Word Games

I am living in Boca Vieja, which is a few streets of houses and about a five minute walk away from Quepos. I don't really don't know why it has its own name though. My host parents are Rogelio (Yeyo for short) and Lettvia. In their mid-sixties, they are retired on pension. Having two of their children married to Americans, they had been looking forward to practicing their english with me. They were disappointed.

I HAVE learned a few things since leaving you guys in January after all. My words come easily now and honestly, it feels like the skeleton key to other cultures. I've met many interesting characters during this trip, taken advantage of opportunities, and achieved a certain level of understanding of all the places visited in the last four months. And all of that is thanks to Spanish.

More importantly, I've improved so much because of practice. Lenay and I set a goal at the outset of the semester NOT to speak any english. Of course there have been exceptions. But our friendship now is largely one of Spanish. Frankly I get startled when she breaks into the native tongue.

So to all of those traveling abroad, or even thinking about it: PRACTICE. IT's so easy to break down into english whenever you get out of class, but hey, take the high road. It pays off. And if you're afraid of saying the wrong thing, well don't be! You're a foreigner, it's expected of you! And that is exactly how you learn. That fear is holding you back from greatness. So get rid of the mental block. Block you ask? Have a few drinks in Mexico, Ecuador, or wherever. Then try out some spanish. You'll know what I'm talking about then. After a few cocktails you'll feel SO much better at spanish. Though it's not. But at least you got that confidence back.

Now only if you could do it sober...

Anyways I've been staying with Yeyo and Lettvia this week. For breakfast I'm sually fed papaya and banana, noodles and bread to go with my coffee. It's not mate de coca but I guess it will do. For supper it's usually Pinto de Gallo (rice & beans) with a meat, salad, and postre (dessert). Suprisingly, the water is potable here. At least I'm done buying bottled water for the duration.

In the evenings, Yeyo usually talks to me about his culture. I also found out he's a big sports nut. Baseball, which is even better. Too bad he's a Yankees fan. So we watched the Yanks-Tigers game last week, I rooted for the Tigers naturally. Too bad for him.

Last night we watched fútbol, the Pachuca (MEX) v. Saprissa (CR) game. Costa Rica lost, so I guess it's Pachuca going to Japan. Due to Frank Lampard's mad free kicking skills, it's Chelsea who will be facing off against them (sorry Liverpool). It is odd, my fascination with soccer in a different hemisphere, but that's what Latin America does to you.

The best part about living in Quepos, thus far, is obviusly the beach. An hour away from the legendary Jaco, the waves here are world famous.Lenay and I take the seven kilometer bus ride from Quepos as often as we can. The road goes through the rainforest, and is dangerously narrow, narrow on a darwinian scale. There are few pedestrians for that reason. IT is lined with restaurants and hotels. Every other bar has advertising for Imperial, the national beer. Funny though, all of the Ticos (CR people) seem to prefer Corona.

This is definitely Central America.

34 Degrees What?!?!

Quepos is very different from what I have been used to on my trip. That is to say if I've gotten used to anything. Ok, let me start over. For the last week, I have been roasting in the jungle, in a place that's average May temperature is something around 33 degrees celsius (really hot!). Remember that not three weeks ago I went to sleep shivering in Cusco, wearing socks, booties, whatever to keep warm. And you probably don't recall the bus ride home from Lake Titicaca, when I watched the thermostat sink below 0 degrees celsius, on a bus with a broken heater. Even Buenos Aires was entering the fall, though there were a few unseasonably warm days scratching at 24 degrees.

Quepos doesn't so much have a winter season as a wet season. Without even looking at the figures I know about the boastful amount of rainfall Costa Rica gets each year. It's in the jungle folks! I spent the first two days praying for the rain, because the heat seemed unbearable, for a time. Well it came, and in force last week. I guess bodies do adjust to the climate, though I'd decribe it as being far too close to infernal. That's what 72 hours of straight sweating does though.

I doubt if Quepos has a population even close to 5000, and the eight city streets are layed out in the simplest possible gridwork. Never the less, gringo culture is at its strongest. Best Western, Remax, and even a Wal-Mart owned chain store is here, along with the expected smattering of surf shops and tourist agencies. The American investment is obviously extensive, judging from the English I here in the street. I've never seen a 'Gallo más Gallo' before though.

Aside from the lack of a capital gains tax, I understand why so many foreigners flock to this place, business, or pleasure-related. The scenery is stunning, and the animals (for a Minnesotan) are out of this world. Hordes of monkeys playon the school roof, when they're not foraging. I see monstrous iguanas on a daily basis, hanging onto trees or otherwise. They seem to enjoy snacking on flower petals. Even the bugs are are unreal, of an unholy proportion you might say. Unfortunately, the cockroach I saw the other night was all too real.

Erik's BA Top 50 List

I am in Costa Rica. It is hot and muggy, and I haven't stopped sweating since getting here. But I'll talk moe about that later. I wanted to write one last post about Buenos Aires, but there is just so much left to say. Instead, I made a top fifty of my two weeks spent there.

So here we go...

1. Alfajores (ultra putas)
2. Parillas (grill houses, number one stand alone reason to visit Argentina)
3. Bife de Chorizo (argentinian beef, the best)
4. Palermo Soho (so bohemian)
5. Smoky City (when the plata islands lit up in flames and left BA in a haze for 3 days straight)
6. Zapallo (mashed squash, Lenay's personal favorite)
7. Gelato (Yes, Chino, it is different from helado)
8. Dulce de leche (in gelato is best)
9. Club Atletico de River Plate (Dale River!!!)
10. Almost getting robbed in La Boca (Dale River!!!)
11. Everbody sucking down mate (I haven't used mine yet)
12. Hanging with Chino's crew
13. Padel (I guess that is how it's spelled)
14. Milanesa (country fried steak, a la napolitana)
15. Pastas (Thank you italian immigrants)
16. Cheap Stella Artois (A little too much)
17. Vino barato (referto #16)
18. Straddling heavy weaponry in the musem of arms (and getting caught by the curator)
19. Bond Street (#1 punk mall in South America)
20. Lucky 7 Tattoo Studio (Thanks Gustavo)
21. Taking the subway for the first time
22. Pissed that Lacoste tees are sixty bucks in SA
23. Confused by BA prices (cheap food, cheap drink, obscenely high clothing prices)
24. Falling asleep watching Perrera
25. Thirty four hours of bussing to see Iguazu
26. Johnathan, the resident socially maladjusted Brasilian, tidy whitey lounging salami chewer
27. San Telmo fair and tango (holy shit, he just flipped that girl!)
28. Going to colonia for the day
29. Lenay forgetting her passport for the first day to Uruguay
30. Moto, our german shepherd friend
31. Getting yelled at by the Chinese grocers
32. Super panchos (dirty water dogs in BA)
33. Choclo empanadas (yes, half of these are food memories)
34. Vos, Sho, Vos
35. Seeing the transvesty hookers in the park
36. Manu leaving us Red Bull and a city map our first night
37. Red Bull party (4 cans that night, no sleeping)
38. Sarkis and that other middle eastern restaurant
39. Going to Tigre
40. Not ever supporting a team sponsored by Wal Mart (San Lorenzo, booo!)
41. Going to bed at 4 AM and calling it an early night
42. Not understanding a thing in Chino's INTL MARKETING class
43. 2 AM fanta runs
44. Everyone under the age of 60 wearing Converse All Stars
45. Seeing the narcotic animals at the zoo
46. The cat and naked statue garden
47. Hostel Nativo
48. Ceci showing us the city the second night
49. Going to watch River win 5-0
50. Wishing we could have stayed longer

The Epic Iguazu

Last week Lenay and I took a long, I mean long trip to see the waterfalls at Iguazu. Situated at a border between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, it's a long shot away from Buenos Aires. But I've been thinking about Iguazu since preparing for this trip. We were going.

Before leaving the city, we needed to move our lugguage from Hostel Nativo to Manu's house. Frankly, I didn't trust a certain Brazilian, who for the last week had been offering us chewed salami while lounging in his tidy whities. Neither of us felt good around this guy. Five minutes after our cab had I arrived I was yelling at Lenay from outside of Nativo. We were running late, but I knew she had forgotten something. Cheerfully, she skipped out the door, being in complete contrast to the anxious frown I had been wearing. With that the cab pulled out onto avenida Santa Fe and eight blocks later we arrived at Manu's apartment building.


After dropping off the luggage and getting a ride to Retiro station in north east Buenos Aires, and questioning a dozen agencies, we decided on a 6:55 departure with Rio Uruguay. During our hour long wait for the bus, we sought out the nearest choclo empanadas, a culinary favorite of ours.

By 8 Pm we were on our way out of Greater Buenos Aires, enjoying upper deck seating and an 'in-flight meal.'

At this point an interruption must be made to talk about the difference in quality of coaches. This was no Greyhound or Jefferson lines bus, dirty, cramped, sitting next to that sweaty amish guy on his way back to the farm. I spent my bus ride sprawled out in a double wide bed sized seat, sipping a whiskey rocks, sitting beneath a full powered ac blower. After a hot dinner the stewardess passed out champagne and confections. It was a true sybaritic pleasure.

The bus ride was seventeen hours long, so we arrived in Puerto Iguazu around noon the next day. I stepped off the bus to a climate far different from that of Buenos Aires. Hot and muggy, in this touristic sub-tropical village lying within thirty minutes of the border of three countries, something of a crossroads, you might say.

After Lenay tried Argetinian veal (BABY COW!!!) at a local restaurant, and I found a Sherwin Williams store, we paid eight pesos each to catch a ride to the national park. The entry fee was forty pesos, and inside we climbed aboard a disney-esque mini-train that shuttles people across the park to various vantage points.

Disembarking at the Argentina-Brazil border, I followed a string of tourists down a kilometer long catwalk. Crossing massively wide streams through subtropical forest, I spied a mist rising nearby. I was close to something big. Very big!

La Garganta del Diablo, or the throat of the Devil is a massive, semicircular cataracta (waterfall) that spews unimaginable amounts of amazonian river water every day. It is also the pride of the park, only rivaled by Niagra and Victoria in terms of sheer awe. La Garganta, however, is flanked by over a dozen others on each side. I was told that it's name springs from a legend of lost love, and the ensuing divine wrath. I'm sure you could imagine the details, but that is the general picture of it. The deafening roar of the cascading water does support it's veracity. I'm convinced.

It's epic scope makes the waterfall a common place for suicide. In fact, an English woman mde the plunge not weeks ago. I unknowingly stepped up onto the guard rail to get a better look, and for a few insensitive snap shots. Suddenly I felt thirty pairs of eyes burning into the back of my skull. It was hot.

I didn't know ok?!?!

Lenay and I enjoyed the vistas for a few more hours, exploring some trails and taking pictures. Honestly, the panoramic view left me in shock. All of the adjacent waterfalls, coupled with the tropical foliage, seemed to be sixty five million years displaced from its time.

This place is an anachronism.

All in all we spent five hours in the park. Exhausted, and missing Buenos Aires and alfajores, we bought bus tickets and went home.

34 hours of bus in less than three days. Insane. What were we thinking?