My how I love me some Yankee women. They really are quite nice to talk to. Of all the American women, I find myself in more stimulating conversations with women from the Northeast.
This young lady I met the night before was no different. Intelligent and cute. Certainly would’ve “fallen in love” with her a couple of years ago when I was more susceptible to that sort of thing.
She left early that morning and we had a great chat over coffee. She slept in the bunk above me but I didn’t know this until I woke up early to stretch and watch the sun rise.
But man I was happy I wasn’t the same guy I used to be. The old me would’ve hiked into town with her, and possibly further. Chasing some 22 year old tail at my age seemed a bit pathetic. It was excuseable to do something like that in my 20’s–possibly even endearing–but there was no guarantee of anything if I dropped my itenerary to get on her schedule (maybe some kissing but that’s only worth it if you’re a fifteen year old boy on the make).
I was starting to get real comfortable in my new environment. There was plenty of hiking, a springs nearby, and a few swimming holes throughout this damn mountain.
I felt quite happy. Leaving the farm and coming here was the best decision I could’ve possibly made. cuaght myself thinking about tasks to start on when I got back to the states. There were a few writing projects that needed to get underway if I want to feel productive. I’d already started sketches for my next two books of poems.**************************************
Went down to town later that day and ate at this place called the Rocadorro. The owner was this long haired bronze Tico man and his daughter worked in the kitchen. I drank a Heineken and waited for the hamburger I ordered.
I watched his beautiful daughter handle my meat (no pun intended) and watched as she threw the patty onto the grill. I kept watching and waiting to (no avail) for her to wash her hands. She touched my buns (again no pun)
lettuce, tomato and pickles. Then she threw soem french fries into the grease. When she headed towards the sink, I thought surely now, would come the time for her to wash her hands. But I was wrong again. She threw something into a trash bag, lifted it up and then started to dress my sandwich.
I wasn’t sure what the food safety rules were here in Costa Rica, but even in primitive Oklahoma, the rule of thumb was to wash your hands as often as you touch anything containg germs.
I got a sickening feeling in my stomach as she brought the burger over to where I was sitting. I went through the conversation in my head about what I’d have to say. Then I thought about how I was going to have to translate that sentence and explain how I couldn’t possibly eat the burger.
It seemed embarrassing, but I’d also had food poisoning before and I knew that spending my vacation doubled over in tears and vomit was not an option either.
So I just paid for the burger and asked for a napkin so I could take it to go. I figured the fries would be fine (which they were but they tasted terrible) and I laid the burger out in the dirt street for any ole mangy mutt to devour.
Later I’d tell the owner of the hostel about this experience and he knew exactly who the gal was. “Yeah, Nancy.” He sighed. ” She’s studying to become a nurse.
How convenient, I thought. After giving people food bourne illness, she could go and treat you for them–(after of course, washing and sanitizing her hands).
Played soccer with this group of kids from Western Kentucky University and my 12 year old bunk mate. The ball we were gonna play with got flattened in the first two minutes of playing and we were running out of daylight. The fog was creeping down onto the soccer field. Just as we were getting ready to just call it a night and head back up the trails, this little 7 year old boy (he was barely 4 ft) says “Yo La Tengo” and produces a ball. The kid came out of nowhere. It was like out of a commercial for the Church of Christ for Latter Day Saints (the Mormons).
It was one of the highlights of the trip and I really worked up a good sweat. The 7 year old ended up being a ringer. He was obviously the best ball handler on the field and I was happy he was on my team. He was running circles around everybody, doing tricks I’d only seen on the FIFA video game. I was certain that Diego Maradona had captured his body as a spiritual vessel to enable him to continue playing soccer.
It was fun. It was a lot of fun. I was smiling and tired and happy. The fog was in full effect as I walked back up the hill with the family from New England. It had been at least a full week since my last orgasm but I couldn’t have been happier to be alive.
I was glad I listened to that voice. It has never steered me wrong. I could tell it was going to get easier to listen to it the older I became.
Nuclear Polio Vaccination 
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