To all my loyal readers, I apologize for the 16 months hiatus. I can assure I haven't forgotten about you! In fact, I have been thinking about you non-stop during my research sabbatical. Much has transpired over the past year plus. 

For starters, I moved from Rohrmoser north to a neighboring metropolis known as Heredia, where I lived for six month with Evan. Then, when Evan was offered a job promotion that required a move Stateside, I moved back down to Rohrmoser to be within walking distance of my office. 

I also decided teaching wasn't the right career choice for me. While standing in front of class after class, blank eyes staring back at me yearning not for knowledge of the English language but wondering when the next break is, I remembered how much I loathed structured learning. One day during a grammar lesson explaining the difference between there, their, and they're, and where, were, and we're; I had the class take a break. I gathered my belongings and escaped the building through the boiler room, over the fence bordering the heavily wooded jungle. I made it through the thick tropical vegetation and onto the main highway where I hailed cab and never looked back.

I've been living in a beautiful three bedroom three bathroom house with a great roommate (even tough he is vegan and from Boston) living a wonderfully simple existence. I work, I play football, make home made wine, I write, I live. The main characters in Act II of the on going dramatic comedy that is my life are Thomas, Kurt, and Mitch. Thomas is my roommate, and Kurt and Mitch live next door. We share the same foundation but the house has been walled up down the middle so the landlord could maximize his income potential. 

Mitch, Kurt, and I recently formed a band (band name TBD) with working names such as; The Tres Amigos, Tres Gringos, The Tumble Weeds, The Wrambling Wreck, Jerry and The Curls, Reverse Enemas, The Fart Blossoms, etc. We recently had a photo shoot for our debut album. Mitch is the lead singer and lead guitarist, Kurt and I sing back up vocals. Kurt also play the bass cooler and I play the rattle (a small empty bottle of mescal filled with frijoles negro). 

Below you will find one of our originals we are working on. I wrote the lyrics, Mitch wrote the rhythm and chords, and Kurt made the song come to life...

   

  

Under The Tico Sky

Verse 1

As the sun dissolved into the Pacific

I held her so very tight

The Tico stars hanging above

Twinkling beyond the the Tico night

Verse 2

We made love all night long

In the warm Tico sand

I could see it her (dark brown) eyes

I could feel it in her hands

Chorus

Under the Tico Sky, I lost myself

Under the Tico sun, I was 40 days on the run

Under the Tico Night, I found myself

Under the Tico stars, I fell in love...one too many times

Verse 3

But you know, love is a dangerous thing

It'll will make you run or stay

I found it easier to hit the road

Slipped out at night, I was on my way

Reprise

She wasn't my first

And she wasn't my last

              But Lord,she was the best I ever had

Chorus

Under the Tico Sky, I lost myself

Under the Tico sun, I was 40 days on the run

Under the Tico Night, I found myself

Under the Tico stars, I fell in love...one too many times

Fear and Loathing in Nicaragua

Captain America and The Ana Sofia.....Machete Fights in the Streets of San Juan del Sur.....A Seaman Gets Married.....Death on the Beach

Jamie, Taylor and I left for Nicaragua on Tuesday morning. The idea was utilize the Semana Santa vacation time to make a visa run. While renewing our passports, we planned on enjoying the beautiful Pacific Coast.

We hacked our way through the madness of downtown San Jose and located the Transportes Deldu S.A., the cheapest bus running north up the Trans American Highway from San Jose to Penas Blancas, directly to the Costa Rica – Nicaraguan border.

The dreadful journey costs 4650 Colones (approximately $9.00). The Ticos call their buses “Beer cans” because of the flimsy aluminum frames used to reinforce the walls. The bus had a 40 year old diesel engine that spewed exhaust. The drive train felt like it was one upshift away from dropping the transmission on to the road, and the suspension was beyond shot. Every seat was taken and some Ticos had no choice but to stand for the six hour roller-coaster ride through one of the most mountainous regions in the country.

We reached la frontera (the border) just as the sun was setting at about 6:30pm. After passing through customs relatively quickly, we were no longer in Costa Rica but not yet in Nicaragua. We had to walk 300 yards down a dusty and lawless road to the Nicaraguan border. The strange no-man's-land was riddled with “night people” and big rigs huffing and puffing dust and exhaust into the thick tropical air. I did my best best to fight back feelings of doom. The “Bienvenidos Nicaragua” sign offered me no solace as I approached the Nicaraguan border.

We got our passports stamped and paid the $20 at customs. Next we were able to find a young and trustworthy taxi driver to take us the remaining 30 minutes to San Juan del Sur for $25. The girls had bought some rum at the duty free shop and opened the bottle in the cab (which is legal). They asked him to turn up the radio. The theme song from The Titanic was playing on the radio. I looked out the window and through the palm trees at the stars glimmering above the Pacific Ocean. The vibrations were getting better.

We arrived in the city center, paid the cabby, and said goodbye. The first hostel we went to, Pacha Mama, was booked for the night, so we went down the street to a different hostel. I can't remember the name, but it was very tranquillo (chill). I talked to a photojournalist from Colorado and a hippie chick named Alex who claimed she wasn't from anywhere. The court yard of the hostel was full of travelers lounging on hammocks, smoking cheap cigarettes and expensive pot.

It was Tuesday night and the long weekend had not yet begun. I felt like one of those super-intense sports fans that parks their RV in the stadium parking lot the night before the big game. People knew that things were going to get weird in the days to come and they were ready.

The next morning we woke up and brought our backpacks to Pacha Mama. Taylor knew the owner and he hooked us up with a nice room. The three of us had to share a room with two Eastern European girls and an Israeli surfer. After settling in, I went down stairs to the patio on the front porch. There were a few early risers having their morning coffee and speaking softly with one another. I introduced myself to everyone. There were three Dutchmen named Nils, Norman and Willem, two Swedes named Anders and Tobias and an American named Alex.

The hostel offered a “shuttle” ride to a remote beach 30 minutes away for 5 Cordobas. Most of the people staying at the hostel decided to go, and so did Taylor, Jamie and I. Everyone was quite surprised to see that the shuttle was actually a 1987 Toyota pick-up with meal benches welded into the truck bed. It was standing room only for the fearless 20 crammed in the back. The local driver, Jose, latched the gate behind the last person and we were off.

The ride was a bumpy, hot and dusty one through Nicaragua's poorest countryside. I decided to open my bottle of tequila and pass it around. Everyone was feeling pretty good when we got to the beach. We all piled out and made a mad dash for the ocean.

The beach was picturesque with beautiful young people playing soccer, frisbee and football. Surfers were riding the tubular breaks with ease. I had to pinch myself...Had I just materialized into a scene from Endless Summer 2?

On shore their were two bars. The bar without running water was packed because a new alcohol/energy drink company named “Twisted” was promoting their new product. The “Twisted Girls” were dressed in bikinis and carried trays of free drinks. The only decision one had to make was apple or strawberry. Blistering sun and salty water, I played the best frisbee of my life. Feeling good was easy that day.

The shuttle dropped the drunken and sunburned cattle off in front of Pacha Mama and we all retired to our respective bunk beds for an afternoon nap. When everyone had eaten dinner and showered we reconvened on the patio. As plans were being made for where to go that night, I had been hatching a ground breaking idea. I suggested to the afore mentioned guys and whoever else was within ear shot, that tonight, we travel as a crew and assume the identity of The United Nations Sailing Team. After all, the hostel had basically turned into the Olympic Village.

Andres recruiting Aisha to become the first German and female member of the Ana Sophia

The suggestion was widely accepted and because it was my brain child, I was nominated Captain of the vessel. The vessel later became known as The Ana Sophia. Ana because that was the name of one of the beautiful girls sitting on the patio and Sophia because my First Mate, Anders, had gone into some long story about the love of his life being home in Sweden. I was later referred to as Captain America, a title I proudly accepted and took very seriously.

The United Nations Sailing Team shoved off for the local bars. Walking through the narrow streets in the city center I immediately noticed how many Nicaraguans had flooded into the small town. It was as if the little surfing village had been supplanted by a refugee camp. Nicas were camping out on side walks, children and grandmothers were drinking cacique guaro together. I double checked my pockets every 10 yards.

Half a mile down the road I saw an unorganized crowd rapidly forming a circle around two small, dark men. The men had machetes drawn and were squared off. Apparently one man tried to steal the other's cell phone. I noticed that half the crew wanted to stay and watch the melee but I urged us to move on to the bars. I'll never know the outcome of the machete fight. But the next morning I'm sure I saw a street rat nibbling on a little brown thumb.

The next morning when the crew stumbled out of their quarters, we all went to have a big breakfast and plan the conquests of the day. We decided to return to the beach form the day before in hopes of getting “Twisted” again, for free.

We arrived and there was no Twisted tent set up but the locals assured us they would be there later. Everyone was nursing their hangovers. It took some time before that euphoric recognition of paradise to resurface. “What could ruin this feeling?” I asked myself.

It was soon after the Twisted Tent was set up that I began to notice the circle of people 100 yards down the beach. I asked someone sitting next me if he knew what was happening.

“Some dead girl washed up on shore,” he replied. Apparently, after about an hour of lying unnoticed, the gentle surf washing over her body, someone decided to investigate.

The details aren't clear, but the story I heard was that she was swimming drunk the night before and drowned. She was a Nicaraguan in her mid 20's. She was carried past the Twisted Tent on a surf board, wrapped in a beach towel. I saw her small brown toes as the Policia lifted her onto their pick-up truck. I mentally removed myself from that time and place and said some prayers.

The experience was sobering, to say the least. It forced me to reflect on life and death, a very paradoxical concept in such an idyllic place.

I was snapped back to reality when my First Mate, Anders, asked me if I would marry him and his new love. He introduced me to his bride-to-be, Daniela (a Twisted Girl), and explained that they had fallen in love over the past two days. Anders tried his best to clarify that, because I was the captain of the UN Sailing Vessel, I had the authority to officially marry the couple. She spoke no English and he, very little Spanish.

Needless to say, I was obligated to perform an impromptu beach matrimonial ceremony. I had the DJ at the bar play “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” and “Cinnamon Girl,” as the bi-linguistically challenged lovers kissed before a burning Pacific sunset.

After a long day and night of heavy drinking, I was happy to get back to the hostel and plan my exit strategy. Five days in a third world country, I was ready to head “home.” I went to bed early Friday night and made plans with Nils and Willem to share a cab back to the border at 8:00am Saturday. Jamie and Taylor wanted to stay one more night. I had heard enough horror stories of passing through the border on Sunday. Lines a mile long with Nicaraguans, Costa Ricans and Everyone else standing for hours in the burning sun and dusty air.

It took me, Nils and Willem two hours to get through to Costa Rica. Once through, I was persistent on getting my passport stamped for 90 days. The Dutchmen are doing an internship in a different part of Costa Rica and needed a different bus. We said farewell and I promised to accommodate them, and any other crew members of the Ana Sophia, whenever they were passing through San Jose.

I stood in line for two hours waiting for the Penas Blancas y San Jose. I was severely dehydrated and exhausted when I got on the bus. I sat down down next to a very heavy-set Tica woman with a trustworthy face.

My rationale was such: If I pass out to the right I'll have a soft landing. If I pass out to the left, I'll hit the isle and wake up. I clutched my North Face back pack between my knees and fell asleep.

When a Tico busker came through the bus selling waters and sodas, my seat-mate noticed I was struggling to convert my Cordobas to Colones and bought me a bottle of water. There were no words exchanged, but from the grateful look in my eyes, I'm sure my big Tica Mama understood how much it meant to me.

The bus pulled into San Jose and I took a cab for $3 the rest of the way home. I laid in my bed and reflected on the meaning of home. I realized then, that I wasn't on vacation. I actually live here in Costa Rica. Pero, todo esta bien. I was glad to have my Nicaraguan adventure story and I was looking forward to getting my TEFL certification nad to start working full-time.

Teaching English in a Foreign Land

Another New Journey Begins:

I was scheduled to meet Bernal Cespedes, the Director of the ESL program, at 10am sharp in Heredia. Politecnico a 30 minute bus ride from my house in Rohmoser. Luckily my roommate Evan is a veteran bus rider and had a class that morning. Evan taught me what route to start on and where get off and switch buses. I have been using a “Burger King” as a landmark for my first stop (pull the string at the Burger King). Part of my commute goes past Parque La Sabana, a beautiful park where the national soccer stadium, Estadio Nacional was recently built. The Chinese Government gave it to Costa Rica as a “gift” for establishing a free trade agreement with China instead of Taiwan. Nothing here says “Made in Taiwan.”

The Heredia campus was a former mansion owned by a wealthy coffee baron. He was also an advocate for education and upon his death, the estate was donated and converted into a school. The campus is small but very beautiful. 

The staff seemed very happy. I was given a brief tour of the facility and payed close attention to the names of the lunch ladies. Julie and Ana later gave me a heaping plate of pinto gallo y pollo for lunch:)

My meeting with Bernal went great. He was excited to hear that I'm a sports fan because he loves American sports. He listens to “The Herd,” hosted by Colin Cowherd of ESPN, every morning. Bernal briefly explained the guiding principles of adult language learning and reassured me that it would become clearer as I complete my TEFL certification. My certification course is from 9am – 3pm, Monday – Friday. I'll also be teaching part-time in the evenings, as well as Saturday mornings from 8 – 12, at a local high school. Bernal asked me to come back the next day to go over some paper work and start working on a lesson plan.

The next day I went back to school and started going over some information. During lunch with some co-workers, Bernal came up and asked if anyone could cover 2 hours of an upper-level class because the teacher had called in sick. The others had their own classes to teach, so I said I would give it a shot. A few minutes later he returned and asked how my "subject/verb agreement" knowledge was. 

I replied, “Pretty strong.” 

He said “Great, you can get started in a few minutes."

So I went to my laptop and Googled “subject/verb agreement,” as its apparent from my blog, my grammar is on a 2^nd grade level (American 2^nd grade).

The class was comprised of future Bank of America Call Center Reps who are fine-tuning their English. I taught the class for 2 hours and had a great time. After we finished subject/verb agreement, I had to explain how Americans use “otherwise.” 

I asked the students to pair up and create their own sentences using “otherwise.” When they finished I went around the room , eaching reading their sentence. I came to a pretty dark haired student with big brown eyes, who starred intently at me and said “I don't know how to cook, otherwise I would cook you dinner.” I thought it was pretty funny but showed no reaction and quickly moved on to the next student.

Meeting my Saturday class for the first time was a delight. I will be teaching grade 6, which for Tico's is equivalent to junior year of high school. CoTePeCos has a reputations for producing the brightest students in San Jose. These students have elected to take an extra eight-weeks of English instruction. The class's workbooks haven't arrived yet and the photocopies I requested were all messed up. I had no choice but to improvise Chapter 1 for four hours. 

I wanted to meet everyone and rate their English proficiency, so I decided to start the morning by having each design a “Personal Logo” that represents who they are. I then then had each student present their logo to the class. Most were very cute. The girls drew hearts and musical notes, the boys drew soccer balls and weights. My logo was a swan with a lacrosse stick and a football beneath it. 

That activity ate up about 50 minutes of clock and the remaining time was quick and fun. The kids laughed everything I said, so it made me feel like a really funny stand up comedian. I wanted to assign homework because that kind of power is easy to abuse, but because of Holy Week I wouldn't see the kids for 2 weeks, so I  resisted the urge. When class concluded, each student came up and said goodbye, thanking me. I was impressed, maybe because my only teaching experience thus far, took place in Golversville, NY.

After my Saturday class I was on vacation until Monday the 25^th. Then things would really pick up. I had met some other teachers who were going on a "visa run" to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua, and thought it a good idea to renew mine as well, while I had sometime off from work. 

Other than a six hour bus ride to a third world country I had no idea what to expect. At the time, the thought was very inticing...That story will be posted within the next day or two. But, just as a teaser...My new friends from the UN Sailing Team Andres, Nils, Wilem and Alex, were addressing me as Captain America by the time I left that God forsaken town.

The weekend excursion to Puerto Viejo was an amazing time filled with good food, relaxation and amazing tropical scenery. Sunday we all went to Cahuita, which is north of Puerto Viejo, and hung out on Playa Blanca near the Cahuita National Park. The beach's sand was a nice white-tan color and the ocean was a darker deeper blue because of the ocean floor being stirred up form a front moving in. The weather was mainly overcast but we were able to throw the frisbee and enjoy the warm air. I said "I can't believe I live here now," several times that day. 

Playa Blanca

After the beach, we went back to the condo, showered and went out to eat in Puerto Viejo proper. The night life was very lively because all the Ticos, which is what the Costa Ricans call themselves, had a national holiday on Monday.

The highlight of the trip was Monday when we went south to Punto Mona (Monkey Point) by way of Manzanilla. We drove along the beach and through the jungle to the main beach in Manzanilla. From there, Melissa's brother Alejandro was able to negotiate with a local fisherman/tour guide named Denry to ferry us to Punto Mona, which is only accessible by boat.

Denry is a Nicaraguan who grew up on the ocean. He looked to be in his mid forties and had a weathered and hardened face. He went to get gas while we waited for him near his fishing boat. The “Kai 1” has a 26 foot fiberglass hull with a 75 horsepower, outboard engine and four benches. There were a few old life jackets thrown onboard among several empty bottles of Imperial (one of the most popular beers). He returned with a Marlboro and full Imperial in one hand and a full tank of gas in the other, and we were off.

The Kai 1

That was my first time on the open sea in a smaller vessel and it was very intense. The waves were massive and as we approached them, and there was a slight feeling of weightlessness as we crested the waves and rode down the back side. In an open hulled boat it is impossible to stay dry. The sun was pounding down on us. The saltwater, splashing on my face and body, felt refreshing. Along the way, Denry turned the boat away from the assumed destination down the coast, and out to sea. We were about a mile of shore. It was at that point I realized we were completely at his mercy, defenseless touristas.

Denry and Evan

However, Denry didn't intend to rob us on the high seas, he was taking us to see the dolphins that regularly feed in the area during early afternoon. We looked for the seagulls circling above, which indicate the dolphins may near by. We watched and waited but saw nothing. After sometime, we asked Denry to take us to Punto Mona, ending the dolphin tour. So he started the engine and headed towards shore.

On our way inland, six Guyanan dolphins and one bottle nose dolphin surfaced alongside the boat. Their dorsal fins were cresting above the waterline intermittently and I rushed to find my camera. Just as I stooped down, the bottle nose jumped out of the water and pirouetted in the air, showing off for us. The dolphins continued their display, flopping around in the ocean 30 feet from our boat. It was an amazing experience I'll always remember.

After the dolphins' performance, Denry brought us to the beach at Punta Mona. Alejandro had explained that Punta Mona is a self sufficient, organic farm and education center. I was picturing something like the movie “The Beach” in my head, and wasn't very far off. When we arrived I noticed the small houses built on stilts set back near the edge of the jungle. Beyond the houses began a path into the thick jungle. Our group of seven laid down our towels on the sand and enjoyed the amazing view of the ocean and a view of Panama to the south.

I decided to check out the farm and meet its inhabitants. There was a very old native man sitting on the front porch of the hut. The front of his hut was covered in pictures of Bob Marley and naked women. I waived hello and ventured down the jungle path. 50 meters into the bush, I was greeted by a short, chubby American man who looked to be about 35. Steven had very thick curly hair and a scraggly beard. He was shirtless with ragged cargo shorts and flip slops. He was drinking a can of Imperial.

The main education building at Punto Mona

Hammocks on the porch looking out on the jungle

I later learned that he was the director of the education center and had been living in Costa Rica for over 12 years. He had graduated from University of Wisconsin, moved down here, opened a farm and started teaching Costa Ricans about sustainable living. There are several buildings and greenhouses on the 84 acre farm. I was blown away by the quality and design of the architecture. www.puntamona.org

After digging the farm for a bit I headed back to the beach and was ran into Denry. He had a 30 foot bamboo pole in his hands, at the end was a “J” shaped blade. Denry was using it to cut bunches of coconuts from the pam trees along the beach. I helped him gather the coconuts and bring them to a stump near by. He picked up a machete and lopped off part of the coco leaving a perfect quarter-sized opening. He handed me the coco and I drank from the husk, the milk was clear and fresh. It tasted like water with a sweet coconut flavor. Denry said coconuts are great for the liver especially after a lot of Imperials. I drank four coco's and rolled them down the beach like bowling balls.

After swimming in the mild surf, it was time to head back to Manzanilla. When we returned to the boat I was surprised to see Steven and his female acquaintance, and three other travelers waiting for a rife back to civilization. We loaded their luggage into the boat and shoved off. The boat was riding much lower in the water with our additional passengers and cargo. A few of the females were outwardly concerned with the ride back. Especially after Steven and Denry got into a debate over the odds of making it through the pass between the island and point during high tide with that much weight on board. Denry assured everyone we would be fine, he had carried 27 people before during similar circumstances, 13 of us should be a cinch.

Denry turned the boat into the oncoming waves and gunned the engine, they were breaking just as we drove through and down the backside. As we continued through the narrow pass I could see outcroppings of the coral reef just feet below the hull. The rest of the ride back to shore took about half an hour and everyone applauded Denry for his skill and out of relief to be back on solid ground.

The island off the point. We passed through the narrows on the left side

My first weekend was nearing an end as we drove back to San Jose. I was so grateful to have enjoyed such a surreal experience so early in my time here. I silently promised myself that if I ever questioned what the hell I was doing in this far away land, I would take a weekend and come back to Punta Mona or somewhere similar. After all Costa Rica has about 2000 kilometers of beach to explore. I quickly fell asleep, knowing I would soon have to confront the treacherous city of San Jose and start a new job...

Arriving and First Weekend

Leaving America, Arriving in Costa Rica:

I landed in San Jose on Saturday morning after a long day and night of traveling. My friend Jesse, in New York City, let me stay at his house. I scheduled a cab to pick me up at his high-rise in China Town at 4:30am and take me to LaGuardia. I boarded the plane and fell asleep on the runway before take off. The details of the flight from LaGuardia to Ft. Lauderdale are very fuzzy, primarily because I didn't have my contacts lens in. I slept the whole way. I switched planes in Florida and went back to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of an Australian flight attendant doing some comedy bit he uses when the flight passes over Cuba. I needed to use the bathroom and put my contacts back in, so I went to the rear of the plane. I had to wait in line, while I was standing there an overly enthusiastic American guy from Milwaukee or something, bought a round of rum for everyone waiting to use the restroom.

When I returned to my seat I was awake and started up a conversation with my isle mate. I had a window seat and the man to my left was a slick looking guy with olive skin and jet-black hair. He was already dressed in the stereotypical tourist outfit...Cargo shorts, flip flops and a surfer/designer polo shirt. He was a producer for a major company out of Australia hired by a real estate company to photograph their property for publications throughout the world. His job was to get the lay-of-the-land and figure out the logistics of the project; man power, equipment etc. Seemed like a cool job.

As we approached the airport, I was impressed with the landscape and the mountains. The mountain range in the Central Valley is very steep with sloping rock faces. I had to admire the fortitude of the Spanish settlers and their "native servants" for the ability to build a thriving city throughout such rugged terrain. I was able to get through customs and immigrations in about 45 minutes without being interrogated as to why I had a one-way ticket.

Evan and his girlfriend Melissa were waiting for me outside the airport and I was quickly whisked away into the thick of the San Jose traffic. The country is infamous for its underfunded and poorly maintained roads combined with impenetrable gridlock.

We were all hungry, so they brought me to my first fast food joint called The Roasty Pollo. I was admittedly intimidated by the menu and still very groggy so I pointed at the item that looked like chicken nuggets and said "Por favor." They were good. We ate fast while Evan explained what the plan was for the weekend. Melissa and her brother Alejandro had a gringa friend from Texas, named Jodi, who is also a teacher in Costa Rica. Jodi's sister and brother-in-law were on vacation and staying in Puerto Viejo, a cool surfer town in the south eastern part of the country. 

The Caribbean coast is known for its chill lifestyle beautiful beaches and jungles and Afro-Caribbean reggae population. Melissa took us to her mother's house in Heredia where I was able to take a much needed shower and leave me luggage. After packing a small weekend bag and practicing my Spanish with Dona Ellena, Melissa's mother, we were ready for the weekend. 

Read my next blog to learn about my first experience with coconuts and a close encounter with some sea creatures.