Cuentos de Costa Rica- Now about that rich coast...

los surfeos

On Sunday, I went with the oldest cousin Tito, his mom, and his girlfriend Mariana to the beach. Jacó is a very small town that nevertheless sees a lot of action due to its proximity to San Jose. This day there were not too many people stationed on the dark sand and therefore it was perfect! Mariana taught me how to use a boogie board in the ocean waves. Catching the waves (or rather, the waves catching me) was extremely thrilling. I even screamed in surprise at one point when I found my board pointed downward instead of parallel as a wave pushed me all the way back to the water’s edge. Later, Mariana told everyone how I was “having as much fun as a little kid!”

las puntadas de Mary

After eating a picnic lunch, we decided to have a surf lesson with Tito. Mariana and I followed him into the water. Mariana, who has done surfing a bit before, went first. She practiced standing up, something that I could picture taking a long time to learn. After one such effort she came out from under the surf and started making her way back to us in deeper water. Suddenly, the board that was attached to her ankle bucked up into the air on top of a wave and came crashing down on her face! She stood still for a moment, looking a bit dazed, but seemed to be no worse for the wear. Suddenly, blood started gushing out from a cut on the bridge of her nose. We ran for her, and Tito helped her back to the beach. We doctored her as best we could, cleaning the wound with water, using napkins and ice to stop the bleeding. When it had stopped and we were able to see the wound more clearly, it was apparent she would need stitches. Tito took her to a nearby hospital and we all waited for them to come back. So I didn’t get to surf, nor would I have wanted to anymore that day, but I was content to play in the waves.

I had been trying to stay out of the sun all day but I would be leaving with my usual souvenir from every visit to a beach: a painful red sunburn. Before we left, we took a drive up a hill to a lookout point. The hill itself was heavily forested and as night was approaching we could hear many birds and insects singing serenades. Native animals frolicked in beautiful stone reliefs that lined the dirt road. We then walked along another smaller path through the jungle until it opened into a long and elliptical balcony painted and set with white tiles. Stairs wove in and out and up and down, the railings adorning them like lace trim. An electrical cord with a few lit bulbs was strung across the length of the structure; where it would provide light in the space of half an hour, it now only served to contribute to the charming atmosphere. The view was incredible, the balcony and tree branches providing a frame for what could not be enclosed. My sight stumbled and rolled down the hill to the beach, laid out in front of me like an infinite-course meal; my eyes could not eat and drink enough of the spread.

I declared I would like to live there forever, even if I must bring a tent. Actually, it is already a house, or the skeleton of one, and skeleton is the correct word to use, for there is a rumor that the Italian who left the house unfinished just up and vanished, possibly taken away by the police. But enough of the macabre. From here we watched the sunset, a red glowing orb sinking down into chalky blue water. Then we got into the car to drive “home,” as I’m all too easily starting to think of San Jose. On the way, I related some of the tales of my travels. My companions listened patiently to my stories that probably took more than twice as long as it would take a native speaker to relate them, and then they were still gracious enough to praise me by saying how well I spoke Spanish!

Mami y yo

Buena gente- good people. Good people are why I keep doing this, packing up and getting out into the world larger than my home state and country, putting myself in unfamiliar places, experiencing levels of discomfort varying from slight to great. Good people are why I only spent one night in a hotel the entire month I was in India. Good people are why I kept going, staying away three more months than planned and visiting four more countries than I originally intended. Good people are who first inspired me to leave (twice!) and who encouraged me to continue despite difficulties faced. Good people are why I travel. I mean sure there’s also a lot of cool stuff to see, but I never would go see them or enjoy them half as much if it weren’t for the people who sent me or found me there. I’m so pleased to say I’m staying with some of the best right now =)