Last day...

Went with some friends to a local waterfall where we had to walk through the river to get there. So much for water shoes; I've already wrecked my Dansko sandals, so I just wore an old pair of running shoes. On the way, we passed a branch loaded with leaf cutter ants, and I learned that there is a cut off and some ants are not accepted for the carrying. These guys are so tenacious that they carve huge swaths through grass, bush and undergrowth, making highways to carry their huge bundles. Then the leaves all go into a pile inside the ant hill condos, and there it ferments; friend Bill swears that they then have a big party, but I'm more inclined to believe friend Mike who says the nutritional mixture gives them their necessary food requirements.

And it wasn't all smooth sailing, wading through this river. Mike warned me to always watch what was on tree branches before I put my hands around them, and this is the reason:

Right after he told me, I put my hand up instinctively and almost smashed it down on this spider, innocent though he may have been!

By the time I first caught sight of the waterfall, young Vincent had already scaled the side of the bottom on and was on his way to the top where he did a back flip off a branch into the highest pool, which because of my angle I couldn't see, making his flip look as though he were going head first into the rocks. For an 11 year olf kid, the guy was utterly fearless and masterful in his approach. I planned just to climb the root-riddled trail and watch these guys jump, slide and swim, but once at the top, it was all too enticing. I carefully balanced my glasses on a root, took off my shirt and shorts and climbed down to a reasonable height from which to jump - in my sopping and heavy sneakers. I am trying to upload a video amd suppose I must have faith that this is actually it. We returned, sloshing through the rising river, rain pelting down on us, then slooshed through the muddy field where the mud often came up over our knees - you can imagine those sneaks by now - and got to the woman's house where we parked and where a hose and dry clothes were waiting for those of us with foresight and foreknowledge; I was dumb enough to lug my towel with me, and at this point it was drenched and dripping.

We drove home in the dark, swerving to avoid potholes but feeling as though for a short time we had become a part of the natural world, which, indeed, we had!

Update before I leave

My neighbor and friend, David Yue, found this on the internet, evidence that shows the swirly sand drippings from Tamarindo are, indeed, worm turds. Nice to know.

I am leaving for San Jose area a day later than planned because I will be spending today at the lawyer's office - yet again, but different lawyer - so that I can purchase for way too much money this old heap of a 95 Galloper, a diesel truck-car that spews black smoke and rattles but can get me through tough terrain so that I can explore all those potted, dirt, rocky roads that rental cars hesitate to take!

Home soon, but this is beginning to feel more and more like home. I shall miss the morning bird activity, the enveloping warmth and the stress-free way of life; my goal in teaching this term will be to envelop my students in warmth, bring enticing, engaging activity to class, and keep my work environment friendly and stressless. I can DO this.

Samara, Tamarindo, Avellana and Rio Tempisque

After a long drive down to Samara from Naranjo, where the ferry docks, I booked a room at Entre Dos Aquas, a recommendation from Lonely Planet; after going into town for a dinner of grilled veggies and flan, I went back and sat in the dark at the pool (photo). It is an exquisite setting, but the couple running the place is clearly in trouble; they were running on automatic with no genuine enthusiasm or interest. In fact, I am tempted to write the D.C. owner to tell him that he really ought to get out of the business. I will never return there merely because the vibes were so negative even though the place itself was lovely.

Although Tamarindo was honky tonky like the Jersey shore, I was greeted with such friendliness and smiling welcome that I loved staying at my little Villa Maconda, where the towels were folded in two hearts on my bed. I never used the pool, but here it stood in the middle of all the little units, each with its own hammock... My first walk along the beach showed me a very different kind of sand that at one part was covered with narrow, coiled shells that looked as though someone had thrown gold tees around the beach. In the morning I found these peculiar mounds of sand drippings, clearly something created by a critter, not a human because there were many of them, and it was early morn.

But my favorite was walking back along the beach and seeing the people sweeping the beaches in front of the fussy hotels, making it clean and uncluttered for the clean and uncluttered guests who were paying over $200 a night while I had the bargain room at $25!

The next day while waiting for friends to arrive, I drove to Avellana, a beach that required some driving through mud, potholes and all the way back to Santa Cruz just to get more gas. I had read about this beach where Lola the pig lived and bathed in the sea, but I was not expecting the quirky small, white shelled beach under shade trees with wonderfully modern wooden tables, chairs and loungers scattered throughout. Waitpersons bustled about, carrying trays loaded with food and drink to those seated at their posts while high tide waves pounded the shore and surfers waited to catch that perfect wave. I was not all that hungry, but the menu was enticing enough that I had some sushi tuna with sesame and wasabi and a heavenly smoothie. I went in search of Lola and found her, seriously dug into some sound sleep. From there, I drove back to Tamarindo for dinner with friends, walking from their fancy hotel back to mine along the beach where it was just about dark and raining. I had an umbrella and walked in the warm rain, watching as the lights came on in the restaurants and hotels, readying for the evening's festivities.

Of the rafting I have not a photo because I had to leave my camera and my glasses behind, which was fortunate because every single raft overturned at least several times during the two hour journey down a sunlit Rio Tempisque dappled with the shade from enormous overhanging trees and sheer cliffs that ridged the river. We had 5 in our raft, the guide at the back, and we paddled according to his instructions, bouncing over, twisting around and tumbling into the rows of white water rapids that ranged from 1s and 2s to a final 5-6 scale one that they claimed was 12 feet; we all looked at it and thought it more like 8-10 feet, but it WAS a challenge and two of us actually stayed onboard and made it over successfully; I was not one of those, and my friend Russell did comment as we all trudged up the trail at the end that I WAS the only person who kept her high heeled sandals on the whole time! Who knew that Dansko sandals were okay for rafting?

Nicoya Peninsula

A drive to Puntarenas with my GPS "voiced" woman insisted I "turn right" every 400 meters or so, and I finally got to the ferry, second in line with a nice fellow from Virginia seemingly running the logistics. Once the car was on, I went up to the upper deck and saw these kids just waiting for me to give them the nod so they could dive for me. I shook my head and said no thank you. Boys killing themselves for coins ? Not on my watch.

The journey from Punarenas to Naranjo took about an hour, during which time the clouds were doing their surreal things in the sky, making the rest of us know our place in the world - and our significance.

The road, as usual, was highly-holed, but the surrounding scenes were lush, green and misty. I tried to do the usual photographing as I drove because the countryside was invitingly licked with that orange afternoon glow. When I tried to capture the descending clouds on some of the rolling hills, while steering and shifting gears, I must have hit some button or other to stay out of an oncoming car, and this is what I got, which is actually an evocative inside-out image of clouds and trees; perhaps it is just an acquired taste...

As it was beginning to dusk down to dark, and I had decided not to stay in the town/city of Nicoya, I found myself on a long, winding, road that was heading for Samara, a place I was interested in seeing, but not necessarily at 7:30 at night. I got here, booked into a little hotel with the disagreeable man from Washington, D.C. and his equally evasive wife from NY, ate a little supper and hit the sack; it rained somewhat heavily overnight, but I woke to the sounds of birds, dripping water, and blue sky patching, so I threw on my clothes and hurled myself out the door down to the beach where I had a walk along the water - a very different water from Bejuco, as it is a protected cove, and the shore offered rocks and heavy pieces of coral; there was no dead wood in sight, and I believe I found the only shell out there. The sand was bigger and coarser until I got down where the waves were; there it had the soft, muddier texture that is wonderful walking underfoot. This is the time of day for Ticos on this beach, and there was great activity around launching two small boats, cheerful chatter lacing together the souls working on the project. The walk gave me a sense of the spirit of the place, where I understand Ticos actually own some of the businesses; from what I saw there were loads of real estate enticements, just like the other beachy spots in CR.

I am going to try to head to Nosara, but it's a real journey from here on rambly roads and over rivers. I may change my mind and head straight for Tamarindo; these are the joys of solo traveling.

One word about truckstops: The "Sodas" along the highway where the biggest trucks pull in are generally the places of tastiest eating. I stopped at one yesterday where women were doing all cooking and serving, truckdrivers or other men were doing all the eating and television watching. I seem to be an oddity in these places, but like Thomas Wolfe, I like my options open when it comes to food eating and ordering. I LOVE the notion that shrimp and rice always comes with french fries, which I never bother with, but the arroz con camarrones was a yum, and with it came a little salad, with fresh, green curly lettuce and ripe tomatoes - tastily dressed. Cousin Brookie practically rolled her eyes at my gusto for a meal, and I love the freedom of being in one of these sodas where I can shovel in my arroz con camarrones with the kind of mannish relish that I KNOW my mother would need her smelling salts were she to witness it.

Bring your imaginations.

Everytime I go walking on the beach, I seem to "take a position," as I'm always trying to teach my students in their writing; I end up focusing on some general theme, color, texture or material. These pieces of driftwood came to me by chance, but then, what doesn't?

This here guy had a rather wistful expression as he checked out the shore weather, gazing out serenely to sea. I'm fonder of the angle with his sticky ear, but this other vantage point clearly offers another perspective - singing perhaps, or calling for his mate.

I have been warned to stay away from the little streams of "sweet water" because crocodiles live in them, and CR is crowded with crocodiles. This is actually the closest I've come to seeing one, but I know people who have seen them dead and alive.

This was a manmade construction, but that does not make it any less viable; it was still standing in the early morning, which, as far as I'm concerned, gives it legitimacy as beach art. This one is all about "Viking Ship," but that's the most wonderful thing about these sea pieces; they change depending on where one stands, but again - am I becoming stale? - isn't that the way life is?

I'm not much for Yoga, but I do try it now and then, and this is my all time favorite pose. I think this fella and I would get along famously.

Finally, I am struck by the consummate intimacy of this piece; the overlapping "leg" has grown into the one beneath it in ways that only couples who have lived through marriage, children, struggles, fear and glee can understand. The piece becomes all the richer for that entanglement and attachment, and when I see it in marriages, I am awed.

I should have known...

The day began as a crystal blue paradise, but it is winter here so clouds and rain are the norm. Perhaps this woodpecker was confused by the sun, but that fella just pecked and pecked away on this steel post; you'd think the guy would figure out that there was nothing for him in hard, hot steel...

Although the economy here - wedded as it is to the U.S.'s - is not sturdy, there is a great deal of building for the gringos, and the construction workers are out there all day, wearing towels on their heads, working, working, working, and this is the mode of transportation for most of them. What I loved about this bike is that the owner had some aesthetic understanding as he propped it right up against matching purple flowers. Do you think he planned it that way so that I would come along and photograph his bike, as I did while he was eating lunch, looking on as though I were crazy.

Just walking to and from the beach I discover new things everyday, and today I found this ruffly, fancy flower on the side of the dirt road; when I got up close to it, I discovered just how delicate and intricate it was. Those spinley pistols have large orange things at the end; I forget what they are called, and my 7th grade science teacher would be shocked to know that I'd forgotten... But there you have it.

I walked on the beach to the next town where the fishermen live and work; the one who sells fresh fish was out in his boat, not expected back until 5 or early evening, and so I took some photographs of the other fishermen's boats. And this dog who was clearly waiting for his master to return from the sea...

The sky darkened and got more complex as I returned, and even though the wintery light looks as though it would be cold, it is balmy all day long. These photographs have the look of Maine but the feel of tropics (sorry Mainers; it has always been too cold for me up there). As I neared the end of my walk, I noticed that the dead sea turtl

e was still attracting dozens of turkey vultures. A man who must have been bothered by all the fuss overhead came out with a shovel. He looked around, saw me, and put his shovel in the sand to begin digging; after I passed, I realized that he was walking back to his house, shovel over his shoulder. The job was just too much for him; he would stick with the natural world's frenzy over food.

One could really get to love the wintery light here if one were to stay for more than two more weeks.

Los Romeros

I just returned from a local pilgrimage to some Tico friends' church because today is the national holiday in Costa Rica to celebrate La Negrita, a black image of the Virgin Mary that was found up in Cartago many, many years ago. The annual ritual pulls pilgrims from all over the country to make their way to Cartago, walking in bare feet. For those who cannot do the full pilgrimage, one walks to one's local church and then attends a mass. And so it came about that I joined mes amigos at 6 am this morning to do the walk in the rain. Xinya and her daughter Lizbette were in flip flops, and we walked 10 kilometers and stopped at a soda (restaurant) to have gallo pinto (rice and beans) and eggs, fish, meat or chicken. That was my first cup of coffee for the day, and I must admit that it tasted mighty fine and felt mighty good to sit down after 2 hours in the rain.

These are some of the wet souls we passed along the way: first, I love the neatly pressed, white strapped dress for a garden party; it only got a little mud spattered all over it. Then, there was the young woman, carrying a rather fancy-looking pair of Nikes; when I asked why she wasn't wearing them, she reminded me that it was not permitted to wear shoes! Silly me; I'd forgotten, and my socks and sneakers were so wet that after almost 6 hours, my feet were totally wet and wrinkled as though I'd died somewhere along the trek, which was along the major highway with 18-wheelers careening past us at 100 km per hour.

After the heavenly respite under cover, we walked another 15 minutes to the church where we were met by this banner.

The place was packed and really jumping, people buying plates of food, dogs hanging around for scraps, babies wailing, people yelling on cell phones, all chewing gum, and all in tight pants with an overflow of flesh.

Before the mass began, we milled around, Marvin shaking hands with everyone as though he were the mayor of the world, and then they filled up my water bottle with holy water that came out of a rock and had somehow been blessed. I was told that having it in my house would guard my house. From what I didn't ask, but I knew there were things to fear as Xinya told me her 34 year old brother had been riding his bicycle and was hit by a car; he's been in a coma for the past 8 months, which is one of the major reasons we were staying for the mass; however, when it came to communion time, I noticed that they didn't get up in line. When I asked why, Xinya told me they were not allowed because they had never bothered getting married. That's church for you - all embracing, all inclusive, just what Christianity is all about, eh?

Before mass began, there was a little prelude, which I hope to show you on a video, but first you need a sense of the space. The church was packed, so this is the overload where we sat for mass, (you will notice who made it in her white dress), and the dog spent most of the mass curled at my feet after I gave him some pats; who could resist these ears?

I am going to try to post the short video of the "Prelude" to the actual mass. It really says it all... This blog won't allow me to upload the video, but the music was spanish dance music, and everyone clapped and sang along - a far cry from Bach!