I propose that this be Kevin Durant’s new nickname and that they show this video every time he’s coming out of a timeout to hit a game-winning jumper.
Day 18 Costa Rica Retroactive Diary: Homebound
16 Jan
No better way to spend your 32nd birthday
My Minnesota friend flew in with me to Denver. Customs was a real bitch. They gave me shit for some bean dip I had in my bag. The dogs were going crazy over it. Little did I know that Mr. Minnesota suck in a gram of pure grade nose candy in the bottom of his shoe. How about that?
Returning home darker, stronger, slimmer and ready to pounce on the first piece of ass available. Good thing my concubine is picking me up at the airport. My masculinity affirmed and embraced with this trip. I thought this would quench my thirst for travel but it only enhanced it. But I certainly got my money’s worth and could see that a lot of good had come from the trip. Now that I was okay spiritually, it was time to take care of some physical needs.
She approached me at the baggage claim and we awkwardly embraced.
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
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.
A Haunting in Canada
1 Dec
You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
I met her in Ontario
though she hailed from Edmonton, Alberta
the “Texas of Canada”
she said.
Whatever that meant.
I thought these were pretty bold words for someone
who’d never even visited Texas.
We talked some hockey
and I explained to her why
I preferred Mark Messier to Wayne Gretzky.
Then she kissed me for the first time
both surprising and delighting me.
By then I was properly intrigued
and it wouldn’t take much more
to get me to extend my stay an extra couple of days.
Edward Austin Robertson
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.
Nuclear Polio Vaccination 