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Day 17 Costa Rica Retroactive Diary: Winding down

16 Jan

A certain recklessness is embraced and encouraged down here. Babies riding on the back of dirt motor bikes and ATV vehicles. In the streets of Cobano where I had to catch my bus there was a large throng of people watching this street fight (the street was actually a dirt road…and this was downtown) between an old man and a schizophrenic homeless dude. The old man was belt whipping the mother fucker as the townspeople ran in droves to see the spectacle. Drunk men were cheering, little kids were laughing, women with babies were gawking excitedly in the street. The sun hadn’t even gone down yet either, this was 5:00 in the afternoon. Everything is so unregulated down here. I had suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen a police officer the whole time I’d been down here–though I was sure they existed, right?

Sometimes the waves are perfect, sometimes they are choppy and difficult to navigate. The key is learning each time you get out there and knowing when to cut things loose. My trip is about to be over. Hitching a ride to Alajuela with these Portland women. I met them surfing the other day and ran into to them the night before while at a restaurant with these three Finnish chicks and the Minnesota dude.

The girls need an interpreter and some muscle. They’d had their car broken into out in St. Teresa—they day they’d met me actually. How funny life was. Everything was going to be alright http://www.flickr.com/photos/bobemick/5387756696/in/set-72157625904398514/.

Day 16 Costa Rica retroactive diary

16 Jan

Built a huge fire “Texas A& M style”. Huge washed up logs thrown into the burn. Sparks arising like fire flies among the burning smoke and night sky. We swam in our natural state. Diving beneath the crashing waves farther and farther away from the distant shore.

Free deep and naked into the swells. Away from practically everything I knew. Couldn’t be further away from those other realities. The frigid snowstorms back in Tulsa, the stuffy upbringing of my hometown of Dallas. We were  in Costa Rica, swimming naked with sharks. Our kindred spirits floated back to the sand, looking for her top. My clothes were far enough away from the water that they weren’t carried away by the crest.

Later that night I saved her from a lurking scorpion. I only saw the shadow before it crept out into the light—like Medusa in the original ‘Clash of the Titans’ movie. I yelled out her name and she leaped into the arms of the guy next to her—this derelict from Minnesota named A—-. And there she stayed for a while. And I had the feeling I’d been scooped for the night. Around 4 AM I went back to the cabin and gave this buxom Dutch girl a foot massage. I hadn’t blown my load in over 2 weeks. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold it in. Couldn’t wait to get back to my concubine waiting for me in the states. I was going to wear her out.

I had a rather interesting encounter earlier that day. Met a beautiful Argentine who I spent the day with. We laid on the beach on talked as best as we could. She was quite charming and spry. She reminded me of an old Canadian friend I once had. Met her when I was trying to surf out in St. Teresa. The current was too strong so I ended up just chilling, watching the sunset. Women were really eating up my Texas accent. The Texan Spaniard bit was killing…..

“ KOMO ESTAAAAA SENYOOOOORRR? ME NOMBRE ESSSS ROOOOBBBBEEERRTTTOOOO, MUUUUCCCCHHHOOOOO GUUUUUUUUUSSTTTOOOO!!!!”

Ahh what a lovely girl that Beben. Beautiful eyes. She came from a family of lawyers in Argentina. The only daughter in the family. So out of my league.

So out of my hemisphere.

the lovely beben

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Day 15 of Costa Rica Rectroactive Diary: Reaching Nirvana

16 Jan

Slept really good the night before. Drank good. Ate good. Good company with this gal from Colorado. Smoked hash all day, drank rum and cokes. Spent the evening on the beach with some of my favorite people from the hostel. Omar, James, Lauren, Adam, Mike from Brooklyn. Lauren and I shared a Cuban. One of the beach bums got really drunk and came out with a machete, but was intercepted by a random 5’4 Buddhist white guy in white robes also camping on the beach. Very strange indeed.

Without a doubt the best birthday I’d ever had.

“You can’t reach Nirvana. To reach for something intuits going outside of one’s self. Nirvana is a matter of being.”

Got my reservations together for the weekend of my departure—get in on Saturday—watch the championships on that Sunday. Pretty tired. 2 weeks has always been my limits for being out on the road before my body goes kaput! Today is day 15 though. I don’t want to talk to anyone at this point, not especially in Spanish. Just translating inside my head makes my brain hurt.

Starting to pine for the warmth of my sleeping bag and the bosom of my lady friend.

Day 14 Costa Rica Retroactive Diary

16 Jan

The howler monkeys were in full effect that morning. Lots of fun the night before. I probably should’ve gone to the all -you- can- eat sushi event at the hostel, but I needed to be alone with my thoughts. i was considering staying another day on this side then leaving  for the other side of the peninsula.

Scene was fun and crazy in a way just like college. Happy 32nd to me, as old as Marcus Allen’s jersey number. It was a good night though out by the waves in Montezuma beach, smoking Cubans with Humboldt Mike and Sac-town Matt.

They noticed me earlier smoking on a stogie, walking in downtown Montezuma happily contemplating my mortality.

Humboldt Mike:

“Hey man, you think I could trade you some bud for a Cuban.”

Me (taking a puff and looking into the stars:“Sure man.”

Matt: “You think you’d give us two for some bud and some hash?”

I was the hit of the party when I got back to the hostel. Everything Humboldt mike had given me was legit. He said he’d stashed the shit in his drawers and brought it across. I didn’t believe the risk was worth the reward but I was glad he smuggled it in. He had some fire.

Happy Fucking Birthday to Me!!!

Yeah this trip turned out to be the best decision I could’ve made.

Costa Rica Retroactive Diary Day 13 Part II/Day 14

3 Dec

I’ll give this place some credit. its fucking beautiful. White faced howler monkeys, Kaw-Kaws, beautiful sandy beaches with clear cool water. Afer my good hike went to dinner and ran into Andy and Erica–the Canadian couple I met on the farm (they too were done with biting insects and encountered many more on the Carribean side of the island). They were on some other shit….super drunk and high…..they invited me to the hostel where they were staying the Hotel Lucy. It seemed like every riff-raff on the island stayed at this place. A squatters paradise, like being on the Drag on Guadalupe st. in Austin. I indulged. I imbibed. and before I knew it I was asleep in a hammock on the beach.

I couldn’t remember much about the night before. I remember the Canadians being very touchy-feelly, to the point where I was a little uncomfortable. My days of tag-teaming women were well behind me(even if my days of banging other dude’s wives weren’t).

Woke up and went back to the cabinas for a little pinto gallo and herbs….the collective plan was to venture out to St. Theresa beach and cool out. Surf lessons seemed to be in the not so distant future……

Rented a nice board and hit the waves. It was nice to be able to get out there and not have to worry about the threat of sharks. Much easier to relax. I’d only been surfing before once. with some buddies out in Galveston. The waves were pretty choppy and the water was brown (though my buddy Paul contends that the water was cleaner than the Atlantic Ocean.

That time it was a chore to just get up on the board. I had managed to stand for a millisecond before falling back into the water and scrambling to shore for fear of a shark attack.

That had been almost ten years ago, and I had nearly forgotten all the techniques they had shown me for “popping up” on the board.

So I ventured out.  Stone free and at one with waves. I naturally picked up the remnants of those memories, going with the flow of the waves further and further out until I was a great distance from the shore. I paddled out as far as I could and then tried to catch waves. After a couple of failed attempts at standing up. I resolved that this day would be reserved for just practicing getting out. Technique is everything. Where your shoulders were positioned, your feet, your torso, your belly. This was important to learn correctly much like putting your socks on your feet as to not get blisters. It was fun. Lots of fun. and I’d forgotten how fun it was to try and learn such a difficult endeavor. Surfing is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted and I’m resolved to learn how to do it well before I meet my maker.

The rest of the afternoon was spent playing soccer, and then we headed back to Montezuma. The crowd I was with wasn’t so bad either. The kids that were from L.A. ended up being lots of fun. The guys from Calgary were pretty cool and that evening Sushi night was a big event at the hostel. I decided to go out by myself and grab a quiet dinner to reflect on the things and gear up for the approach of my 33rd year to live.  It seemed like a good idea to grab a cold mixed drink and smoke one of the Cubans that I grabbed off a guy in St. Theresa. I was going to be 32 years old, and it felt good.

Day 13 Costa Rica Retroactive Diary pt. 1

29 Oct

Washed up and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Crawled into Montezuma, or should it be called gringo central? I caught the first ferry out of Punta Arenas at 5:45 AM. Had a cab pick me up at my hotel (somehow I managed not to get stabbed although I did wonder if I’d make it out alive when I found there was a locked gate that kept me from entering the exit stairwell.

I ran the entire length of the dock to get to the ferry. I had 5 minutes to spare but I was not taking any chances. I did not want to spend another freaking minute in that city. We took off in the moonlight, the coast of Punta Arenas growing smaller by the distance.

The ferry ride was beautiful. A nice hour and 45  minute cruise where I had to keep reminding myself not to think about how precarious our situation really was, being out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where anything could happen. Sometimes I’d try to let myself think of ways I’d survive if something cataclysmic were to happen, such as shipwreck, running out of gas, mutiny etc.

Would I float on a makeshift raft or  like Elian Gonzalez? Would I kill and eat some of the passengers for food? Would I drink my piss to keep myself hydrated until that  airlift came to rescue me and put me on the news for the U.S. and BBC to see?

Of course none of that came about. We watched the sun come up and we docked in a town about 45 minutes from Montezuma. I didn’t sleep much and was still pretty wound up. I didn’t want to wait for a bus and some Tico man (he looked a bit shifty) offered me and this couple a ride to Montezuma for 20 US dollars. I took the ride because I just didn’t want to wait.

We drove, I didn’t want to talk much (especially in Spanish) to the fellow but he insisted on making small talk. Mostly I stared out the window at the landscape. It was stunning to see how different it was in this region. Costa Rica certainly had some diverse topography.

We pull up to Montezuma, right down the street from my hostel, Luz en El Cielo, and the man (Carlos) says 35 dollars. I repeat his original price, he then says that he thought I was going to St. Theresa. I know for a fact that he heard me say Montezuma, but I know that with the foul mood I’m in that if I haggle with him I’ll end up slicing the buttons off his shirt with my knife. So I let it go and pay the man more than he deserves. This would come back to make things difficult for me later on but of course I don’t know (or care ) about this at the moment. I just want to find my hostel and sleep.

Yet sleep was not in the cards for me on this Sunday morning. I walk to hostel. Which looks more like a bungalow. Its a lodge in the middle of the fucking rainforest. Monkeys hanging on the ledges, crawling up to the dining table and taking food off of it. And as wild as it is, the beach (and the middle of town)only .5 km away.

The guy behind the desk looks hung over and says as much to his work partner, a stoner from Belgium named Francois. He is a rolling a doobie and listening to Bob Marley on the ipod. Pretty much how you would imagine it huh? And my  room is occupied and won’t be ready until after breakfast because my reservation got lost. FUCKING STONERS.

I am beginning to crack at the edges at this point and it isn’t until I am made a breakfast of Pinto Gallo and coffee that I relax a bit.  Francois puts my belongings away in a closet, and people slowly start waking up around the place. Apparently everyone parties like crazy, the hostel employees sleep with the guests, and the bud is crappy in this region. Nevermind that as Francois gives me a toke of his spliff and I start meeting some of the kids. I’m the oldest person at the table, a bunch of the kids have come in groups, one particularly from Minnesota, the other group from Los Angeles.

My prejudices are aroused but I say nothing (and my shades hide my disgruntled facial expressions and judgemental eyeballs). I just need to rest. But they say my room won’t be ready until the afternoon. Never mind. I meet two guys from Chico State who invite me on a hike with them. They are clearly cooller than the rest of the group, earthier, more chill and genuine.

These cats from Chico state remind me a lot of some friends from Austin. Had a great hike out to the waterfalls.  They showed me a cheap meal to buy at the bodega involving bean dip, bread, sardines and avocado. We chilled out, smoked a bit, hit up the swimming hole by the falls, and observed the massive population of white- faced howlers in the area. A gorgeous part of the world. Still couldn’t believe my eyes.

My initial response to this town is that it’ll be too many young white party kids here and that I won’t have much fun. The chill week that I spent on Mt. Chirripo had me in a different, almost serious state of mind. Things were a bit more loose down here at the beach. It was like I was 22 years old again, taking a walk through west campus near UT-Austin. I considered leaving the day after my birthday, possibly even returning up to San Isidro.

I knew that I had to go surfing at least once (possibly take lessons) and see some of these waterfalls.  I also knew the places where I’d want to go eat, thanks to the trusty old Lonely Planet traveler’s book.

I still had a few poems I needed to work on but for the most part I chilled. I got to watch some football at a local bar with a couple of ex-patriots and a couple of kids from California. This one guy, Mike from Humboldt County, kept walking off between commercials and coming back smelling like some good dope. Here was a guy I needed to get to know. We watched the Jets game and shot the shit and I drank a great deal. Dinner time approaches and I realize that its time to go looking for one of the places I circled in my guide book.

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Day 12 Costa Rica Retroactive Diary

8 Oct

Hawkeye makes a mean stir-fry

The night before was pretty magical.  Cooking dinner with my bunkmate Austin, singing Talking Heads. We’d bought lots of vegetables and had to use them all before we left  for the next day. There was talk of hitching into San Isidro. The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea. I went to bed excited at the thought of doing it. This was pure hitchiking, something I’d only done once in the States during the worst snowstorm in Oklahoma history. Before I fell asleep I did the math and realized it was a full 3 weeks since my last orgasm and hadn’t had one the whole year of 2011.  WOW……..

Ended up hiking 5km with Austin. Had a few conversations and we were sitting down for water when a van full of Tico boys (futbol players) and their coaches picked us up. They couldn’t have been older than 11 years old. They were so cute. It was like out of a movie. So much energy and all I could do was smile. I felt silly trying to talk to them in my pedestrian Spanish. We kind of made it work. Sometimes I said yes to things I didn’t quite understand.

“Bobby!!!! Bobby!!! quien es su jugadore favorito? ” We talked about PS-2 games. Messi vs. Ronaldo. It was classic. It was sunny. It was beautiful. It was Costa Rica. Waited for the bus in San Isidro, exchanged some currency and waited. Travel days are always the worst.***********************

“Don’t mistake activity for achievement.”  ~John Wooden

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How the fuck did I end up here?  Because I thought it’d be exciting to hitchike?

Cuz i thought I might get close to Pavla the Eastern European beauty? 5 km in the hot ass Costan Rican sun cost me a bus time and a chance to watch the Ravens-Steelers. (Steelers won and of course it was a classic)

Was it worth it? I guess. I wanted adventure and that is what I got, that and a little bad advice. Fucking A. Sleeping in a flop house. This place is a real shit hole and MORE expensive than the hostel in Chirripo. Maybe I should’ve gone to Domenical and tackled the trip the next day. Then I might have gotten to watch the Steelers play. Nothing is free right?

All the activity I had today and I’m still hours away from Montezuma. A boat and bus ride still seperate me from my final destination at this point. Have to wait until 5:00 Am before the first ferry departs. I might not even sleep. I may just lie awake with my knife out, in case the guy who runs this joint tries to murder me with his son. What a dump. When they walked me down the dark hall I quietly flipped out my blade and waited for the time to make my move–half expecting them to open a door where some tough Tican goons awaited me to get my cash.

Both father and son wore wife beaters and there was no a/c. The lobby (which resembled something closer to an apartment living room) housed some old man with a breathing machine watching television.

I knew they were just waiting for me to fall asleep and then WHAM. I wasn’t going to go easily though. I kept my clothes on, tried my best to lay on the flimsy sheet they gave me and left the light on..

If San Jose was Costa Rica’s version of Houston, then Punta Arenas was their version of Texas City (I’d say Miami but I’ve never been there) . I thought of the other possibilities I could’ve explored. I couldn’ve stayed at the casino in Alajuela and splurged…this town though reeked of old world criminal. pick pockets and stabbings.  Poor planning. I thought of my concubine back home. thought of the Steelers and Pats game next weekend, and Green Bay defeating Atlanta. This dump made my shitty apartment look like the Holiday Inn. Finally my eyes couldn’t take in any more light and the last thing I heard was my blade slipping from my hand and falling to the floor. If they wanted to ambush me then this would be their best chance. I just hoped I wouldn’t be able to feel it if they knifed me in my sleep.

famous last words

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Costa Rica Retroactive Diary Day 11

8 Oct

Shipping off tomorrow, gotta make sure to book my hotel for the 23rd….get my laundry done and pay off the innkeepers (US dollars or colones). Know its gonna be hard to say goodbye to all the sweet  peeps up here. “Hawkeye”, golly and Pavla, Steven. Some new kids came in from Evergreen State–this couple. The girl reminds me of a chick from college I ran around with a bit..the dude– reminds me of my buddy Craig.

had some weird dreams the night before, about sex with an ex-lover. not sure what it means…..its been a while since I’ve beaten off at this point. Almost 2 solid weeks, certainly a B-mick record…..guess I can abstain from flogging the dummy…

also dreamt I was late for my exit bus and had to stay an extra day. Trying to figure out how to find a place to watch the Ravens-Steelers game–sure to be a classic…..they are pretty sure that hiker died up there….cold frightened and alone..what a way to go…….

went out to waterfall and swam..baptized myself in the chilled and icy water. Dunked my head under 3 times.  Gonna take it easy on myself. Gonna be okay with myself and who I am. I’m still a dirtbag. No more weddings until my affairs with married women are over. Be okay with the feelings of hypocrisy because I have to be.

Goodbye Pavla, perhaps we'll meet again.

Costa Rica Retroactive Diary 10

22 Jun

Decided to stay until Sunday. Ravens be damned…hung over as in the Iron Maiden….good group here…drank big…slept good….with my head facing east….riding the wave…killer hangover…..the altitude maybe….the beard from Madison…in a Ween cover band…has a website about beards and he knows world champion Jack Passion…a guy I knew from Oakland and the Boy in the Bubble band….shat in the woods today..hot, stinky and messy……right on the path…hoped no one saw it and realized it was human shit as opposed to dog or horse shit….wiped off with my underwear and washed it in the waterfall…..which is why you don’t drink from downstream…..yeah..real badass people staying at the hostel right now……so hungover…worst I’d ever had……..

Costa Rica Retroactive Diary: Day 9

21 Jun

Just being thankful to not be face down and buried on some kook's land

Had an awesome day. Woke up. Slept in. Took a hike down to the swimming holes on the side of the mountian. Got in and got refreshed–energized. The whole town has a magical feel to it. Evenings remind me of nights spent in Berkeley, waiting for the fog to roll in. Such great energy.

The whole time I’d been here I kept hearing about this cloud bridge area–that immense waterfalls could be seen from a bench. So I decided to check it out. On the way up I ran into two Krauts from Germany who were hiking the same way.

A couple of people at the hostel questioned my desire to leave so late in the day. True there was little daylight, but I had been told that it was barely 1.5 kilometers away. Surely I could make it there and back before daylight left us.

I urged the Germans on away we went. We walked up the mountains as the fog followed us up. The light was slipping away and as we passed a stray calf on the road, the Germans said they thought it’d be safer to go back. “alright pussies.” I thought.  “See ya back at the hostel.”

I picked up a thick branch about five feet long which served as a good hiking stick and kept going.  Things got spookier the higher I ascended.  The jungle was quiet but I could sense things waking up around me.  I found a labyrinth off the path and checked it out. This cost me some more time and by the time I found my way out of it, I realized it was too dark to see a waterfall or a Cloud Bridge and that my best bet was to go back downhill before it got too dark. I had a flashlight but I didn’t want to take any chances.

On my way back I ran into this cat from Santa Cruz who spent time between Costa Rica and California. We rapped for a minute and he invited me to check out his house he and his girlfriend were building.

It was cool to see this dude explain to me where everything was going to be and which room was where. We got high in what was the living room. He was building it all himself with the help of some people around town. I was certainly impressed. After having a toke of some of Cali’s finest, I could tap into the mystical consciousness of the mountain. This was truly a magical place.

We got back on the path and it was now pitch black. It was only 5:30 pm at this point. Santa Cruz’s wife to be met us at the pass and chastised her man for running off without telling her. She was freaked out. The missing hiker had everyone on edge.

I was alone and in the dark. A doberman came to the edge of the grass and snapped at me. I screamed in terror, weilding my stick as a defense weapon. My adrenaline shot up to an incredible amount and soon I was on the alert for anything that could be on the path. I knew the elevation was to high for snakes but I’d heard there were pumas about and other creatures–and who was to say that another dog couldn’t creep up and give me a tussle.

I finally made it back to the hostel and let out a mighty yell. “WHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO” I’d never been this hype before. Not from watching sports not from playing sports, not from winning PS-2 Madden or College Football.  I was juiced. It was by far my most terrifying experience to date. The jungle takes on a different feel at night and I felt lucky that I wasn’t chow for some animal. I could have easily been the main course with one slip up. Life indeed is very fragile–even more so when you become part of the food chain again. Man was simply a weakling with big brains among all the powerful creatures in the world. How did our species survive so long?

The rest of the night was a breeze after that. Some new people came into the hostel: A guy from Fayeteville, Arkansas, a Czech from Madison with her mother, a little red bearded fellow from Madison, an Asian dude from Brooklyn, and a guy from Santa Rosa. We all went to go and get drinks at the Rocadorro where I narrowly escaped food poisoning.  We watched futbol and dank shots. I was loud and obnoxious and funny (basically a typical Texan).

The walk up was pleasant. We ascended as a big herd and no sense of danger was felt at all. Frontier Bobby had survived another day. I planned to wake up early and check out that waterfall before catchign a ride with Jill (the owner) down to San Isidro to attend the farmer’s market. Before I went to sleep that night I forced myself to embrace the present I had purchased for myself.

Such vast beauty before my eyes. All for me. Again I was glad I had listened to my inner voice. Happy 32nd birthday motherfucker.  This was all for me.

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