yeah, maaaan!

First full day on the island of Little Corn I wanted to walk all over and get a feel for the place. The island is maybe 3 miles long by 1/2 to 1 mile wide depending on which part you are at, so it is not big, by any means. There is one sidewalk along the hotter west facing side and a few paths that connect to the eastern facing side which has a beach, but no real paths along its' length. The west side has a picturesque bay that is a perfect setting for sunsets but does not get the steady breeze that the east side gets. Most locals like the west side better due to the sidewalk and cluster of shops and services, but I prefer the east side with the cooling winds and coral reef that is 500 yards off shore. The north part of the island has a few small hotels but is mostly undeveloped. I ran into a pack of 5-8 year olds who accosted me for change, 'give me 5 Cordoba or I stomp you!' said one kid. I'm a big believer of not giving money to kids because I feel it reinforces the thought that they can use tourists by begging rather than providing some service, but that's a longer discussion not meant for this forum. Regardless, I received a hail of mangos that were being thrown at me due to my refusal of donation. None hit me, but the kids were ruthless and I could not help but think of the movie 'City of God', where kids smaller than these were running the slums of Rio de Janeiro with iron fists. Being a good 1/2 mile from the nearest house, i'm not ashamed to say I ran away from them for fear of being, not stoned, but mangoed to death. I felt like telling the kids I was a fortune teller and I saw incarceration in their future but I decided to keep quiet should they try to lie in ambush on my return to the center of the island. The north side has a few deserted beaches and the best snorkleing on the island just offshore but it is a good 15-20 minute hike to get food or water, so it's not really my cup of tea. So I made my way back through the forest and luckily the little hellians were gone but that did not alleviate my paranoia of being bombarded a second time. Closer to the center of town I saw the kids sitting on their front porch where they, once again, said something about 5 Cordobas and stomping but I felt a little braver since there were neighbors around so I just ignored them. Next day I went snorkleing and saw a sea turtle and a few nurse sharks plus tons of very pretty coral. A few days later I went fishing with a few locals and caught some Parrot Fish, tons of Yellowtail, Trigger Fish, plus a species Felipe called 'de debil feesh' due to its' large spiney fins and red color. Felipe is the father in law to the Captain, Jather (sounds like father). Jather is about 30 years old and named his boat after his son, Moises, which I thought was super cool. The boat is called 'Captain Moses". Felipe is one of 9 native islanders left. I'm guessing he is about 55 years old, has lived a rough life, has light brown skin, green eyes, is about 6' tall and weighs 135. He has a very Carribean accent and likes to say 'Yeah, maaan!' when there is any lull in the conversation. He claims to have 10 kids by 5 moms spread all over the Carribean. He is quite simply... a character.... and I love characters! In fact he holds a kinship to Morgan Freeman in 'Shawshank Redemption' because he describes himself as a man that can 'get whatever you want'. All in all we caught about 30-40 fish on our 2 1/2 hour trip just beyond the reef. The getup was extremely simple: a thick clear line on a spool with a small piece of pipe on the end (as a weight) and a hook 6 inches above that. Put a small piece of bait on the hook, let the line sink to the bottom and hold the line with both hands. When you feel a little nibble on the line try to set the hook and pull up the catch. The biggest fish we caught was about 1 foot long, so the fish were similar to a trout you'd find in Colorado rivers, not huge but fun to catch and good eating! We also had a rod/reel set up to try to catch Kingfish but they werent biting that day, oh well. Felipe was very patient and helped me pull out the hooks in my hand a few times, and was very happy for me when I would catch a fish. To be honest, I caught more fish than Jather, but I attribute this to beginners luck. After we cleaned the fish, gave some away to locals and washed our hands we made our way to Jathers' moms restaurant to make Ron Don. Ron Don is a local fish stew made with root vegetables and coconut along with whatever fish that is fresh. You start with fresh grated coconut and a bit of water to create a coconut 'milk', put it on a fire, add chicken base, boil for a while, then add local veggies such as potatoes, onion, malanga (a sort of yucca root), a small turnip looking cousin of the coconut (forgot the name, sorry) and boil til the veggies are soft and the liquid is reduced, then add whole black pepper and the cleaned fish, cover with banana leaves, cook for another 10-15 minutes and adjust seasoning. Diagnosis: deeeelicious! Felipe told me that I would have to go out on the town tonight because the Ron Don has an effect on the ladies. In fact he had already spied out an English chick that was travelling alone who had arrived earlier in the day, staying at the same hotel I was. I'm not sure how the ol' dog had found this out because she arrived on the panga while we were out fishing. Apparently he thought she would be perfect for me. He said, 'Usually you be chasin the woman... but after the Ron Don, the woman be chasin you! Best be careful, you may have a little native one runnin around the island in a few months after the woman be done with you! Yeah maaaan!'. I asked if the Ron Don was the reason he had so many kids running around the Carribean and he replied, 'I don't usually eat the Ron Don because I have such a difficult time fightin off the lady as it is! Yeah, maaaan!'. Hilarious, I truely can not make this stuff up. So naturally your next question is did the Ron Don work, correct? Well, I laid down for a nap around 6pm and woke up at 3am, whoops. The funniest part was, I actually met the English girl the next day, who turned out to be a very lovely person I might add, and we went to a BBQ Grill Out with a few people the next evening. As we were walking to the hosts' house she and I passed Felipe sitting on his steps along the sidewalk. He saw the two of us walking and talking and with a big ol' grin he said, 'Yeah, maaan!', as he nodded his approval at me. The next day Felipe and I ran into each other and he greeted me with, 'So you like the Ron Don, no?!'. I exploded in laughter! I mean I could not have set that up more perfectly if I had 100 opportunities. Needless to say, Jather, Felipe and myself are planning on going fishing again tomorrow, if the weather holds. We got along so well (and my fishing was not to shabby, mind you) that we agreed to split the cost of bait and gas without further cost to me. That is a killer deal for me, meaning that I am gonna pay just a few bucks for, what I can only assume, will be a few more good stories with Felipe. I can't hardly wait!
Note: The weather was too windy to go fishing today so we postponed, which is a good thing, because when Felipe came to tell me the news this morning he said he needed some sleep because he met a beautiful Australian lady at the bar last night. Felipe! You ol' dog, you!

march books

Stormy Weather by Carl Hiassen - A very Elmore Leonard-esque crime story set in Florida after a hurricane with human greed at its' finest. Very funny, good characters, quick read.
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce - I appreciate the writing and all, he started to get me interested when he visited a whore at 15 and he had me feeling supreme Catholic Guilt even though i'm not Catholic, now that's powerful stuff!
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey - The phrase 'rebel by 18 or you got no heart, establishment by 30 or you got no brains' has never been proved more wrong than with this book. It made me looking for something to take a stand for. Fantastic!
Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell - Without 1984 or Animal Farm this book would never be read now or in the future by anyone, with good reason too. It could have been written as a 40 page short story but dragged on and on. Luckily it was only 200 pages.
Choke by Chuck Pauhlaniuk - Too much like the outline of Fight Club to be great but a good dark view into the underbelly of stupid dudes. I did laugh out loud a few times though, so AOK in my book!
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez - He is such an incredibly gifted writer and has a killer mustache on the backcover, to boot.
Cities of the Plain by Cormac McCarthy - Third instalment in The Border Trilogy makes you want to go to West Texas.... until you get there and wonder why you came, pretty enjoyable book though.
Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry - Good book but a bit tiresome in places. Captures the sheer essence of a true drunk and his inevidable downfall. A good drinking game would be to have a sip of beer everytime the Consul has a drink, you'd be hammered by page 25. I'd be curious to know how many drinks he really had during the one day this 400 page novel takes place (best guess: 75).

security!

Planes, trains and automobiles to get from Jiquilillo to Little Corn Island, actually more like chicken bus, taxi, mini van, taxi, 15 seat airplane, taxi and finally panga (25 seat skiff) to get here. I began my journey at 6am and I arrived at sunset and spent 20 minutes walking around with the backpack in crazy humid heat to find my hotel. Luckily my hotel is on the windward side of the island with tons of breeze. After catching my breath, I checked in with the owner who is a massive man! Simon calls me 'Meester Brat' with a heavy Carribean accent. Supposedly he picked up a six foot long peice of coconut palm trunk and smacked a thief upside the head with it, just last week. It seems they don't have too much trouble with crime on the island because if you are caught you get smacked in the head with a tree. The story goes that 2 Canadian guys got their money stolen from their room the first night they were here. The next day they went back to Big Corn to hit up the ATM and get more money. The second night they got robbed again but caught the guy as he was hopping out the window. The thief out-ran them but they woke up Simon (at 2am) and told him what had happened. He was already aware of the previous nights theft and the Canadians gave a pretty good description of the robber. Simon told them to come with him, they went and woke up the 2 police officers on the island, went to the guys house, broke down his door, dragged him out of bed and beat the crap out of him. That was when Simon grabbed the tree trunk and swung for the fences. Supposedly the guy was completely out for 10-15 minutes, all the while his family were yelling at the Canadians with not so veiled threats. The Canadians were scared stiff and decided they needed to get of the island and out of the country as soon as possible. There are only two ways on/off the island. The official 'panga' which leaves at 7am and 2pm daily (only in good weather) or a locally hired boat (half the size/twice the time) that is considerably more expensive. They got on the panga at 7am only to find the thief handcuffed between the 2 cops sitting right in front of them. The story goes that they got out of the country fast and safely but needed to change their shorts a few times along the way. After hearing the story from many different people on the island this seems to be the official version. Almost everyone realizes that tourism is the bread and butter of this island, in fact, it is too far off the coast to do steady trading with the mainland to depend on anything else. Lobster has been overfished by the big boats so tourism is it. The locals I have talked to say that this thief was trying to take food off their tables because people will hear that theives are on Little Corn and, in turn, not come. They seem passionate about protecting the islands charm by keeping it safe and also about keeping cars and motorcycles off the island. If they can pull this off for the next 10 years I would be impressed. Regardless, I feel very safe with the Simon installed security system that is in place. I'll just be sure to not make the man angry! Geeez!
The island itself is a bit of paradise. Crystal clear Carribean waters, tons of coconut palms, lots of white sand beaches with a coral reef surrounding half of the island. Sea life includes tons of coral, turtles, rays, sharks (nurse, hammerhead, black tip reef and supposedly a few bull but the last is only rumor), lobster, tons of fish and lots of good clean fun! I can see myself wearing out hammocks and reading lots of books. We'll see how this week turns out!

compadre

After a fun bus ride to a tiny fishing village called Jiquilillo, I arrived at my next destination which my friend Michelle would call Rancho Relaxo. It was set back from the beach about 50 yards but the surf could be heard with violent clarity. Most people who were there had already been there a week which is really long by backpacker standards. Most backpackers spend about 2 or 3 days in a town depending on the length of their trip. Shorter trips make some people stress as they try to fit in as much as they possibly can, therefore missing almost everything worth seeing. Longer trips allow people to move at their own leisure, but with lots to see, most people get antsy to see more after 3 days. Some stay longer if they really like a place but that time depends on the individual. This Rancho just had a good mix of things to do and lots of good hammocks with a steady ocean breeze. Plus they have a killer library of about 1500 books, most of quality authors whom I could see myself buying at a bookstore, made more impressive by the fact that the nearest seller is 500 miles away and shipping and customs taxes on a box, the size of a case of beer, is well over $150 (not to mention the price of the books themselves). Me, always being on the lookout for characters, was slightly disappointed when I missed the chance to meet 'crazy drunk machete guy'. When I heard about him, I wanted to get together to share crazy machete misadventure stories but unfortunately he has left town. You see, 'crazy drunk machete guy' was just how you might imagine him: stumbling, falling, mumbling, drunk at 10 in the morning with a macahete in his hand. Apparently he was a big nuicence. You see, he was usually so drunk that he would fall down and give you time for escape should your paths cross . That was the attitude of the townsfolk until he robbed a 80 year old man who lives on the property of the Rancho. All the old mans cash was stolen along with some recently purchased food. The good folks at the Rancho realized it was only a matter of time until he would hurt an unsuspecting taveller, so they asked the cityelders if they could do something. They came up with idea of buying him a bus ticket for far away and just putting him on the bus. Everybody chipped in and he hasn't been seen since.I have many issues with this philosophy, the short list is sending someone to be someone elses problem, not helping someone with serious chemical dependancies who most likely has mental instabilities, and most importantly not keeeping him around until I got the chance to take a few pics of him. This is the kind o stuff that this blog so desperately needs to keep it interesting. On the first few points one might argue that he is his own problem and most likely the next town will not stand for his tom foolery and incarcerate him almost immediately, or that Nicaragua has neither the funds nor facilities to deal with such mental instabilities. On the last point there is no possible rebuttal. All that I can hope is that 'crazy drunk machete guy' will act like a lost dog in some touchy feely Disney movie and find his way back to his home by any senses he has left and that I haven't left the town yet. I feel a kindred spirit with this whole machete thing.

Whitey Cobb

Did a lot of fun things in Leon, Nicaragua. I tried to buy an extra large t-shirt and found out that Central American XL means a lot smaller. I was trying to buy this 'gallo pinto' (a local favorite food item) shirt but couldn't find an actual XL. Of course the 2XL was actual size and felt like a moo moo on me. I dared not try it on due to the oppresively hot climate Leon has. I felt as if I drank 2 gallons of water each day I was there. I was hoping to catch a baseball game, but missed the weekly game by a day or so. I also found out that Nicaragua subscribes to the same philosophy that Hollywood does in keeping their movie theatres extremely cold. I saw 'Up In The Air' which was just ok but the temperature was delightful. I actually got a bit chilly in the theater. Another thing that was really fun was being called 'whitey'. It seems that people in this part of the world address each other by color if they are extremely light skinned. The word 'chele' pronounced 'chay-lay' means light skinned. My translation is 'Whitey'. When I was in El Salvador my surf instructor was nicknamed Chele. I was told that kids in El Salvador receive their nicknames as a newborn, oftentimes. Unlucky for my surf instructor he ended being the darkest fella in the town, so the nickname stuck due to the irony of it all. He didn't like being called 'Whitey' so I called him 'Che'. He was cool with that. I, on the other hand, rather like being called 'Whitey'. I try to smile a lot down here, and those of you that know me will not say i'm going out on a limb by saying that I am rather nice. Those two characteristics together make me a rather endearing lad to the Nicaraguans, if I say so myself. So when an 80 year old man and I were crossing the street, in opposite directions, and he said, 'Oye, Chele!', it caught me by suprise but I smiled a bigger grin than he did. Since that time I have counted about 5 or 6 times just in Leon where random people have said, 'Hola, Chele' or 'Buenas, Chele'. I feel like the locals are kinda messing with me, but in a loving way. More of a 'your condition is so unfortunate i can't help but make fun of you' way than a 'i'm insecure about my manhood and therefore i need to belittle you to make myself feel better- high scholl' kind of way. I can only assume that it is a sign of affection. Therefore, on my return to the US, I am going to insist my friends refer to me as 'Whitey', and try to make this thing stick. Sure I have friends who are "whiter" than me. If I also have friends who have bigger beer bellys' than me yet some people call me 'Tubby'. Does that mean they can't call me 'Tubby'? Surely not! If my unfortunately more transparent friends choose to come to Nicaragua and pick up this nickname then perhaps I will yield, but until that day comes, 'Whitey' it is!

a brit, german,dutch, american and two swiss teens walk into a bar...

I got the wake up call at 4:30 in the morning for my bus back to Nicaragua. As I was leaving the hostel, a nice German girl was leaving as well. After some terribly bad broken Spanish we found out that we were heading to the same bus so we shared a taxi to the terminal. As we got there another girlfrom the same hostel was arriving via taxi for the same bus, although she was Dutch. A few minutes later a British chap hopped out of a taxi and, lo and behold, he was at the same hostel as all of us the night before. We said hellos and during the ensuing 9 hour journey we all chatted with each other individually and in a group. At the border crossing we talked more and decided to stay in the same hostel in Granada, our destination city. The German girl had been to Granada before and knew of a decent place. I have to say with all the uncertainty of travelling and trying to find accomodation, food, striking up conversations and alone time, when someone you get along with has a bead on atown, you happily float behind them, and let them lead you. We all stayed in a 4 bed dorm style room and got to know each other better over dinner and drinks. The German girl, Alina, is a bohemian style hippie chick who makes jewelry she sells (barely by her own admission) along her journeys. she spoke almost no english but was more proficient in Spanish than the lot of us. Janika was the Dutch girl who always smiled, was happy no matter what and seemingly positve in any situation. James was the happy go lucky Brit who was dragging around a 7 foot surfboard in a case and was your typical dry humored Englishman in Nicaragua. That is to say, I have only met one Brit in Nicaragua but he strikes me as the type I would imagine, although I am a bit biased as I adore Brits and their dry sense of humor and love for beer. We made a motely crew and fr two days were nearly inseperable. We went out for drinks, discovered the market, got lost in the market and fought for the 2 hammocks in the courtyard of the hostel. Everywhere we went we felt like a joke (A Brit, German Dutch and an Amereican walk into a bar...).

Later on in the weekend we met up with a few Swiss teenage girls on their 'we just graduated high school trip'. It felt a little like European Vacation with me being the only 'true gringo' in the bunch. the two Swiss teenagers had met Janika in the dorms a few towns back and they had arranged to meet back up in Granada. Most of us went on a boat tour of these little islands that were formed by volcanoes way back but now are owned by Nicaraguan elite. Except for this little island that the monkeys ruled but the tourists fed.


So wrong in so many ways! At least I got proof this time. Next I headed to Leon that is, yet another colonial city. Like all the rest of them it has churches and people and t-shirts that I can't buy because they don't fit me. It seems that XL has a meaning more like medium wile 2XL means the same as in the US, which for me is a moo moo. I like this city, actually like it a lot, although i'm getting tired of towns trying to replicate th touristic success of more famous towns by advertising themselves as 'colonial'. I guess I just wish they would advertise what they really are as opposed to what they think people want to hear. Perhaps i'm getting a little jaded, who knows. Alls I know is that next i'm heading to a tiny fishing village with surfing, hammocks, horseback riding (which I will be doing shirtless, of course) and the obligitory volcano. They are out of internet service as of now, so i'll be back with you folks in a week or so.

jumping from waterfalls

After I arrived in Santa Teresa I had the car for a second day, so me and this nice Aussie named Liam (who i met in the hotel and drank some beers with the night before) drove on the dirt road over the nountains and through the jungle to Montezuma. We hiked up a river and found a local watering hole and waterfall only 1/2 mile upriver. First thing Liam did was jump in the water, check the depth of the pool and climb up the waterfall and dove in. First time he only climed up 10 feet and I followed. Second time he climbed about 15+ feet and dove head first. I did not follow this time.

Sorry, but the camera breaking effected my ability to rotate my photos. Next we hiked up the side on a dirt trail and found another waterfall further above the first set of falls. This one was about 30+ feet up in the air. Liam followed a few locals

and jumped in right away. This kid was crazy, I liked him! I was contemplating not jumping when a girl looked at me and said, come on, i'm jumping. Totally called me out!

Now I HAD to jump! To be honest, I jumped bigger cliffs before at Gross Reservoir outside Boulder, but that was almost 20 years ago. I barely got to the edge and didn't hesitate and jumped off, losing my composure at the last second and letting my arms float out and smacking them on the surface. But the jump was fun and we did it a few more times. There was also a rope swing that let you off about 10 feet above the highest pool, which was fun. Actually got some footage of Liam jumping off.

I was trying to film with both his and my camera but his battery died so forgive me for the first 15 seconds or so, but htis should give you the idea of how high it was. Lots of fun regardless! When we got back into town I saw my first monkeys. I pulled out my camera but it was all jammed up. Sorry but no monkey pics. Actually no pics for the past five days but I bought a new one in San Jose today and am all ready to go. I actually spent 2 nights in Montezuma after a few nights in Santa Teresa, but no photos of that either. Stayed across the hall from some American college girls who were doing a semester abroad thing. We hung out all weekend and chilled on the beach and saw a few troops of Colobus and Howler monkeys (seperately) but i'll bet you don't believe me without the proof. I'm heading to Nicaragua tomorrow, so hopefully I will see some more up there and get pics and video proof for you. Oh yeah, got the teeth all fixed up today and i'm ready to move on. Sorry for the boring post but I had a few uneventful days. I'm hoping Grenada turns out to be a feakshow so I can amass more strange and unbelievable stories. At least I can hope!

the monkey trail

The next town I wanted to go to was only about 40 miles south on the coast. The name of the town is Santa Teresa. I asked the owners of the hotel how to get there and they told me I would need to wake up and get the 5:30am bus into one town, wait an hour, get another bus back on to the mainland towards another town, hop on a ferry to go back to the peninsula, wait for another bus to another town, transfer to another town and finally get into Santa Teresa around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. All this effort for something that is incredibly close and easily attainable by other means. This is one of the times you just need to splurge and get past the tom foolery! So I asked around and found a rental car for the coastal trip. It had to be a 4x4 because you have to cross a few rivers and go up some steep, rocky roads. The 4x4 I got was a Rav 4 type, a tiny four seater that I barely fit in, but it worked. I had heard the ride could be desolate and dangerous. So, I loaded up in the morning with a full tank of gas, my machette sitting shotgun, a big box of fried chicken from the local Pollo Rey (Chicken King, which by the way is open for breakfast at 7am and has a killer family-style combo meal for only 3899 Colones with 8 peices of fried chiken, 3 drinks and 4 sides plus 3 biscuits... I only wanted the chicken so I bargained down to 2899 Colones) and was off with the directions of 'stay close to the coast and eventually you will get there'. "You can't get lost!", I was told. Famous last words, right?
I made my way past 20 rididulously annoying big ol' speedbumps into Puerto Carillo and tossed a mostly eaten thigh into the jungle. I'm all about helping out the local wildlife. About 5 km into my trek the road turned into a dirt bulldozer track. The jungle is very dry now, as it is the dry season. Dust covers almost all of the broad leafed trees in a brown haze. I'm sure deeper into the jungle the leaves are less dusty but along the road it is almost as if you are looking through a photo filter devoid of bright colors.
The road turned sharply to the coast and followed many ravines up and down until a 'T' in the road appeared. To the right looked like it led to a dead end so I headed left, to the south. I almost ran over some sort of snake that I thought was a stick until it swished away at the last second. Just at the last second I saw it move out of the corner of my eye as I passed it. It gave me the willies so for a lark I unsheathed the machette and drove the next mile or two with it hanging out the driver side window in my left hand. I put it back in its rightful place when I realized just how crazy I looked driving down the road holding on to it. Not that it mattered, I hadn't passed one person or car in the first half hour. The next town that appeared over a rise was called Punta Islita.

This tiny 300 yard curved beach was flanked by 1000 foot mountains to the north and south, leaving a pleasantly sheltered valley. Unfortunately the valley had been discovered by a resort that had bought up all the important property in town and had built a 9 hole golf course. The dirt road gave way to nicely paved and bricked streets to a nicely manicured youth soccer field and a brightly painted church. The tiny town was quite quaint but it looked as if it was too quaint, as if it were all nice and shiny for the tourists, not for the locals. After the church I gunned it up the steep rocky dirt road and stopped for a small lunch overlooking the town to the north


and the undiscovered beaches to the south.
After lunch the road turned inland for a while and started south again right at the point I was beginning to question my sense of direction. The inland areas were mostly agricultural land with pastures for cattle and smaller plots for gardens. The next beach I made it to was a long straight beach that had a long straight road parallel to the beach about 50 yards from where the sand started, with hundreds of empty lots. The beach was beautiful and looked clean and surfable. Only 20% of the lots were built on (or squatted on). Although the roads getting to this part of the peninsula are rough and unpaved with lots of very small bridges, the beach communities have been blowing up in the past 20 years. Perhaps because of the access this beach has not seen much in the form of development, but I would not be suprised if Playa Coyote turns out to be a big destination in the near future. After a few more relatively deserted beaches I made my way into San Francisco and over the only "big" river that I had to forge.

It was about 1-2 feet deep and about 25 yards wide. I made it across without problems, but i'm not gonna lie to you, it had me thinking. On the other side I ran into a carload of Canadians who asked me for directions. I told them what little I knew and they told me where to head. The driver smiled and asked me with disbelief if I was travelling alone. When I said yes he smiled and said 'cool' although his eyes told a different story that read more like, 'you silly, crazy man'. I did not introduce him to the machette sitting shotgun, so technically I wasn't travelling 'alone' but I didn't want to get into a semantic discussion with him so I smiled and let it pass. Soon after the big river I started driving on the beach, itself. I was told to follow the tracks for about 4 miles 'til I got to the next town and I would almost be at my destination. As I was driving on the beach I started looking to my right at the ocean and to my left at driftwood. It was then that it hit me that it was low tide and I was driving on hard sand and I had no idea if the tide was going out or in.
As you can see it didn't stop me from getting out and taking a pic but I started freaking out a little bit, hence driving faster until I hit the next town. By sheer dumb luck I had hit the tides perfectly but that had not stopped me from a mini freak out. After a water break I drove another 10 minutes and was there. I had driven the not so famous 'Monkey Trail' and had lived to tell the tale (not seeing one monkey, mind you). Regrettably I only finished half of the fried chicken, but on the bright side I had wiped my hands clean on the dashboard which gave it a nice armour all look. Win-win for everybody!

you can't run from death

There is an ancient proverb that tells of a man who is shopping in the markets of a city named Habaz, along the River Euphrates Among the stalls he comes upon Death who is walking the market as well. He stops in his tracks and the man swears that Death is staring at him from under his sinister hood where nothing but a pitch black abyss stands in the place where his face should be. Death pulls out his scroll, looks at it then returns his gaze to the frightened man. Death tilts his head in disbelief and repeats the process of looking at his scroll and back at the man. The man is sure that Death is upon him and he turns to run in fear. He looks over his shoulder again and again until he is certain that he has lost Death in the back streets. He gets home and tells his wife the story and they decide that he cannot leave this world yet and he must run away to her sisters house in Samara (suh-MAR-uh) and hide until Death is gone from the town. The man leaves without packing a thing, hops on a camal and reaches Samara by evening in a speed that was nearly impossible. During his journey the wife decides to go to the market to get the few things she had earlier in the day asked her husband to fetch. She comes upon Death and asks him, "Why were you stalking my husband. He is a good man and has a wife and children to support. Leave us alone!"
Death replied that he was not in the market looking for the womans husband. The woman then asked Death, "Then why were you staring at my husband and looking at your scroll?"
Death replied, "I was not looking for your husband in the markets of Habaz. I was simply shocked to see him here, because I have him on my list for tonight... in Samara."
Of course I just butchered that little dity but it reminds me of my next town which is called Samara (SAM-uh-ruh).

My Samara is on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica and is filled with surfers while the other Samara was in the Middle East and was full of camels and money changers in the temples and such. Wait... once again i'm getting a little ahead of myself. first, other than the same name, the proverb and my post really have nothing in common, this is just random babble. Let me tell you how I found my way here and get you caught up on whats been going on.
So, the dental nightmare turned out to be not as big of a deal as I first thought. That is to say that once the novicaine set in, I just sat there with my mouth opened as wide as possible with strangers fingers and their high powered drills jammed inside my mouth. Most everything was taken care of with minimal pain and incredibly capable and kind doctors and assistants. I say most everything because I have to go back in for more work next week. Hopefully that will be the lot of it, but so far, I have to say that I am extremely impressed by the staff, their professinalism, kindness and willingness to come in at early hours to fix me up in my short time frame. Extremely kind people that's for sure! So my last appointment was on Friday at 8am. A dentist and an assistant both came in an hour early to take care of me. They all knew my situation and were willing to help me out, to get me out of the city and to the beaches where I needed to discover the true Costa Rica, or at least that's what they told me. I got the feeling that they desperately wanted me to have a good impression of their country and they were doing their part to help me out. So when I got done with my appointment, around 9:30 in the morning, I made my way to the bus station and got the first bus that was going to a beach. To be honest, I already knew that there were only 2 buses that were leaving near that time, one to a good place (Samara), one to a dump (Jaco). The first bus leaving lead to a beach that was a drug infested town with nothing but hookers, hustlers and drug pushers and the other beach was the dump. I got lucky and got on the bus to the first town. Of course I am kidding, I made my way to the sleepy surf/fishing village called Samara. Samara is a sleepy little town that has boomed in the past 10 years but still only has less than 1000 full time residents.

The water is clear and clean, the half moon shaped beach is protected by a reef on its' outer edges which allows for very calm waves on the shore, and the residents have figured out that they can make a lot of money off tourists if they put in a little effort. All in all the town is incredibly easy going and free spirited with most ammenities that a gringo, like myself, would appreciate. It is slightly overpriced, in my opinion, but it does have an incredibly easy feel that is impossible to ignore. I have been here for over 4 days now, and have been incredibly content to sit in the shade, listen to the small waves crash and catch up on some reading. Lazy days, indeed. I look back on the past few days and I am really not sure how my time was spent. Fantastic! Lazyness followed by more lazyness followed by afternoon naps. At night there is not tons of things going on, so i've been going to bed rather early and getting up aroun 6 or in the AM. Crazy, I know, but a lot more to do in the daylight hours down here than nighttime. I did run into a friend quite unexpectedly down here, which was kinda strange. There is a girl named Tracy who works at a restaurant (The Walnut Brewery) that is about one block from where I used to work that I ran into here. I got up in the morning and got some breakfast and at the table across from me was Tracy and her boyfriend Sage. She had told me about her trip, but I was not planning on being down here until almost April so I quickly forgot about her plans. All three of us were very suprised to see each other and we each had bewildered looks on our faces but couldn't help laughing. We caught up on what was going on, where we had been traveling and so on. Then we met for drinks the next night and enjoyed hanging out drinking beers on the beach under a full moon. Not a bad way to spend a night and a very pleasant suprise seeing that i'm traveling alone. After we finished the beers I took a stroll along the beach and returned home. I was laughing at the sheer coincidence (which I don't believe in) of running into a friend on a small beach in a country many miles from my home, even staying in the same hotel.

I suppose my tie in to the ancient proverb is that you can't run away from death... actually you can't runaway from life or yourself either. One way or another they're gonna catch up with you. I have been adopting more of a surfer outlook on life recently. When a good wave comes, grab it or it's lost forever. If the surf is flat, enjoy the down time. And if death comes looking for you, whether it be in a big black cape or big bad shark.... well, it was a good ride while it lasted. 'Cheers' to that!

february books

February turned out ot be quite different than the banner month of January, as far as reading was concerned. I only notched up 4 books as opposed to the 8 I read the previous month. I did hit a dry spell of about one week without a book. I have been trying to keep three books on hand for towns with either no english language book stores or trading facilities that some hotels have. I just couldn't find any shops in El Salvador or Honduras that had anything much less something worth reading. Add the week long dry spell to the fact that I left Independence Day by Richard Ford on a bus when I was over half the way through (and it was really getting good, mind you) and it turned out to be not such a bad month. The reading list was forced by the avability of books and it tuned out to be sub par, in my opinion. Regardless, here they were:
The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene - Just OK with a few good spots. About a whiskey priest in Mexico running from certain persecution and death, suprise, he dies.
The Lovely Bones by Alice Munro - Pretty good for all the hype it received, but the last third kinda drug out.
One Hunred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Fantastic! Hard to keep track of all the Buendias with similar names (Arcadio, Aureliano, Juan Arcadio and so on) but the circle was completed with unparalled brilliance in the final 50 pages. Great read, just keep referencing the helpul outline on page 1 if you read this.
Shampoo Planet by Douglass Copeland - A bit of a sophomore slump, if you ask me, following his great book 'Generation X'. The final chapters did bring it back into positve territory. Very dated as a 1992 novel, but interesting to look at things from that times point of view, knowing what we know now (aka: post Windows '95).
I did find a used book shop in San Jose that had a lot of stuff and a new book shop that is wildly overpriced but beggars can't be choosers, right?!