Jungle Shenanigans

When we visited the park, I decided to make some videos. While it's a chance for you guys to see my mug, they're stupid.

So Enjoy

Capuchin Camera Thieves

What makes Quepos such a beautiful beach seven kilometers away. Manuel Antonio National Park. I heard that it is home to some of the most beautiful species living in Costa Rica. I hear howler monkeys every night. Maybe I'd finally get the chance to see one! This was to be my last weekend in Quepos, so I obviously didn't want to miss my chance.

The Texans at D'Amore were planning on spending that saturday afternoon on a catamaran. As much as I love maritime keggers in Costa Rica, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore the park. So in the afternoon Lenay and I walked the beach to the park entrance. The tide was up, so some locals were ferrying tourists across a three foot deep pond to the park. We paid the ten dollar entrance fee at the gate and beheld Costa Rica's greatness.

A dirt path ran adjacent to the beach, underneath a heavy canopy of jungle foliage. It was a lanscape of green and blue and brown. We walked on this shaded path until it lead into the forest. This subtropical forest was dark and silent. I could hear nothing except for the scurrying of unseen animals on the forest floor. baffled by this sound, I continued until I saw the strangest animal. I found a neon orange and purple crab, smaller than the palm of my hand flee from the sight of me into it's dug out den. And then I saw another crab. And another. This place was filled with scurrying neon crabs, sounding the chorus in an otherwise silent place. I found this simple sound to be one of the most otherworldy qualities of the park, absolutely alien to me. This place was awe-inspiring.

The park is home to hundreds of species. I saw the typical iguanas, frogs, birds and coatis (jungle racoon). Two toed sloths are a common sight. One can imagine my excitement at the one living outside of my school (favorite tropical animal). We were even visited by a white headed capuchin monkey. These white faced devils will steal anything from tourists, looking for food. There are stories of monkeys even stealing cameras, trying to eat them. Then they chuck 'em back down. That is just the funniest story, but I guess monkey feeding has become a problem here.

We spent the remaining hours exploring the beaches and appreciating some jaw dropping views of the pacific.

We left the park in the rain. Costa Rica is in the wet season, but this particular storm only served as a precursor for my bike trip the next day.

Manuel Antonio National Park= Awesome Neon Crab Forest

Stand and Deliver

So I had just left the beach in Jacó. Knowing how dangerous roads can be in Costa Rica, Lenay and I saddled up to make the seventy kilometer drive back to Quepos. What's dangerous about Jacó and the highway in this country is that petty crime is rampant. I had even been warned by my host father about highwaymen lying in wait for motorists. A group of bandits speed their car past a couple of mopeds, block the road, and thieve at gunpoint. I didn't want that to be me. But I had another concern, far more urgent .

The rain was coming.

All ready starting to fall in droplets, we hurriedly made it to a service station to fill up the motos for the trip home. I was nervous, simply put. I didn't bring a poncho, and aside from my helmet, all I had for protection was the cracked pair of sunglasses I had gotten from a sunday fair in San Telmo, a month earlier. Furthermore, I'm not exactly a salty biker. Afterall, this was my first time riding. How would I react to the road?

I jut wanted to get home, so I steeled my resolve, sucked it up and pulled back onto the highway. The further we road, the slicker the highway became, and I was becoming concerned. I didn't want to dump the back, especially with the agressive drivers. Visibility was diminishing rapidly as the shower pouring down upon me boosted into a fully fledged unholy downpour. Sunglasses barely helped. They kept the rain out of my eyes. That was hardly beneficial though, because with the continual proliferation just adding and adding up, I couldn't see anything anyways.

Well we kept up this impossible struggle for over an hour. The sun had gone down, and I was keeping my bike on the road by pure instinct. My clothes were completely soaked, my teeth were chattering, and I could do to stave off mind-numbing cold was to mumble 'Three Little Birds' by Bob Marley. And to be completely honest, I was praying to God that every little thing was going to be all right.

SIx o'clock rolls by and I am at my end. Exhausted, my arms numb from the crippling rain, I knew this was the end of the road. My fingers had no feeling at this point either, most likely from my death grip on the throttle. More importantly however, I was worried about Lenay. She had kept up with me every step of the way, unbelievable. I was about to fall off of my bike from exhaustion. The endurance she had shown in the last hour confirmed to me that she is one of the toughest girls I know. A complete hardcase, if you ask me, especially if she's tooling around Costa Rica after dark through a monsoon-like deluge of rain.

So here we were, two pallid ghosts in the dark, shaking something fierce just to push the cold out. After asking a couple of bewildered cops for directions, we spurred on, driving another half mile only to hide under the awning of an abandoned motel. This was the moment of despair I was dreading. What were we going to do all night? The storm wasn't abating. If anything the downpour was just building up, and deafening to all those hearing rain drops crash in this damned storm.

We spent ten agonizing minutes under that awning. Retrospectively, I would have called it a strategy-rethinking session. It was really just a near panic, as We struggled our frozen minds into action. By chance, a local family was leaving next door. Asking them where the nearest shelter was, we were directed to a cantina at the end of the block.

This place was dead when we shuffled through its doors. Only the regulars and the owners family were present at this hour. Sauntering up to the bar (the it probably was a stiff crawl) I immediately ordered a coffee and a whiskey rocks (hey, I needed to get warmed up!). After being introduced to Millet, the proprietor of the bar, we were both given towels and a spot at the bar. Fifteen minutes later I was dry in my change of clothes and warmed by my Johnny Walker. The rain showed no signs of slowing down, so I ordered costillas de cerdo (pork ribs) on recommendation from the inebriated Millet. Who's going to argue with the owner?

We had spent several hours here by the time my hopes of getting home were diminishing. Millet by this time was slouching over and griping to me about his wife's infidelity, all while taking pulls off of the bottle of house scotch. But at least we had a roof over our heads. The clock eventually advanced past ten o'clock and I could still hear the rain's faithful requiem fall upon us. By this hour the regular clientele had made a larger showing for sunday night karaoke. So here Lenay an I were, trapped in this unknown village (I later found out it was Parrita) listening to the drunken butchery of over a dozen latin songs, all followed by a slurry of whooping. It was fun though. I gave my very own version of 'La Bamba,' while Lenay sang 'La Camisa Negra,' a recent hit by the Colombian Juanes.

Near the end of the night a Tico named Charlie and I made friends. For over an hour however, I endured his recommendations of accompanyment to a local town. Road. Dangerous. Ladrones. You will get robbed. Hotel. Warm. Take my credit card. I am friend. Rain. Night. Dangerous. Thieves. Go home tomorrow. Hotel. Nearby. Warm. I take you there. You will get robbed. Stay off the road. Night. Dangerous. I take you to a hotel. Warm. You go home tomorrow. Safe. I am poor. want nothing. Take my credit card.

I had to listen to that for over an hour! So frustrating. And by eleven thirty, the power went out in the cantina. Stuck between the sword and the wall, there was now really no other choice. After asking for a 'small token tip,' Lenay and I followed this drunken driver to the town, roughly ten minutes away. Thankfully I forced him to drive in front of us, because people, there are no traffic cops on the road in Costa Rica, and this guy was driving in England for the majority of the trip.

We found a place, and got accomodations. I took advantage of the air conditioning and warm shower (a serious luxury). At the crack of dawn I rolled out of bed and drove home to Quepos.

Some might call this trip a nightmare. We decided it was an adventure. Was it safe? No. Was it unique? Hell yeah! Would I do it again, if given the choice?

You better believe it!

Danger Zone

At 9 AM early on Sunday mornig I standing underneath Lenay's window. Calling out to her 'LENAY; LENAY!,' I saw her peek from behind the window curtains. She had to get up and see this! She opened her mouth, just about ready to speak, and then stopped. groggy apathy quickly transformed into an anxious recognition of the day's activities. I was in the middle of the road with two helmets, sitting on a moto. Her eyes bulged, excited. She knew what the 2006 kawasaki two stroke scooter meant...

ROAD TRIP

Lenay was ready within seconds of seeing that scooter. A new feat by anyone's standards. But She has been itching to ride one of these things since January. And it's not like we have much time left, right?

Five minutes later I pulled into Fast Eddie's scooter rentals. She hopped on her moto and just like that we became road warriors, armed with two stroke dirt bike engines. It's only 100 cc's of power, but we felt pretty unstoppable nevertheless. This was the A TEAM baby. And Lenay, my MR. T. I felt like we could have taken on anything in Costa Rica. Bring IT ON!

After filling our gas tanks and tooling in and around Quepos for the morning, we sped off to the national highway, hugging the coastline of the Puntarenas department. Our destination was Jacó, a world famous surf town about seventy kilometers from Quepos. It's the kind of town where you would find surf bums, stoners, weekend visitors and Ticos alike. Hey, I hear even Britney Spears was there over the weekend (It was big news here). It was a pretty big trip, and there was just one day to do it in. So we took off, anxious, excited, and jacked from that feeling you get from owning the road.

15 kilometers and two questionably viable bridges later I found myself ripping down the coastline. My right hand was wrenched unnaturally from gripping a maxed out throttle for too long. Pacific winds were blasting away at my face. Sunburnt and flying, I was feeling absolutely brilliant! So we were throttling down the highway and making good time, the lanscape seemingly whizzing by, second by second. Imagine Kenny Loggin's 'Danger Zone' as the title track for the day's musical album. I mean, have you ever been locked in a 4 g negative dive with a Mig-28? I have. Lenay describes it as feeling like you're the king of the world, something that I'm unable to disagree with, but let me continue...

I saw a lot of banana trees on the way to Jacó. I saw a lot of different things actually. There were cows, and farms cantinas and soccer fields. I also saw a pack of stray dogs, Imperial beer signs and gringo resorts dotting the road. But what I mostly saw, aside from the breathtaking scenery were banana trees. These things looked twelve feet tall, with long verdent and droopy fronds hanging every which way. And of course...the bananas. And the plantations were all lined up in little neat rows. These damn manufactured forests were hiding the ocean from us!

Lenay and I weaved around cars drawing closer by the minute. Around 2 o'clock we pulled in to a soda (diner). After wiping the dirt off my face I ordered a quesadilla while my wingman (girl) was translating the menu for the Tico owners. We caught our breath, grabbed some lunch, then took back to the road, arriving in Jacó around twenty minutes later.

To me Jacó seems like the typical surf town. It's costa rican, yes i know, but all the gringo surf shops were throwing me a distinct cali vibe. Yeah, there were Tico surf shops and souvenir stands and sodas, but there was also KFC, TCBY and other familiar beasts, rearing it's head thousands of miles away from the norm. It isn't a large town, by any means but tourists make the trip to Jacó for surfing and a reputable nightlife. Lenay and I explored the town, and shifted through the ever present refuse for sale in the souvenir shops. Afterwards, I enjoyed the spanish LOTR while Lenay took full advantage of a 50% discount on VOLCOM clothes at a newly built development. At 5 or so I found myself at the beach, cooling off in the ocean before the inevitable return trip home.

The clouds did not look promising though.

I Want to See the Condors!!!

May 12th, 2008

Good God I'm tired. I have been every night. But then again, being out of the house for 18 hours of the day will do that to a guy. Even this one. But at least I've settled into this routine. THe last one for that matter, until i come home to the ominous reverse culture shock, whatever that means. I'm coming home soon, but let me get a few more words in before that, ok?

For as busy as I have been, My time here has been effectively confined to Quepos, for as busy as I've been. You will usually see me on the bus running between the town and Manuel Antonio beach, when the driver shows occasional pity on the gringo. Last week I pushed Lenay and I into the final course at D'Amore school. What this means is that, while I am supposed to be taking lessons from my Colombian professor, Victor, we usually finish the day arguing over politics or organized labor. However, I have learned a few things about Colombia, the first stop on my fabled return to South America in the near future. He has promised to take Lenay and I to see the andean condor, with it's massive three meter wingspan. It is possible to simply HEAR the wings of these gargantuans as the land at their perch above three thousand meters. I'm doing it.

We've been getting involved in studying a sort of 'pan-american identity,' a twenty-first century version of Che Guevara's political dream of the fifties. While opposed to Che's violent methods, I have absolutely become thoroughly absorbed in the idea, reinforced by the peoples that I have come to respect and admire. South America was definitely an adventure for me, and opened me up to the world, with its beautiful and its tragic aspects. I feel at this point that dream is impossible, but a little cultural exchange would be a start, eh?

Lenay and I spend our afternoons in class, which means we arrive when the thirty odd Texan classmates of mine are ending their school day. They are all here to learn spanish for a material and pragmatic reason, which would be a fifteen percent salary increase to all bilingual employees, at many Texan companies. They have been tossing some Mexican slang my way, but unfortunately, it's just not my specialty. Now toss out some quichua...

I haven't known many before Costa Rica (odd place to meet Texans), but the students from Texas State have a penchant for living hard and partying hard. I find myself being dragged out to the bar of the day, be it Byblos, Sargento Garcia, or Barba Roja. The prices are equal to American bars, but thats why they sell cacique in the bodegas, I guess. I'm running on little sleep, but at least it's a hell of a time.