An attempt to catch up...

When I emerged from my room last Saturday morning around 8am, Sebastian told me that he was very happy I did not die during the night. I couldn´t help but agree. St. Patrick´s Day 2006 will be remembered; unfortunately not by happy images swimming among pints of green beer, not reminiscent of years past spent with friends-uncharastically-¨rowdy¨for a school/work night, dancing (on bar stools) to Irish bands considered authentic by the fact that they owned, held, or at some point during the night played a fiddle. The only thing congruent with this year´s St. Patty´s and my St. Patty´s of year´s past was my ¨Everyone Loves An Irish Girl¨ t-shirt, but even that may have to be retired after what we went through together. The evening started off well enough, my t-shirt lay on my bed, ready to be donned at Bar Amigos. I monopolized dinner conversation attempting to explain the celebration of St. Patty´s to Yuri and the boys, but by the end of the discussion they gleened for the most part that it was a party with muchas cervezas (I guess that´s accurate). Unfortunately cerveza was not in store for me that evening, as I spent this St. Patrick´s Day writhing in my bed against a jungle virus that left me weak, aching, and probably 5 lbs. thinner. Spending the evening sicker than I ever remember feeling, I woke the next morning to Yuri´s muy preocupada (very worried) face offering me a cup of herbal tea. The boys were peaking, concerned but also seemingly slightly bewildered that I had survived the night, from behind my door. Note to self: In a house the size of the average two car garage with paper thin walls, a wretching stomach virus does not go unnoticed. Alas, I did avoid yet another trip to La Clinca and my appetite has since returned and I now fully understand (and am so grateful) that I will in fact live to see the Monteverde sun again tomorrow.

So, that incident set me back a little bit, but my grave discomfort was preceeded by a fantastic weekend in Montezuma; a hippie, artist beach town on the southern tip of the Nicoya peninsula. In Montezuma, I ate seafood paella on the beach and spent the evenings visiting vendors and artists in the streets, listening to predominantly reggae music bellowing from nearby bars and restaurants. Montezuma is such a neat little town - about the length of an average DC block, it is littered with little shops and outdoor cafes. It´s easy to find restauants with seating in the sand, and it´s hard to find a spot to eat breakfast that isn´t surrounded by either palm trees or some sort of thatched roof. Upon arrival to this salty seaside town, Jordie and I quickly discovered Ylang Ylang, a fairly new, upscale hotel/restaurant that offered a tropical beverage happy hour on their very beautiful patio. Having just deboarded the bus from my almost 7 hour journey, with what I now fondly refer to as my very windblown, but ¨NOT wind-blown-sexy¨ hair, we didn´t exactly fit in with the rest of the bar clientel, but it didn´t preclude us from spending a few hours drinking Green Turtles, Costa Rican Dreams, and Love Shacks into the early evening. We then wandered back to our $5-night hostel(n.b. our two hour happy hour session cost more than our accomodation for the two nights we stayed in Montezuma.) We spent the next day hiking in the reserve ending on Playa Blanca; a white sand, rip-tide roaring beach at the opposite end of the reserve. We couldn´t swim much because of the strong current and the sharp rocks close to the water´s edge. That evening, we hiked up to the waterfall in town. During our 30-45 minute steep ascent to the top of the falls, I repeatedly assured Jordie that I would jump from the top of the middle falls into the pool below with him, but upon hearing the water as we approached (sight unseen), I promptly renegged my promise. Jordie claimed he had seen several Ticos jump into the pool below the other day and a few tourists, and it SEEMED safe... I did stand at the waterfall´s edge for close to fifteen minutes, counting ¨uno, dos, tres¨ and then promptly retreating back to safety. It got to the point that the locals swimming in the nearby watering hole starting counting with me and then laughing uproariously when ¨tres¨ came again and I was still standing on top of the rocks. I think the fifteen minutes I spent contemplating my jump had my heart racing harder than the demanding hike to the top of the falls. We ate dinner on the beach again that night and found some fellow travelers to play cards with before bed.

Monteverde proved, once again, to offer a happy homecoming. We´ve officially entered the dry season and the sun is shining most mornings and oppressively searing by midday. I´ve decided, bregrudgingly, not to do the Camita (60 mile hike from MV to Arenal), because my accident prone, curiously-fragile-as-of-late body might not make it. Instead I´m excited to attend Sebastian´s 6th birthday party on Saturday. We even pitched a tent in the front yard last night in anticipation of the party - obviously.

This past Sunday upon feeling human and functioning again, I decided to go to Los Juntos, a tiny, mostly Tico town about 45 minutes south of MV. I met a few friends here from Los Juntos and thought it would be nice and relaxing to spend an afternoon with them. We had plans to go to the hot springs and eat lunch with their grandmother, who they boasted was a fabulous Italian cook. I´m happy our lasagna-agenda fell through because my stomach was not yet ready for that challenge. Anyways, Los Juntos was such a pleasant change of pace, minus the blatant stares I received upon deboarding the van...not so many tourists in Los Juntos. I asked my friend if I was the only gringa in the entire town, and he responded pensively and candidly, ¨no, there was a white woman that once taught in the elementary school...at least she was there this fall¨. So, it was somewhat of a novelty for everyone. Roy and his mom took me to meet their entire family; aunts, uncles, cousins - all of whom lived within 3-4 minutes walking distance from their house. We went to a local soccer match and then to a pool for some cooling off. It´s amazing how much hotter it is off the mountain, only less than an hour away from MV. After an early dinner, we went outside to sit on the sidewalk and wait for the 5pm bus to take me back to MV. 5pm rolled around and 5:15pm, 5:30pm...then everyone started making phone calls simultaneously. Of course Roy´s mom knew the bus driver, and also knew the mechanic that serviced the bus that morning, and knew the woman that owned the soda (diner) across from the station, and Roy and his sister had friends also taking the bus...so a frenzy of calls were made to find out where the bus was and why it was late. After lots of heated discussion of which I understood little, everyone hung up their phones and shaking their heads retreated back to the house, saying only, ¨No bus today - you sleep here¨. Hmmmmmm...not so ideal, when I needed to be at work the following day at 8am and the next bus out of town was at 10am. We decided it was best that I take a ¨local car¨early the next morning. The car left at 5am and I needed to be at the statue in the center of town to get my ride by 4:30am. I should have known something was amiss when while sleepily stumbling to the statue in the dark, I was told that my dress was not ideal for the ride. Ends up that this ¨car¨ that was to transport me the 45 minutes back to MV, was more of a flatbed truck with a cage fixed on the back. We crammed about 15 people all standing, mostly day workers (all men) and myself, and a chicken and small litter of puppies onto the truck and headed back to the mountains. And so I arrived in MV, slightly disoriented, totally relieved ...I only wish I could have heard what bystanders must have thought as they watched the cargo truck from Los Juntos arrive that Monday morning, a random gringa chick in a brown dress aboard, clinging to the bars on the side of the truck holding a puppy.

On the beach, on the trails, on the back of the flatbed...pura vida.

Kat