A Galileo Christmas

Ahoy,

Right now i dont have the time or energy to begin the next part of my saga, but i thought id share my holiday experience. A day or two after my last post, the hostel i was staying at decided to jack up their rates for the holidays and didnt grandfather in existing guests. on top of that, they turned out to be fairly strict about check in and check out policies among other things. with my rate deadline coming up and fifteen minutes before i had to let them know if i was staying another night, i made a split second decision to ditch san juan and their tyrannical ways and head back to san jose. i quickly packed my things and headed out with a couple i had met that were also leaving. 11 horrific hours of border cross, taxi, bus and hoofing it later, i arrived at the very familiar hostel galileo where i was greeted with excitement, hugs, and a little dog. It was actually a great feeling to be back and it seemed like my homecomming was equally anticipated. a few days later it was xmas. xmas eve was spent with the hostel owners, workers, and a few guests consuming many appetizer dishes and drinking wine (a treat here) and a bottle of rum that somebody gave us which seems to always make me very sleepy.

the next morning was xmas morning. the hostel put together little gifts for all of its guests which was really nice. once everybody was awake, we hit the tree with yuletide joy and opened gifts. the rest of the day was spent perusing the cable for festive movies but no luck was had. a relaxing day all together. following this are some xmas pics along with a few santa gems to tide you over until more travel adventure is written about. happy holidays!

Life On A Bus

This morning i awoke at the ripe hour of 530 to hop into a range rover stuffed with nine other liquor stinking surf rats to head to a place called playa yankee. For the past few days, i have found myself in san juan del sur, nicaragua, a supposed surf community but without the surf. to surf, you have to hit a shuttle about a half hour away to where there is actually a break. this morning a friend of mine from santa and the brother of my musical love interest who now works at the hostel of which i am staying, organized a trip to the heavily secluded and rarely surfed playa yankee. It was a beautiful beach with misty rocks on each side of our break, and some picturesque waves. the craziest part though was that the ten of us had the place to ourselves. Because of a mishap I had with a board the other day, i had rented an 8 foot sail boat, the largest i have ridden to date, but amazingly enough was able to surf pretty well on the thing. Yes, i am seriously surfing now. dropping in, riding... still falling, but really riding as well. we surfed for a good four hours in utter bliss before the bus had to take us back. We all ended up taking our lumps as well, because you cant just get a few good rides for free, but with some luck, we will be back at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

because of this adventure this morning, i have been in a lazy fog ever since so i am going to attempt to begin the trails and tribulations of my journey into guatemala. It all started on december second where i found myself along with about eight other people waiting at the bus stop in front of the backpackers hostel in santa teresa. seven of us spent our last night enjoying the good company with beverages and dancing. we were all in various different stages of fatigue and hangover. the eighth person and clearly the smartest, spent his night taking it easy at the hostel and packing himself a breakfast of hearty sandwiches for the journey ahead. needless to say he was chipper and ready to go in the morning. about forty-five minutes late, as we were about to abandon hope, we hopped onto the first bus that would take us to paquera the port city where we take a ferry to another port city called puntarenas. I have definitely experienced more pleasant things than an hour and a half ferry ride at eight in the morning with a light hangover. i spent my time at the bow (i think) of the ship talking to a french canadian trucker turned vagabond and letting the salty breeze keep the thoughts of seasickness out of my head. others were not so lucky. one of my crew, omer, an israeli surfer seemed to be completely down for the count while others were spotted puking into little sandwich bags while keeping blue in the face. Rob the sandwich man was perfectly content with his breakfast and ken, one of the hungover 7 decided to prolong his agony and crack a few more beers on the trip. we got to puntarenas and quickly lost a percentage of our crew for they were going elsewhere.

four of us remained and i quickly flagged down a cab to take us to a bus station. this cabby ended up speaking perfectly fluent english, and he told me he spent some time as a driver in not new jersey, but new joisey. no joke. He also said he could get me to managua and my friends to san juan del sur (where i am now) by that night. we crammed four guys, four backpacks, a bodyboard, a surfboard, and a guitar into the little sedan and we were off. He immediately whipped out his cell phone and started making some calls. he told us he was going to drop us off at the ¨cruz¨and there a guy would be waiting with a ticket for me to get to managua. also at this same spot, the bus for my friends to get to san juan would also swing through. he held up his end of the bargain and sure enough, i bought a ticket from a strange man and we all sat and waited for our respective buses.

For all that know me and know me well... well not even that well. I am more often than not wearing a shirt that was given to me for donating blood. the bloodsource furnished my clothing throughout college and beyond. as the beginning of this little anecdote, today was no different. I dawned my favorite, and by this time lightly stinky ¨life is unpredictable, give blood¨t shirt provided by the blood source.Now, this ¨cruz¨was in the middle of nowhere and there was a little store there with snacks and some more than subject looking sandwiches. Behind the counter was a surly tico about middle aged and missing a number of teeth. tightly pressed against his body was a bloodsource ¨trust me, i´m a blood donor¨t shirt. absolutely dumbfounded, i showed him mine and asked him where he got it. to my suprise, he said california. i still cant help but wonder if he actually dontated blood.

Moving on, about ten minutes later, my bus arrives and my ticket guy starts yelling at me to get on. quickly i throw my backpack in the compartment below and drag my guitar onto the bus. It was full of nicaraguans and i was hard pressed to find an open seat. there! about three quarters back in the bus, there was an open window seat covered with backpacks and sweatshirts. I asked the guy next to it if it was available and he started clearing it off for me. a few hours later, we hit the costa rica border. we got off, showed our passports, got a quick stamp and were back on the bus. we drove two hundred feet further to the nicaraguan border and got off once again. i had a funny feeling about this but grabbed my guitar and followed the masses. also in that two hundred foot drive, a currency exchange guy came on board and exchanged some of my costa rican colones for nicaraguan cordoba. im pretty sure i was grossly ripped off.

We get off the bus and get in a line snaking back and forth in the sweltering heat. i happened to fall in line right next to my seatmate and started asking him questions about what we were doing. that was my first introduction with nicaraguan spanish. I couldnt understand a word. well, i could understand one word, pasaporte, but everything else was a mush. to my credit, this guy spoke very soft and fast.

The line ceased to move. i wondered what was going on many times and as the beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, the mayhem and traffic around the line only grew as well. I pulled two apples from my guitar case and offered one to my seatmate. He accepted it and I was relieved to have a friend in the psychological mess that i was about to endure. while we were waiting, i watched our bus, with my backpack move ahead of us a little ways. once again i nagged my new friend making sure we were in the right line and that the bus would wait for us. he gently and subtly nodded and told me we were in the right place. lightly further in line, i watched our bus drive off around a corner out of my sight. at this point i looked at all the people around me and didnt recognize anybody from the bus outside of my new friend. i started to panic a little thinking my backpack and bus left me in this pit of purgatory between two countries. clutching my guitar, i probed my friend again and received the same effortless and tiresome answer. frankly, i didnt believe him one bit. I resigned myself to the fact that my backpack was gone and my only traveling possessions left were my guitar and passport. after about a minute of pondering this, i realized that maybe it wasnt so bad. i would have freaked out if i had my backpack without the guitar, but having the guitar and no backpack was quite allright.

finally, we got to the immigration office, got passports stamped once again and i walked back outside to begin my next logical step. find the bus. there was a bus behind the line that looked just like ours, but i was sure it was from another group. a moment later, my seatmate walked out, flagged me down and brought me to that bus. for some reason, they did a full circle around the office and stopped behind the actual border line. why? ill never know, but i´m damn glad i gave that guy an apple and started a friendship.

we then drove another two hundred feet and they made us all get out again. I grabbed my guitar and went outside. they were taking all the luggage out of the storage underneath the bus. i grabbed my luggage and followed the masses to get in line. I hadnt noticed it before, but there was one other gringo on the bus and i happened to get in line right in front of him. His name was todd, he was a forty-five year old guy from mississippi worriedly sucking down a cigarette and looking cautiously from left to right. ill be honest, i was about as worried at this point as he was. there were just too many stops and checks for anything to make sense. we introduced ourselves and shared our utter confusion about the situation. this stop was strictly to open up and look inside your luggage to make sure you werent trafficking any contraband between countries. about a half hour later, we were back on the bus and headed towards managua.

three hours later, we arrived, at about seven at night in a grimy and dimly lit bus station in yet another dangerous capitol. Todd didnt speak any spanish so we ended up setting out together to find a reasonably priced hotel. By this time, my travel guide had also disappeared so we picked a place out of his and told the cabby to take us there. the cabby had other plans. he took us to his buddies hotel of which he kept saying it was the same place. we were a little put off so we told him we wanted to look at a room. they brought us into a dorm room and as soon as the lights came on, I saw a cockroach scuttle across the bed. Since i have been here, i have been in close quarters with many bucks, roaches included, but the one place that is absolutely off limits is the place where i lay my body down to rest. thoroughly disgusted i changed my list of demands when dealing with the cabby. now, along with close to the bus station and cheap, i emphasized clean as well. after that, he rounded the corner and took us to the place where we had initially asked him to take us. we gave the rooms a quick lookdown and since they were clean and the bus station we needed for the next morning was a block away, we obliged and settled down for the night.

after such a day, the two of us also braved the dimly lit streets for about two blocks to grab a few beers to cut the tension of the day. after that, we said our goodnights and hit the hay.

The next morning we awoke by 415 to go grab a ticket for our bus to el salvador, our next destination. I bought the ticket with the last of my nicaraguan cordoba and figured i would get money from an atm when we stopped next. this is where many of my troubles started. we stopped in another town in nicaragua for lunch and my atm refused to work. we stopped at the boarder from nicaragua to honduras and my atm refused to work. this was a problem because there was a departure and entrance tax for the two countries. A very nice attendant in the bus who actually gave me a pillow to use earlier in the ride told me he would cover me and then take me to an atm when we stopped in el salvador for the night.

The hours breezed by on the air conditioned ticabus. beautiful countryside stretched for miles upon miles and illuminated my daydreams. there were also a few movies played and because ticabus is more of a tourist bus, the movies were in english, or with english subtitles. nonetheless, they were awful films. i think the proposal was one of them and if you havent seen it, you can gladly go about your life knowing you missed a blundering piece of hollywood baloney.

around five or six that night, we arrived in san salvador, the capitol of el salvador. we got rooms at the bus station and then the bus attendant took todd and i to find the atm. he took us to a gas station which had two atms and once again, neither of them worked. fortunately, this is where todd stepped in to become my sugar daddy. he fronted me a few bucks to pay the bus attendant, pay my hotel fee for the night, and grab a small dinner from the gas station. we also grabbed a few of our now traditional end of the bus day beers to wind down before going to sleep.

The next day, we wake up at 5 in the morning again to get our tickets to guatemala. the bus was unfortunately full and we had to wait untill 1230 for the next bus to leave. in that time, we got some coffee, a light breakfast and shot the shit until our next bus stint. Oh yeah, once again, my new sugardaddy paid my way and bought my bus ticket. my bill was stacking up. for the record, i wasnt exactly useless during these times. My little bit of spanish was perfected pretty quickly when it came to matters of money, not getting ripped off by cabbies, finding reasonable hotels, and getting us on and off each bus every day. Id like to say i was pulling my weight.

another six or seven hours of bus time passed and by new i was impervious to boredom and insanity. that or i was so bored that i had reached insanity and just didnt know it. we got off at what was my final stop in guatemala city. from what i have read, you dont go out in guatemala city at night. no way, you will get mugged, injured, killed, blah blah blah. i took it seriously. we hit a cab across town to another place we had read about in the travel book. booked ourselves a room and hit the downstairs restaurant for a number of celebratory drinks. the worst of the travel was over, but I still needed to find a place where my atm card would work. on the homefront, my parents assured me that they spoke with the banks and my card was NOT frozen.

The next morning we went on a hunt. we hit three different atms and on the third try, it worked. I once again had cash in my pocket and it put an end to a couple day long scare. I payed todd back and then set out to the bus station to get him squared away with his bus ticket to flores so he could then jump over to belize. Everything passed simply and quickly in the daylight. before i knew it, we were saying our goodbyes. each was very thankful for the other during this three day trek and were glad that everything turned out just fine. after Todd was gone, I chilled out in my hotel for the rest of the day before meeting up with my friend anne the next morning. Little did i know that this was only the beginning of being penniless in a foreign country.

So It Goes

I know its been a while and since i am here by myself with nothing but time, i had planned on writing out in full detail the incredible adventure my friend and i had over the past few weeks. unfortunately for you, i ended up meeting some nicaraguan teenagers and spending the night walking around the city and talking with them. This saga will probably have to be compartmented and told over a series of posts. as soon as you think youve seen it all, something more incredible, rediculous, or both comes your way. example, i thought i had done a few pretty cool and maybe adventurous things until i met a thrill thirsty irishman who treked the amazon barefoot.

i´m just going to begin with the mild, but tiresome trip leaving guatemala and getting where i am today. Yesterday, I woke up early, said goodbye to my friend anne as she left for the US and wandered the smog laiden city of guatemala before boarding a bus to managua, nicaragua. the bus was to be an overnight bus and arrive the next morning. that would have been nice. we set sail around three in the afternoon and right off the bat i realized my chair didnt recline. not only did it not recline, but when it isnt reclined, there is virtually no leg space. my knees were squished like sardines against the seat in front of me. this feeling however has become commonplace as i have left the comforts of tourism for the nitty gritty of the chicken bus. more on that will be explained when telling the whole story. THis predicament however was a little bothersome because everybody else had working chairs and i knew the likelihood of sleep on an overnight trip would be nil if i couldnt recline. Anyways, we set sail and i hoped that there would be an open seat but my chances looked slim.

I also noticed once again with this new method of travel that i was the only gringo on the bus. the only difference here was that i didnt have anne with me. the funny part is that everybody i met remembered my name. Even the bus drivers i purchased the ticket from the day before remembered my name when i walked by the station hours before the bus was set to leave. The bus was packed full of nicaraguans, guatemalans, and an argentinian who were all very nice, helpful, and patient with my pidgin spanish.

i digress. about an hour or two after taking off, we hit our first boarder. they got us all out of the bus along with all of our luggage and lined us up in a row to be inspected. once the inspection process begins, it takes a matter of minutes, but we sat and cooked in the guatemalan heat for a good hour before they decided to inspect. after that, we had to get stamped out of the country by customs. post stamping, we pile back into the bus, drive thirty feet and do it all again at the el salvador boarder. i was sitting with a few new friends i had made and we were all in agreeance that the next two boarder crosses would be equally excruciating.

after the inspection, we crammed back into the bus and i was fortunate enough to find an open seat next to a larger nicaraguan man. The seat reclined and i thought there might be some hope to catch a wink of sleep. Unfortunately, this bus had television sets and they decided to play a movie at slightly outrageous volume. to make matters worse, the movie was that blacky wacky wayans brothers move white chicks... and it was in spanish overdub. it was awful... lightly traumatizing. after that, the hour was getting reasonably late and the drivers continued to blast music through the speakers. around the time sleep was finally starting to fill my eyes, BOOM! honduras border number 2. same process rinse and repeat only this time we got to add a little bit of exhaustion into the mix. I had to pay three dollars to get into honduras which put my funds down to 7 dollars for the remainder of my trip. I gave the rest of my american dollar stash to anne who needed it for the hefty exit fee for her flight. I had a few oranges and a bottle of water to get me through the trip.

After the luggage check on both sides of the boarder, i made my way into the bus and passed out. I woke up some hours later and realized that it was overly hot and that we had not moved at all. there we sat all night until the early morning when the sun rose. so much for an early morning arival with a country and a half to still travel. when we started going again, the blaring music kicked back in full force. despite my wildest efforts, i think i maged about an hour and a half of sleep the whole trip. it seemed like most of the passengers were also pretty bothered by the music. it was really unpleasant. some hours later, we hit the nicaraguan boarder and the tarif there took my last 7 dollars from me. Once again, i was entirely broke heading back to the country where my financial troubles began.

fortunately, we had a quick pitstop at a gas station and i quickly chanced the atm inside. without any hastle, it worked swimmingly and my poverty was no more. unfortunately there was not enough time to grab a bite to eat. with a belly literally rumbling on the bus for it had not eaten in over 24 hours, some of the passengers became bothered with its grumbling and gave me a few cookies that they had purchased earlier in the trip. it was very kind of them and very satisfying to put something in my aching organ.

the last few hours of the trip blew by in a daydream and before i knew it, i was in managua without a further destination than finding a computer with internet. I said goodbye to my travel companions and hopped into the disgusting city. instantly i realized that there was no internet anywhere close and the pushers were out in full force trying to sell youe verything fron knock off sunglasses to salty nicaraguan baked goods with honey on top. It took me a grand total of ten minutes to hop on another bus to granada. i lucked out in this chicken bus because i got the front seat and didnt have to deal with the droves of passengers compressed together in the back. you guys really cant even imagine what this looks like until you see it. the front however was roomy and cozy. forty minutes later, i was in the beautiful city of granada hunting down internet so i could get in contact with some friends in the country and find a hostel for the night. During the last few weeks, i lost my very handy central america guidebook and annes guatemala guidebook was stolen while we were sitting atop mayan ruins. more on that later, but for now i am without guidebook. once i found out where i needed to stay i put my pack back on, grabbed my guitar and started hoofing it in the mid day heat with shotty directions to find my new home. about a half hour later, i arrived safe and sound to a quaint little place called hostal mochilas. i think i am currently its only guest. with that obstacle tackled, i set out to find food and spent the rest of the day wandering the markets trying random street dish after random street dish. nutritional value is now officially a thing of the past. the new name of the game is sustenance. from there i ran into the two nica kids who i chased away the rest of the night with. tomorrow i head to san juan del sur to get in a few last jams with my musical love and to enjoy some more good surf. hopefully itll all go according to plan, but it really never does. as for now, i am in one piece and have food in my belly and a roof over my head. simple pleasures really.

not a dollar to the name.

what on earth did my mother do to my ATM card? this is night 1 in Guatemala without a penny to my name. plaastic doesnt work, but somehow i am still here. must be a modern marvel.

-Scott

P.S.
Sorry mom, just giving you a hard time... but seriously, my card still doesnt work.

Sunset Jelly

Today I should be on the road, scrambling from bus to ferry, to bus after bus trying to get myself up to a little dicey town called Liberia in the north of costa rica. Unfortunately, A salad I decided to eat the night before had different plans. I found myself at the local party gathering called Day and Night feeling very woosy and uncollected. THere hadnt been enough alcohol consumed to be the cause of the feeling and before i knew it, i was on the verge of fainting. after gathering myself and making it out to the beach, the feeling overcame me again. each time fortunately i was able to find a place to sit and fight the feeling beofre the actual faint came. At this point, I decided it was about time to go home and sleep away whatever was eating at me. The night was spent tossing and turning with horrible stomache problems and just a stones throw from the full body eject button.

Come the morning, not much had changed. Everybody was telling me that i needed to drink a coke and i would feel better. Have you guys heard that before? a coke? for nausea? i was quick to shove that wisdom aside and hobble down to the bakery to tell them i couldnt work that day. Upon getting there, my boss martin, a cheeky belgian who i have become good friends with was annoyed about my request but forced a coke into my hands to help the nausea. what do you know? it worked... for about a half hour and then the misery set right back in. Coverage was found for me at work and i literally slept for the next 24 hours. Upon waking up however, i feel like a new man. i can stand up striaght, the feeling of puking is nowhere near me, and i have a stiff back and neck like you wouldnt believe. My final day in santa teresa is to be spent surfing, returning my board, and packing my things to be ready for the 6am bus tomorrow morning. ITs been fun, its been fast, and i made it out alive... or at least this far.

A lot of time has passed since my last post and im sure many interesting stories will be left out, but i do want to share of a recent love story. a bromance if you will. It was about two weeks ago when i stumbled into the hostel after my daily beating with the waves to notice a hand drum by the hammocks. It ended up belonging to a scruffy dreadlocked kid and i proposed the idea of jamming at sunset. I dried off and returned home to get my guitar so i could meet at the well known stump at playa carmen. The sun went down and we began to play. THis kid plays the hand drum unlike anything i have ever heard and we just went to town. Long strings of jams weaved into songs and back into more jams. before we knew it the night was late and we found ourselves kickin out more tunes in what we have dubbed the 'music room' which is really an empty room in the hostel that is going to be a bar. For the next week and a half, we had many a session as the sun would set, and in the musty, but overly reverberant music room. unfortunately he had to take off about a week ago, and i dont think i have yet recovered.

I gotta apologize once again about the short post, but this keyboard is driving me insane and my head isnt fully cleared from the food poisoning. There will be more on the veranda.

No Shirt, No Shoes, You're Welcome Here

About a week ago, I set out for the surf. giddy, with a childish joy in my heart. The road to the beach, although short is wrought with rocks of all shapes and sizes. my uncalloused feet cannot take the torrent of pain that is involved in the few hundred foot walk. because of this, i usually wear my sandals to the beach and leave them nestled near a piece of driftwood. On this fateful day, i set out as the sun was setting and got my jollies in the water. actually i got my ass handed to me on a silver platter as i usually do. when i came back to shore, i took a seat next to my chico and french canadian amigos to watch the rest of the sunset. when i the time came to pick up my sandals and head in, they were nowhere to be found. I held on to the naive notion that we just couldnt find them because it was dark so i walked barefoot back to the hostel with hopes of setting out early the next morning to find them. At the break of dawn the following day i was scouring the beach but they were nowhere to be found. Carlos, the resident 'badass' of the tranquilo backpackers hostel told me from the beginning the night before. they were stolen. At that point i knew that i had been initiated into santa teresa life. Not by choice, but so it goes. In a fit of annoyance the night they were stolen, I attempted to wear close toed shoes but it just shouldnt be done here. My feet also were in pain when i put them on due to the rediculous amount of bug bites they have acquired. About a half hour into the close toed shoe experience, i broke down and went next door to a supermarket called 'super ronny' and found myself a dinky new pair of flip flops. From here on out i have actually went to the lengths of making driftwood forts to keep my shoes safe.

Initially my intentions were to come to santa teresa, get in shape, learn to surf, and chill out. while all this has happened, there has been one other element to the equation. This place is one big party. There is no rest for the weary and upon wakeup, you either need a heaping plate of casado or you need to hit the ocean to clear your head. Every time you plan on having a low key night, something gets in the way and before you know it its 3am and you are swimming naked in the ocean. alright, that hasnt happened yet, but its probably on the horizon.

The surfing is taking its toll on me. This beach is fantastic to learn on, but it also makes you earn your stripes. the first few times i went out, i couldnt paddle out past the break to save my life. it was one beating after another. each day i find im a little stronger, a little more wise about how to guide myself in the ocean, and of course, a slightly better surfer than before. The waves here right now are huge. No joke, up to 6 or 8 feet. ive been learning on the fivers but when you go down, you go down hard. This morning however was a breakthrough. I actually chased down a wave, dropped in, which is still a bit scary for me, and got a ride. amped about my actual surfing, i paddled back out to be crushed repeatedly by any and every attempt i made afterwards. I usually go out about twice a day and at this point, average one or two good waves before i just fall to pieces. Nonetheless, its the life. constantly sore, constantly bruised, but a smile to boot.

On that note, I live with a canadian and am constantly surrounded by canadians here in santa teresa so you can only imagine what kind of dialect im picking up. ive cought myself saying ey quite a bit as well as 'to boot'. what can you do? ive also met quite a few french canadians since i have been here and trying to explain to them english sayings or slang is downright histerical. Half of the things we say make absolutely no sense. how do you explain the bees knees or the cats meow? why are stuck between a rock and a hard place? after endless laughs and explanations, my chico friend looks at the table and then at me and says, "should we go chill at your pad?" The three french canadians that were with us just reassumed the blank confused stair and my buddy and i reassumed our unbearable laughter.

Moving on, I work at the bakery regularly now and have to manage sleep, pool, partying and surfing around a work schedule. Its funny coming here after working so many service jobs in the states. the whole no shirt no shoes no dice is entirely non existant. Half of my customers are practically naked. and shoes? no shoes? take a seat, can i take your order? Ive found that i too have taken to the scantily clad fashion and other than the downside of a little sunburn here and there, its quite the life. im earning costa rican wages which are slightly less than two dollars an hour. the only saving grace of being a waiter or barista here is that tips are built into the bill. for that reason, if its a busy day, you can come out with a good 20 or 40 dollars in tips. however, I have been working the 2pm to close shifts and not having a steady influx of clientelle. Hopefully it will pick up. its also pretty funny here witht he language barrier. I can speak spanish well enough to take orders, get change, for here or to, etc etc but when a lot of people walk in to the resturant and see me... they havent even heard me say anything yet... they will automatically try and speak english with me. often times also their english is much worse than my spanish.

So time is flying here. Ive got about two weeks left before i have to get myself up to guatemala. The planning should prabably start fairly soon because it is going to be about a four day endeavor. However, I am settled in here so nicely right now that ill probably put that off for a week and a half or so. I know there is much more to be said and to write, but I am actually on a computer at the tranquillo backpackers hostel of which i do not live at. Ive become good friends with the french canadian reception guy and i am here so often that nobody is any the wiser. however, ive been hogging this thing for a little while now so i much be off. time to play pool, surf, work, etc.

on a quick note, my pool game is getting pretty good. bank shots are made on the regular and there is always a worthy opponent. anyways, gotta run.

Neverland

Here in santa teresa, the internet access is limited and this computer is a pain in the ass to use so this will be brief. yesterday i cought my first sizeable wave. scared the hell out of me, but left me wanting more. i traded the surf betty back in for the board i broke the fin on. Im diggin it and ill be back out in the waves very soon. I have also finally settled in to this place. Ive got an awesome little cottage two minutes walk from the beach where i can hear monkeys howling in the trees and see all sorts of really cool jungle creatures. On top of that, I have secured a job at the bakery and am looking into playing music a various different resturants and cafes at night. Its incredible the response i am getting everywhere i take this guitar. i just need to find a few other musicians to travel with and we would be set.

On another really cool note, there is guy from chico here right now and although he never saw the shorthand exchange, he definitely new the name. Score.

In a nutshell, life here consists of surfing, playing pool, playing music, more surfing, more pool and now a little job on the side. its not easy i tell ya. anyways, i cant stand to type on this keyboard anymore so i must be off. cheers.

The Surf Betty

Surfing day 1

Hit the beach by about ten in the morning after securing a filling breakfast and a surf board. About twenty minutes after paddling out, the rain set in and sent the waves spiraling out of control. Not in the larger than life sense, but in the "I cant read the ocean anymore" sense. I lasted about 45 minutes and sufficiently drained myself of potable energy. the next few hours were spent conversing with the hostel goers and napping away my fatigue. After waking up and shaking the sleep from my eyes, I hit the surf again. just as before, not more than five minutes into the ocean, the rains came. I dont think i lasted more than fifteen minutes this time as i could barely muster the energy to paddle out. battered and bruised, I returned to the confines of the hostel. After setting my board on one of the vertical racks by my room, i turned to talk to a friend i had made from panama. A few seconds later, we hear the clammaring of boards toppling on top of eachother. my friend picked his up and it was fine. mine on the other hand, suffered a worse fate. It had completely snapped off one of the fins. This bad surfing omen resinated with me for a bit and i then decided to take it back to the shop to see what the damage was. The fin and labor will cost me $35 but the guy didnt seem to be bothered by the incident. Actually, he then proceeded to ask me where i was staying and offer me a room at his place. For the same price, come monday, I will have my own room in a house right on the beach and be living with a pretty interesting israeli guy.

Surfing Day 2

This morning I awoke early and made myself some pancakes at the self serve pancake breakfast area of the kitchen. full of sugar and butter, I decided to go check the bakery down the road once more for employment options. Come tuesday, I will be manning the espresso machine again. I'm not sure what kind of hours the guy can offer me, but im pretty excited to be working in this place. Job secured, I hit the surf with the guy from panama and a girl from germany. Before i go into my battles witht he ocean, I should first speak a little bit about my new surf board. my old board of which i broke will be out of commission until monday. the next best thing they had for me was a 7 foot surf betty. what is a surf betty you ask? Well, its a 7 foot sail boat with pink flowers all over it and a bit sticker that says "surf betty" on it. betty and I hit the surf this morning and actually had a very productive time. the waves were tiny but very consistent so i caught quite a few and slowly am beginning to get back into the swing of things. my weak little arms still get tired easily but in time they will back to their old paddling selves. I have arranged a lesson later today with one of the hostel goers in exchange for a guitar lesson. at about 4pm we set sail. In the meantime, I just returned from a bar/resturant called day and night of which i enquired about employment. tonight, there is a meeting with all the bartenders and come monday, I will be tending bar in santa teresa. As of next week, it looks like all will be settled. A nice place to live with a lively roommate, two jobs, and an interim of endless surf. Itll only be a matter of time before i turn in my surf betty for the next step up. As funny as she is, i have grown fond of her.

Jumping back in time, I did something fantastic last night. This is really a cool hostel because in santa teresa, there is not much to do when you arent surfing. However, there is a pool table beneath a patio here, so hours and hours are dedicated to the game. Last night, I was playing with another guy from chico against an israeli and the guy from panama and it was looking grim for california. we were way behind and it seemed like we were getting hustled. Finally, it was my turn and i began a run that lasted a few balls until it looked like i was in a tough possition. the opposing team started talking trash to us as i scoped out possible options. it was a longshot, but it looked like there was a slight chance that i could bank one of our balls in the side pocket. i parted the conversation and interjected as i always do when the situation comes, "hey guys... hey guys." They sneered at me and waited for what i had to say. "you wanna know why i make all my bank shots?" they looked perplexed to say the least. I stepped up to the pool table and with one glorious push, banked the ball off the rail and directly into the side pocket. "because my dads a banker!" I proclaimed and recieved the reaction that i typically do. A few laughs, but mainly unimpressed grimaces with my bland wit. That being said, we won the game and all was right with the world.

Back to One

We set around noon on monday with Montezuma being our final destination. a cab ride, a bus, a ferry, and two busses later we arrived. By then night had set in and we were trying to decide if it was safe to camp. The main dilema we had rested with the unpredictable rainy conditions. At the moment we arrived, the skies were clear as day but the winds made it clear that it could all change in an instant. After hiking around in the dark trying to find the campground, we grew weary and eventually settled in a hotel. conditions were lightly meager, but suitable for a ten dollar a night room nestled on the edge of the beach. Without further adieu, we retired for the evening.

The next morning was spent in a resturant called el sabano banano where we chose to eat in the jungle laden back porch area. Right in the middle of the deck, there was a good four foot wild iguana just soaking up some sun. The waiters thought nothing of it as i'm sure it was very normal business. Breakfast went smoothly with the exception of the jungle birds that have become very domesticated. There was a jar full of sugar packets that these birds just couldnt get their minds off of. Every few minutes or so, they would fly down and land on our table and inch closer to the sugar unless we waved them away with our water glasses. eventually then got the hint and beat it.

Bellies full, we set out into the jungle with hopes of finding a waterfall. Hours later after scurrying across clifsides, hopping rocks, and swinging from vines, we made it to a pretty sizeable fall. to our dismay however, we were unable to jump off of it because the angle just wasnt right. there were other rocks to jump off of, but nothing we did came close to the insane climbing and maneuvering of a tico who happened to be there as well. I dont know how this kid did it, but he pretty muched stuck to the side of these amazingly slippery rock faces and climbed a good thirty feet up as well. All slated with the grand finally of diving perfectly back into the water. My travel companion amy and i at this point climbed up another fall to which we found it was actually less slippery to climb directly up the flowing water fall than it was to climb up the mossy side.

The next day, after breakfast, we started to follow some surfers to see where they were headed and got sidetracked by a flowing ravine. We started hopping from rock to rock slowly up the ravine in hopes that it would lead us to another waterfall of salvation. about a mile and a half into the climb, we both looked at eachother, up towards the sky, and back at eachother. Little trickling rain drops were starting to fall from above. at this point in our hike, we were also at a standstill and lack of rocks to hop on. if we were to press on, it would require wading through some murky and slow moving water. Knowing we had a potentially dangerous trek back, we admitted defeat and turned around. On our way back, the rocks that we so carefully crawled over before were easilly hopped and gracefully balanced one by one by one. The only part that was particularly dicey was a section that was a little scary entering the ravine, but for me at least, terrifying when leaving. It involved shimmying along a cliffside and climbing higher as the ravine sunk lower. Rock holds were sparse and the earth on the side of the slope was very soft. on top of that, this little maneuver required us to climb onto an even higher rock with few to no holds. fortunatley, we both made it with no problems, just a lotta worry. after that, the rest of the way back was easy as pie and right as we set foot back on the beach, the heavens opened above and the heavy rain showered upon us. feeling very content with the day, we did little but eat and play music for its remainder.

This morning, we were up early. I said my goodbyes to Amy who had to head back into san jose because she is going back to the U.S. tomorrow. On my own again, i had some time to kill so i headed back into town and sat down for some breakfast. my host, a very charismatic and uppity nicaraguan ended up getting me to break out the guitar and play a few songs for the staff all before 9 in the morning. about an hour later, i was on one of two necessary busses to santa teresa, my new home for the next month. Along the way, i met two german guys who were traveling there as well. They found out I was from california and asked if i lived in san francisco. they then proceeded to say that they have met many californians and all are from san francisco. I told them no and started talking about how i have met more dutch people than any other nationality since i have been there. Sure enough, we soon boarded another bus and i sat next to this couple who was at the stop with us. we got to talking and when it finally came out to where they were from, they were from holland. They also laughed when i asked because they had heard my conversation with the german guys.

Once in santa teresa, I found room and board with the two german guys at a hostel called 'tranguillo backpackers hostel' and dropped off my backpack. From there, it was time to find work and a surf board. My job hunt was more of a detective game than anything else. Every place i would inquire and would get the response, "sorry, nothing here, but try that place"and then give me the name of another establishment. All in all, I could by next week potentially be working in one of two resturants, bartending in an israeli owned hotel, or doing the barista gig at a little air conditioned cafe called 'bakery'. Everything looks pretty cool. I figured a job is necessary because you can only surf so many hours in the day and it gets dark around five in the afternoon, so it will help pass the time. In california, when i was on my various employment persuits of the past year, whenever help was not needed, i would get a firm response of "no! we dont need anybody now." but costa rica and santa teresa in particular is very different. the people feel very bad and apologetic when they cant offer you work. i found i was the one assuring THEM that it was perfectly ok.

Tomorrow, bright and early, I am going to head out to the surf shop of a friend i have made here and he is going to outfit me with a big wide buoyant beginners surf board which i will be able to trade in for more advanced ones as i progress. All in all, this is truly one of the most beautiful places i have ever seen. i was told that it was rated the third best sunset in the world. to which i inquired how does that happen? is there a committee in charge of sunset ratings? nonetheless, the place is incredible. a very suitable home for the next month. Now i just need to get in shape so i can go climb some volcanoes!

Yes, Its Real Jungle

The Rugged Pineapple... in person

This is Jane and yes, its real jungle

Last night was the halloween party here at Hostel Galileo and the christening of the Rugged Pineapple Bar. Theres nothing too amazing to post other than there was a good time had by all and I carved my first watermelon. Those things juice like crazy. Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Montezuma for a few days. After that I will be making my way into Santa Teresa which is in an area called Mal Pais. Not bat country... bad country. Once I arrive there, my objectives are to 1. pitch a tent 2. buy a surfboard and 3. contact a hotel about potential work. Its going to be a month of the easy life doing nothing but singing, surfing, and working on the side of possible. wish me luck.

A Different Smile for a Different Face

Back from errands and not a moment too soon as it looks like the clouds are starting to roll in. I just took a stroll into the chaotic downtown san jose with one of the hostel employees. I have reason to believe she reads this so i will give her a name. Tara, i went to downtown san jose with Tara. The hostel will soon be changing its name to the rugged pineapple for legal reasons, but its definitely a pretty awesome name altogether. In honor of that, I have decided to be none other than 'rugged' for halloween. We hit the few san jose thrift stores in search of a flannel shirt. The downtown area was full of comotion. horns sounding from all sides, street vendors screaming promotions for their products, and of course the constant influx of consumers perusing window after window, shop after shop. It is a cluttered mess of miss matched items sold in the same establishment. One shop that tara noted in particular was a shop that only sold backpacks and camo shirts. to which i was supposed to understand that they solely go hand in hand. after a little while, we finally found everything i was looking for and so much more. It isnt too hard to be 'rugged' here in costa rica. for my get-up tomorrow i will be complete with what appears to look like a flannel shirt, but it is not exactly flannel. Ill lose the sleeves and expose some of my chest mane. I found a pair of jeans that i plan to turn into cutoffs with the trauma sheers that i have readily available. I new i wouldnt regret bringing those guys. bare feet... pretty rugged and i will by default pick up a case of what they call here 'hostel foot'. when all that is said and done, there is still something missing. the image just isnt quite pulled together yet. all over the central market, we kept seeing these goofy horse heads on a stick. no, not real horse heads, but cheaply made imitations. After not finding a suitable price, we resigned the idea of having one and continued our trek. a few shops later, we found a vender selling just the head and no stick for a considerably less price. a few seconds later, I had a horse head ready to put on top of a hostel broom. nothing says 'rugged' like somebody who strolls up on a trusty steed. all in all, tomorrow should turn out quite well.

The last week has been pretty slow because my tuesday interview was rescheduled and my wednesday interview was pushed to thursday. That interview was with a group called 'in lingua' and it is the school that everybody here in the hostel works for. The day leading up to it was spent listening to what everybody had to say about the school and about corey, the man who was to interview me. the bulk of the info was that these kids really enjoyed their jobs and it was a great place to work for. after getting directions to the place from a friend, i was off. There was no trouble in finding it and before i knew it i was sitting in a room with the man who could potentially hold my future employment. the interview was amazingly easy in fact, I barely did any talking at all. before i knew it, he was offering me a job for january and everything was honky dory. I sent a letter of confirmation to him this morning now i have got the next few months to get out and explore before settling down for a little while. It looks like the first order of business for traveling is to head to mal pais in costa rica, buy a surf board and spend the better part of november getting my surfing legs beneath me. after that, nicaragua is the next destination where i have had my heart set on climbing two volcanoes on the isla de ometepe in the middle of the country. after that, ill be moseying my way up into guatemala to meet a friend and travel with her for a bit and they slowly head back to costa rica to begin work. Id like to be off and traveling by monday so i have a little bit of work to do this weekend.

over the past week, it seems like i have been strumming life away. hours and hours of jamming, kicking out tunes and a little bit of solo practice. I have also met a girl who is a pretty good player and we have spent countless hours going back and forth, song for song, etc etc. unfortunately, she is leaving next week to go back to the states, but plans on returning in january. i think by then we will be ready to write some pretty cool songs together.

I guess thats about it for now. job is secured, now its time for some real fun.

Dura Vida

The messages finally came in and poor brian got his notice that he needed to get out of the country. As sad as it was, nobody could let this happen without doing something so the hostel threw a deportation party. The night was festive but with somber undertones. The guero just didnt taste as sweet and each imperial tossed back brought on more and more nastalgia. The night came to end with one final singalong of Old Crow's wagon wheel which is a tried and true favorite of any american country boy. The next morning I awoke and said my goodbyes before he boarded a taxi to the airport. The hostel has been a different place since, but it is keepin on and gearing up for a halloween party that should bring back the happy thoughts.

With the exception of the deportation blues, the last week has been pretty bland and basic. I have been waking up late to spend my days once again snooping around the internet to no avail. I had a few interviews scheduled this week but my tuesday interview was pushed back due to poor email correspondence. that being said, i tended to mope around the hostel not doing much of anything for the next few days. I have since kicked my sickness and am back to full speed. there is though, another hinderence to my mental state. It has been raining constantly with boisterous thunderstorms and the gutters have been overflowing on a regular basis which leaves you with a good five foot horizontal leap if you want to leave without going for a swim. Okay, five feet is doable, but the next challenge is a little more dicey. The five foot leap lands you directly in the middle of the street which is usally flooded with not just water but heavy traffic as well. if you can brave the floods and the cars, i guess you can leave. me however, resigned to staying inside and doing nothing but strummin the old geetar. I have actually become kind of a minstrel down here. pulling tunes out of the depths of my memory that I had thought i had forgotten long ago.

The other day within the hostel walls, i awoke to find that everything was pretty quiet. There were very few guests, and most of the employees were out. I took this change to grab my guitar and harmonica and set up shop in the extremely reverberant stairwell. I have wanted to do this for a long time but it always seemed like it would bother a lot of people. This morning however, if you happened to be int he hostel, you were subject to my noise. I made it through about one tune in the confidence filled stairwell before a guest who i thought had already left come walking through. He didnt have much to do and he is actually a musician in a band in puerto viejo so i coerced him into grabbing the hostel guitar and hangin out in the stairwel with me. we proceeded to kick out the tunes jamming and harmonizing for the next few hours. unfortunatley, our fun ran out when the guy busted a string on the hostel guitar. by this point, we had moved to the main room due to popular demand. the room had filled up a little bit and it was a bummer when he popped the string. conversation filled the room again I began to tell him the story of my guitar at the airport. I began this because he had popped the G string on his guitar. So i told him of trying to carry it on the plane and the guy who i was giving a lesson to that set all of those events in motion. When i was telling him about the guy tuning my guitar, i got to the part where he broke my string. I had had a few drinks at this point and was getting a little angry when telling the story so my voice had risen and when i got the part of the broken string, conversation from the rest of the room in some sort of social phenomenon, died out perfectly for me to bellow to this guy, "and the dude busted my G string!" The crowd, not paying attention before this comment quickly turned my way waiting for some sort of explanation. I fell silent and blushed like a little school girl. it took me a few seconds to regain my composure and clarify that it was ON MY GUITAR! BUSTED THE G STRING ON MY GUITAR! anyways, I have to go run some errands right now before the rain comes back, but there is much more to say so expect another post in the near future.

La Vida

a good way to spend a few nights before getting sick



not a bad crowd at all here in hostel galileo.

The Deportation Blues

It was inevitable, bound to happen. I was merely on borrowed time until it struck. My first costa rican head cold has staunchly made its presence known in my throat and sinuses. Do I deserve this you ask? quite plainly yes. yes i do. there has been an interesting group of people at the hostel over the last couple of days and i have found myself stayin gup until the wee hours of daylight drinking, singing, and strumming my cracked and sweaty guitar which on another note, still needs a name. back on point though, a few musicians from utah, yes eutaww were backpacking through and we got a pretty good jam going with them all night long. We got talking about long lost loves and influences and before we knew it, I was playing an operation ivy song that i dont think i have played since i was standing around with nothing to do while roddy produced the great western. for those of you who dont understand the reference, that is just how long it has been.

This little hostel at this time has really become quite the home to me. Ive gotten to know the owners and the staff pretty well. the other day, bria, the 27 year old co owner of the hostel found out that he was going to be deported for overstaying his visa. This was also sent to him in a very concise and unapologetic email from his costa rican lawyer who has dont absolutely no good. before the deportation news, the hostel would get served monthly from ex employees and this same lawyer i have come to learn has never won a case for them. Oh yes, and the lawsuits are from well before they owned the place. there is some stipulation that because they are gringo owners, they pretty much get trampled on by the legal system. Anyways, Brian is now working with a new lawyer but the front door is closed and he is anticipating immigration to come for him at any time. this wait and worry has now stretched out for two days and he recieved a 72 hour notice.

Yesterday, with nothing better to do, he set out drinking rather early and carried it strong into the night. A few teaching friends of the hostel owners came over for a bit and of course we got down to playing some tunes again. brian, drunk, depressed, and harmonica in hand decided to deliver a somber freestyle which later became known as the deportation blues.

As for me, I have finally curtailed my eccentric lifestyle and have spent all of today relaxing, drinking soup, and reading in the park. This is also kind of a bum week for me since my interviews arent until next week, so i have actually been spending a large part of each day nestled up with a book. Ive also been on a soup kick which started before i left the states. The soups here however have been very rich. todays was a tortilla soup with a tomato base. ill spare you guys the soup ramble and hope that in a day or two i will be nursed back to full health and have a wealth of worthwhile stories.

crack!

I forgot to mention one of the highlights of my trip a little earlier. at the place i stayed, both cillica the owner and tanya the woman who lives at and runs the place told us not to go hiking through the jungle to the beach at night. in america, the reason would be because there are crackheads out there. the spansih/dutch/german/english speaking refer to them as "the people with the problems with the crack." Beware!

Who's that band again? the one that sings jungle love?

Last friday, a dutch doctor, a traveling scot and a wayfaring american walked into a bar. we proceeded to fill ourselves up with the local beer "imperial" and believe me, i already miss the fresh hoppy taste of my alma mater sierra nevada. allen, the scot besides being a histerical scotsman, began telling me stories of how he learned the valuable skill of cutting cards to help get him through the tough times. he used to take it to vegas before they had the automatic counters and clean up before getting blacklisted from the casinos. he told me that never once has it gotten him in real trouble... oh wait, except that one time he was cutting cards in MOSCOW! he ended up getting tailed by the russian mob for a bit but eventually made it home safely. the bar we were drinking at had a VIP room in the back which was locked when we first got there. around 10:00 or so, it opened up and what do you know, there was a poker game going on. naturally, he decided to pick up a few bucks before his flight out the next morning. He had actually been pickpocketed a few days back so he took the opportunity that presented itself. I still have no idea how card cutting works, but it was pretty incredible to watch him just clean up with the disgruntled costa ricans around him.

before the vip room had opened, the three of us were challened to a game of pool by a few of the locals. we were doing pretty well until the house rules came into effect and suddenly we found ourselves getting creamed. they ticos were laughing histerically at us. after the three on three game, allen went off to the vip room and marye the dutch girl (pronounced similar to mariah( and i were challenged again. Once more, we were had due to the wacky tico rules but we still gave them a run for their money. after we were finished losing, marye started to tell me about her plans to go to puerto viejo the next morning. after a little bit of persuasion and a lot of alcohol consumption, i conceded to dropping my job hunt for a bit and experiencing some of the real costa rica.

the next morning, I rescheduled my interviews for the following week and went with marye to the bus station to depart for puerto viejo. her plan was to go to a long lost nannys residence to stay and enjoy for a while. yes, a long lost nanny who lived in the netherlands but now is in CR.

the bus ride was beautiful, full of dense jungle, many banana plantations, and thick cloud forests. upon arrival, we were initially going to camp at what we thought was a campground but turned out to be a very lame sandbox with bad reggae and goofy scenery. disillusioned, we headed down the street a few miles to marye's nanys place.

her place was breathtaking as well. surrounded by jungle and wildlife, she had an open air house with wooden furniture and a locked off area upstairs. she also has cabins which she rents out to tourists. about three hundred meters down a dirt path, you part the brush to find a secluded and pristine carribean beach front. it was a little awkward for me because it is on the east coast of the island so there was no ocean sunset. dont worry, i got over it.

that night, Cillica, the nanny came into town and we went to dinner with her and tanya, a german woman who lives on the property and handles most of the homes. we went a little ways down the street to a place called jungle love. yes, any of you who know my problems with remembering steve millers name should know that it took me a few days to place the song. jungle love was a little resturant owned by some american expats and young ones at that. in puerto viejo, aside from the carribean rice and beans, the popular dish was pizza and that is precisely what jungle loves specialty was.

the next few days were filled with hiking through the jungle, checking out the neighboring towns, and biking everywhere imaginable. I was suprised to find that there are squirrels in the jungle. squirrels just like you would see in california, but these squirrels are skilled at jungle things such as gripping on to frail plants and getting their hands on all the wild fruit. also, i happened to see the fabled giant butterflies of costa rica. shamefully, i still dont know what they are called, but they are huge and they have a majestic blue backside and a black underbelly.

Have you ever seen a guitar sweat? I have. the air is so moist over there that condensation was collecting on the body of the instrument. i would have to wipe it down a few times a day. also, with moisture like that, the mosquitos were out in full force and my feet once again cease to be feet and are some conglomeration of flesh and puffy swelling. the nets we slept in only did so much good. I would find new things to itch on the hourly.

yesterday, after swimming in the ocean during the pouring rain and remaining very warm, i found myself later in the night in my room strumming out bob dylans dont think twice. its a song i have not played in years and with a new sense of the tune, decided it was time to pack up and head back to san jose to get some work done. the next morning marye and i parted ways and i braved the nearly five hour bus back to the city. I also happened to get extremely carsick which i was shocked about. i never get car sick, but the massive amount of brake fumes got the better of me. as for now, i am back here at the hostel gallileo and settling in for a night of zombie movies with the other travelers. tomorrow i have to continue my job hunt and begin refreshing myself with the english grammar that i have long since forgot.

This time... it really may have been poor directions

Yesterday was my first interview. I was able to get there with the directions i was given without any problem. the interview went well but they want a year commitment which is something i am actually considering heavily at this point. with the full time teacher status, they offer very intensive spanish language courses that i might be hard pressed to find anywhere else... well, hardpressed to find for free. the semester, like most other schools around here doesnt start until january so i may just pick up and go for a few months if i can ensure a job for next year. my way back from the interview, directionally was kind of a disaster. the bus drivers were giving me faulty information and i ended up taking two buses and a cab home. on the bright side i think it all cost me about four dollars. I also met a beautiful tican woman on one of the buses and she gave me a little bit of positive insight into the country. My cabby was awesome too. I actually held a pretty good conversation with him in spanish for the entire ride home. the streets were going crazy last night because it was the CR vs US soccer game and if CR won, they would ensure a spot in the cup. every time they would score, i would hear horns blowing, screams from the streets and madness from inside the local pubs. Although it was inconvienent, the ride home was well worth it.

This morning i had a second interview with a different school supposedly a fifteen minute walk away from my hostel. I set out at 915 to solidify at least a 1000 arrival. I dont know if i had mentioned it before, but there are no street signs or addresses here and if you know me, then you know how directionally challenged i am with the advent of street signs and addresses. here were my directions:

From the Universal Book store / Mcdonalds in sabana sur, 200 meters south,
100 west, 50 south. Second building on the right, white gate. I have some
time tomorrow Thursday at 10:00am. I'll await your confirmation.

This is also considered the address. I spent a good hour hiking around various side streets and avenues but all to no avail. This place was amazingly impossible for me to find. So here I am back at the hostel trying to send out an email to reschedule. I am also hoping to hear from a number of other schools today.

Life in san jose, well, la sabana is pretty dull right now. there just isnt that much to do in this city and it is incredibly smoggy. with the weekend approaching, i think i might head to the coast and see what kind of trouble i can drum up over there, but it all depends on what i hear from the other schools today.

These aren't the droids you are looking for

the good news is that i have made it into costa rica and to my hostel safe and sound. the bad news... well i got a few nicks and bruises along the way. it all started off swimmingly on monday night when my parents dropped me off at the airport. we went up to the luggage check where i got to use my jedi mind powers. the way it works when you go to costa rica is that you need to provide proof upon exiting the country that you have a planned exit from the destination. of course i had no such thing nor did i want to have anything similar so i did some research on a local bus line that treks into panama and put it all to memory. when asked about my exit ticket, i simply regurgitated the information with brilliant conviction and thus swayed her to believe i truly was going to panama on november 14th at seven thirty in the morning.

after that battle was won, there was still one more looming over me. i told the woman that i wanted to carry my guitar on the plane and i didnt want to check it with the other luggage. without having to put up a fight, she says its no problem and instantly put a big smile on my face. i then checked my backpack, said an emotional goodbye to my parents and headed up the escalator to go through customs.

this process was simple, but my deodorant set of a red flag so they searched my belongings. fortunatley i didnt have any contraband in my guitar case which is usually what the hold up is. once i was through customs i had a few hours to kill so i made some victorious last phone calls telling everybody how great things were going. with still about 45 minutes to go before boarding, a man called out to me, "hey guitar guy!" and he motioned me over to his restaurant table. he told me he was going to pay me to give him a guitar lesson to which i replied, its your lucky day, im an instructor. i pulled out the guitar and handed it to him as i fished for my tuner in my bag. once i found it, he insisted on tuning it. letting him was my first mistake. i had detuned the guitar so it wouldnt be affected by the pressure differences during the flight and this guy had a tough time figuring out which strings were supposed to be tuned to which frequencies. after guiding him through the first three strings, he got a little anxious and cranked up the G string... yes its always the G string... wayyyyy too tight and it snapped. boom. just like that, im now down a very precious string of which i was really hoping to last me quite some time.

he apologizes and then for the next little while i try to help him learn a fleetwood mac song he had written down on paper. a ways into the lesson i noticed that the plane had begun boarding and my chances for storing the guitar were dwindling. i told the guy i needed to pack up, he gave me five bucks for my troubles and i ran onto the plane. three people before i made it into vessel, i heard the flight attendant start shouting "theres no more room! everything has to be checked from here on out!"

my heart sunk a little bit and i pleaded with alberto the man taking my guitar to find some room on the plane. he gave me his word he personally would take care of it and everything would be just fine... but he had to check it. i slowly meandered heartbroken and torn into the plane without my little travel buddy. i also had a very bad feeling about the situation.

i arrived in florida this morning, waited out the layover and then hopped on the plane to costa rica. a few hours later i was off the plane and eager to see how well alberto lived up to his word. i got my luggage quickly and then found my guitar on a seporate conveyor belt. i pulled everything aside and gave it a quick inspection. all looked well.

from there i walked outside where a girl in a backpack flagged me down and convinced me to split a ride from a driver... specifically not a taxi... to the san jose bus station. it was a good deal so i gave in and went over to meet pablo our driver. pablo was an energetic character who was blasting the CR vs brazil soccer game. apparently the CR team is doing very. so well in fact, government offices shut down to watch the game. the same thing will happen again tomorrow and there will be a big party if the team wins the cup. anyways, pablo drops off the girl at the san jose station and told me he would take me to my hostel at no extra charge. a few minutes later, i said my goodbye, thanked him and walked into the hostel galileo. i was greeted warmly by the hostel owner who actually gave me a 'welcome to CR' shot and told me to wait a few minutes while she prepared the room.

at that point i took out my guitar to repair the broken string and decided to give it a full bodied inspection once again. thats when i saw it. there is a big crack in the wood on the bottom of the body where the strap is connected. alberto betrayed me. i knew something like this was inevitable, but i wanted to prolong the incident at least beyond the first day! so tomorrow along with collecting information and hunting down jobs, i will be filing some very angry complaints with spirit air. what a bummer.

on the bright side, it looks like i should have some good leads on jobs because of the people who live at the hostel. all in all, costa rica seems beautiful but my part of san jose is a pretty congested and smoggy city. i did however enjoy my first cup of costa rican coffee from this very nice woman in a very tiny hole in the wall cafe. it was fantastic... and she understood my spanish.

all this on the first day, i can only imagine what is to come next.


scott

"The Highway Sets the Traveler's Stage"

Well, for the past year i'm sure the greater lot of you have all heard me speaking boldly about getting the hell out of here trying my hand at living in a Spanish speaking country. Setback after setback turned this bold talk into nothing more than a distant dream that one day... far in the future, might come true. After finally getting employed and working the happy-go-lucky ambulance service for the past few months, that distant dream has grown and developed into a reality.

Tomorrow I head to Los Angeles to spend my final days in the United States and depart for Costa Rica on Monday night. Come Tuesday morning, I wil be in a far off land where I will then begin a race that I am very familiar with. The race to find employment. Before that race begins, there will be the seemingly simple task of finding my hostel for the next few nights. I have been alerted that in Costa Rica, street signs and addresses exist, but are not used for directions. Directions are given by landmarks in the general area. To get to my hostel, I have a few names of local landmarks that I am to ask anybody on the street about and supposedly get a finger pointing me in the right direction. We shall see.

If anybody wants to give me a call, wish me well, what have you, I will have my cellphone handy until monday night around 7pm. As for after I am gone, I will try to keep up with email as much as possible as well as leave a detailed description of my travels on this blog. I hope to hear from you guys along the way.

-Scott