as it hits... a symphony of drumming.

Day two was a good day.