The skinny

Last night, we went skinny dipping in the Carribean Sea.

Ummm, yeah.

I think I'll hang out in Bocas del Toro an extra night.

Good Morning Panama

I just completed my first night in Panama.

Originally, my plan was to leave for Panama two days ago, but the combination of both a lack of sleep and a desire to watch the U.S. Soccer team kept me in Costa Rica for one extra day.

The bus ride was relatively painless, although it was a bit dicey at times. My best guess is that the driver had us on the wrong side of the road for approximately 10% of the trip.

We made excellent time, reaching the Panamanian border in just under four hours.

And that´s where the fun began.

I had read--and I had been told by others--that to enter Panama, it was necessary to show proof of either a return ticket to Costa Rica, or of onward travel. On the bus, I met four girls--two from Texas and two from Wales--who had been told the same and had purchased a roundtrip ticket when they first boarded to avoid any problems.

I, on the other hand, had not purchased a return ticket. But, I had also read that the particular border crossing we would be traversing was fairly lax, so I decided to try my luck with a printout of my CheapTickets return flight confirmation from Bogota, Colombia.

One by one, the immigrations officer stamped the passports of the people ahead of me in the queue.

Then it was my turn.

(In Spanish)

"Passport please."

I handed the dude my passport.

"Ticket please."

I handed him the printout. "I leave from Bogota, Colombia," I said.

He didn´t waste any time. "This says that you leave from Bogota, Colombia, but it does show that you will leave Panama."

I had a feeling he might say something like that. In fact, I was prepared for that exact reponse.

I decided to push my luck.

"Well, now that I´m technically IN Panama, it is physically impossible for me to leave from Bogota, Colombia without first LEAVING Panama.

The immigrations officer gave the gears in his head a moment to churn.

Then he stamped my passport, gave me an army-style salute, and sent me on my way.

And off I bounced, down through Banana Country, my impenetrable logic having saved me twelve bucks at the Panamanian border.

Cranky Pants

Okay, so since my last post I´ve changed out of my cranky pants.

Today, I caught an early bus from Santa Elena back to San Jose to stay with Kristian and his family for a night before heading off to Panama tomorrow morning.

I still decided that I´ll skip some places in Costa Rica in favor of a few more days in the other countries, but I´m not the Debbie Downer I was yesterday. (Perhaps the three hour siesta I just took has something to do with that.)

I´d still love the opportunity to see the Costa Rican beaches, but since Kristian has already invited me back in December to camp on the beach with his friends and family I think I can wait the extra few months.

Anyway, I´m really excited for Bocas del Toro, Panama in the morning.

(Not so much for the eight hour bus ride. But, hey, you gotta pay to play.)

Lets Blow This Popsicle Stand

So, Ill cut right to the chase.

I decided today that its time to make an early exit from Costa Rica.

Ive been traveling solo here for just over three weeks now. The country is beautiful, the people are warm and inviting, and the other travelers Ive met along the way have been nothing less than spectacular.

The tourism, however, is out of control.

Maybe its due to the fact that I got a glimpse of real Costa Rican life while living with Kristian and his family, but it seems as though the rest of the country just does not offer what Im looking for.

I hate to use such a strong term, but there is really only one way to describe it...

Tourist trap.

There are fees waiting at every corner, and its become a bit overwhelming.

Yesterday, I switched my lodging here in Santa Elena from a private room to a shared room. One of the girls in the room just finished a two year stint in the Peace Corps in Peru, and has been traveling up through South and Central America. We talked for a long while, and when I told her my feelings on Costa Rica she agreed, saying that Panama and Colombia are much less touristy, and have much more of a local feel.

The beauty of traveling without plans, though, is that Im free to do as I please. I called up Kristian today and asked him if I could return to his house tomorrow afternoon instead of later on this weekend. Ill spend the night there on Friday, and head over towards the Panama border on Saturday.

Ive truly enjoyed my time in Costa Rica thus far, and its been as experience Ill never forget, but I just feel in my gut like its time to move on.

Chillin ill

Sorry again for the delay.

Ill just apologize now, once, for the remainder of my journey. The place Im staying at has two computers for over fifty backpackers, and the town has one "internet cafe" with the same number of computers.

Anyway, when I first left the States I had made a sort of vow to myself that when it came to cuisine, I would always seek out the most local food I could find. Even though Im on a fairly lengthy trip, my time is still limited, so I figured itd be best to stay away from the stuff I can find back home.

Two nights ago I caved in.

A group of my new friends from the hostel had decided on pizza and, well, peer pressure is a bitch.

I had two slices.

And that night I vomited.

Hard.

Im not sure if it was the pizza, or my if it was my own stench from not having showered for three days that actually induced the vomiting. Either way, it blew chunks.

Yesterday morning, I had scheduled the infamous jeep-boat-jeep transfer from La Fortuna to the town of Santa Elena near the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve.

If traveling by public transportation, the trip takes nearly eight hours and costs about six bucks. The jeep-boat-jeep took just over three hours--the boat portion cuts right across a lake that the buses are forced to drive around--and it put me a twenty-spot in the hole.

It definitely wasnt jeep-boat-jeep, though. It was more like van-boat-van. And still sick from the night before, it felt like unicycle-boat-unicycle given how bumpy the goddamn roads were.

Deprived of sleep the previous two nights, I had arranged a private room at the Pension Santa Elena. It was a good thing, because when I arrived I was over-tired, I had a splitting headache, and I felt like I was going to puke.

I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Pension Santa Elena, run by a brother-sister duo from Texas, was a shoestring hostel known for over-the-top service and accomodation.

Right they were.

I was told when I made the reservation that I would be asked to pay for my first nights stay and transportation upon arrival. When I arrived, Diego at the front desk showed me directly to my room, handed me a key, and turned to walk away.

I called out after him. "So, should do I pay now, or when I leave, or..."

Diego turned around, put both hands up in front of him, and said, "Tranquilo. Descansa." Calm down. Relax. "We will deal with that later."

That was exactly what I needed to hear.

I passed out for three hours--through the heart of a viscious rain storm--and I spent the remainder of the night regrouping, relaxing, and re-evaluating my options.

Today I feel like a million bucks.

My plan for the remainder of the day is to grab a cup of Costa Rican blackpot brew, watch the U.S. World Cup match over a plate of Gallo Pinto, and frolic in the rain forest.

Buena Fortuna

Hey, all.

Well, I survived my first cross-country bus trip in Costa Rica.

Yesterday afternoon I arrived in La Fortuna, the gateway to the Arenal Volcano. The bus left from San Jose at just after six in the morning, and we made a forty minute stop for snacks in a town called Ciudad Quesada before continuing on to our final destination.

For the first half of the ride, I sat next to a little old Costa Rican lady who was more than happy to help me practice my Spanish. I understood most of what she was saying, but when she started telling about how I should ask God for foregiveness every morning when I wake up, I conveniently began to suffer some translational problems.

When I arrived in La Fortuna I made my way straight to the hostel, Arenal Backpackers, where I had arranged two nights stay in a dorm room. Truth be told, I was a little hesistant about staying in a shared room. But, after five minutes in the room I realized what a blast these next six weeks will be.

Not only is everyone I´ve met a whole ton of fun to hang out with, but since everyone is in the same boat everyone has unique information to share with the rest of the group.

Jenny just arrived from where I´m going next. Arlen came from where I´m headed in three days. Rachel left this morning for where I´ll be going at the end of the week. I just came from where Brent is heading next.

And so it goes.

It´s one big incestuous cesspool of tourist experience.

After settling in, I signed up for a tour that a few of my new friends were going on, as well. We took a hike around the Arenal Volcano--in the middle of a cloud, in the pouring rain--and we finished the night with a buffet dinner, and two hours in the hot springs.

Again in the rain.

This morning, I had my heart set on taking a hike up to the lake-filled crater of a dormant volcano. I enlisted the company of Arlen and Charles, two of my new compadres from the previous night. We set off just before eight in the morning, and we arrived at the crater by ten.

We were the only people there.

We took a swim in our own private volcanic lagoon, ate a few snacks, and started heading back.

In the rain.

And tomorrow morning, I´m taking a jeep-boat-jeep combo en route to the rain forest.

Yeah, they´ve got rain there, too.

I´ll be sure to post some pictures when I don´t have an angry Swede breathing down my neck to use the free internet.

Spelling bee

(Note: Tomorrow is a travel day, so I´m not sure exactly when I´ll have internet access next.)

Last night, Kristian asked me if I wanted to take a ride over to the children´s school to catch the tail end of a spelling bee. His wife, Denise, had been roped into selling key chains at some stand and the family was going to keep her company.


Truth be told, I wasn´t really all about going. But Kristian seemed to be all about having me tag along, and it was really one of the last opportunities I would have to spend some quality time with the family.

So, Sophia, Mariana, Kristian, and I packed into the car. Sophia kicked the back of my seat for the entire ride--quality family time--and by the time we arrived I had a mild case of whiplash.

We made our way into the gymnasium.

The spelling bee was already in full swing, and as we searched for seats and I soaked in the environment something seemed to be just a bit off that I couldn´t quite put my finger on.

Then it hit me.

To my surprise--and heavily biased delight--the spelling bee was in English.

Oh, shush you. I know. I´m here to learn Spanish. But, sometimes after long days of concentrating really hard on what everyone around me is saying, my head feels like it´s about to explode. Hearing my native tongue last night was the equivalent of throwing back 600mg of Motrin.

I´m actually really glad that I went. In fact, I highly recommend that everyone attends an elementary school spelling bee at least once in their life. Not only was it fairly enjoyable, but I also learned two important things about myself last night that I hadn´t previously known.

1) I learned that I may NOT be smarter than a fifth grader:

As perhaps the only native English speaker in the crowd, I couldn´t help but to either nod or shake my head as each letter was spoken. What I didn´t realize, though, was that my family and a few people around me were watching MY reaction to each word, instead of waiting for the judges.

See where this is going?

One of the contestants stepped up to the microphone and began to spell, and letter by letter I nodded my head. The flawless English spelling was music to my tired little ears.

Then, out came a letter that made me wince.

And everyone around me sighed.

Naturally, the kid was correct.

Now, I "don´t remember" exactly what the word was. But the judges were obviously going by the Olde English spelling. That´s my story and I´m stickin´ to it.

2) I learned that I´m not as nice a person as I thought I was:

Have you ever wished failure upon a five-year old? Well, if you have it in you to sit through two hours of a spelling bee without praying for "one these damn overachieving kids to just mess up already," then you deserve a Nobel Prize.

By the end of the night, each time a new word was presented, I couldn´t help but to think anything but, "You´re done, kid. You´re done."

It seemed as though infants were nailing words like, `miscommunication,` `outrageous,` and `atrioventricular.`

Gimme that damn microphone.

The word is, ¨Antidisestablishmentarianism."

Game over.

Vamanos.

Another day at the office

So, today was a national holiday in Costa Rica.

Can you guess which one?

National-Bring-A-Gringo-To-Work Day!

That´s right. My Tico father asked me to come to work with him today. At first, I was a little hesitant because I didn´t want to get in the way. But when I told him as much, Kristian simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Es Viernes."

It´s Friday.

So, we woke up early this morning, ate breakfast, watched the United States World Cup match, and skipped into work late. I spent the majority of the morning researching hostels and making reservations for next week.

Then, at around 11:30, my number was called.

"Bran-don!" Kristian screamed.

I walked into his office to find Kristian and his four co-workers standing there, staring at the computer screen. They looked at me, then looked down at the empty chair.

"Sit," Kristian said. "Write letter. English."

So, I sat down in front of the screen, and with my trusty Spanish-English dictionary in my lap I began to gather information.

Kristian is the general manager of the Costa Rican branch of a small company that imports medical equipment. This August, Kristian´s company, DuoTec, will be hosting a booth at the Urology Congress of Central America. It´s basically a big medical equipment sales convention.

In order to show a product at the convention, Kristian´s company first needs to import the product. And in order to import the product they need to furnish the Minister of Health in Costa Rica with all of the technical specifications of the product, in order to gain approval. Apparently, the company that produces the product has been dropping the proverbial ball, and the clock is ticking.

Good thing DuoTec had a blogging beast in the office this afternoon.

After twenty minutes of translation, I was ready to write.

I drafted a letter to some dude, at some company in Atlanta, that contained a detailed list of the information Kristian´s company needs (read: the information I could gather they needed), explained why the issue was so urgent (read: why I interpreted the issue to be so urgent), and thanked them for their prompt attention regarding the matter.

Then, Kristian threw his name at the bottom, clicked "send," and bought me lunch.

Yep. Just another day at the office.

School´s out for the summer

My three weeks of school here in Costa Rica have officially come to an end.

Now it´s time to play.

Here´s a map of Costa Rica, in order to help you visualize the proposed itinerary for the next leg of my trip:

The town I´ve been living in for the past three weeks is marked by the red star. (Eco Praderas is a farm that´s apparently for sale in Coronado. I ganked this map from some realtor´s website.)

If you´ll direct your attention to the northeast portion of the map, you´ll find the town of Tortuguero. Tortuguero is the location of the national park I visited--and blogged about-- during my first weekend in Costa Rica. If you´ll look just west of the red star you´ll notice Alajuela. Alajuela is the location of both the Volcano, and the coffee plantation I visited--and subsequently blogged about--during my second weekend here.

The different regions of Costa Rica have many unique experiences to offer. In the remainder of my time here, I´d like to see as much as I can.

Here´s the plan:

On Sunday morning, I´ll head into San Jose bright and early and catch a bus to the town of La Fortuna, located to the northwest of San Jose on the map. La Fortuna is the gateway to Arenal--the most active volcano in the country--and on the clear nights in La Fortuna you can see lava spewing from the peak. There´s a six-hour hike in La Fortuna--beginning at a waterfall, and ending at the peak of an extinct volcano--which I´d like to tackle. It´s also supposed to be a pretty cool little town just for "hanging out." So that´s where I´ll spend Sunday and Monday night.

Early Tuesday morning it´s off to Monteverde, located just southwest of La Fortuna on the map. Home to a biological cloud forest reserve, Monteverde can only be described as an ecotourist´s wet dream. After checking into my lodging on Tuesday, I´ll see if I can take a guided hike through the forest to catch a glimpse of some wildlife. Monteverde is also home to the country´s best canopy tours (think ziplining from tree to tree, amidst a rainforest, a hundred feet above the ground, with monkeys.) That´s what I´ll do on Wednesday.

After a hearty night´s sleep, I´ll make a b-line for the famed beach town of Tamarindo, located on the northeast Pacific Coast, in Costa Rica´s Guanacaste region. I´ll spend the remainder of my Thursday on the beach, and on Friday I´ll surf.

For the first time.

My host father is twisting my arm to use his house as a central command post during the remainder of my travels in Costa Rica. So, in an effort to please the masses, I´ll return to San Jose on either Friday night or Saturday morning, where I´ll regroup, as well as collect all of the extra luggage which Kristian has demanded I leave at his house during my first week of solo travel.

Back at the lair, I´ll rest up for a night before heading off on the next leg of my trip.

Oh, what a brutal week it shall be.

I have arrived

Every morning, the walk from my house to the language school takes approximately twelve minutes.

During those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to cross the road approximately three times.

Also during those twelve minutes, I´m called upon to change my underwear with a frequency that´s directly proportional to the number of crossings.

Bottom line: The drivers in Costa Rica are absolutely insane.

In just over two weeks, though--after much trial and error--I´ve nearly perfected my road crossing technique.

You see, folks. I´ve developed a fairly basic, two-step method for Costa Rican road crossing. Not only is it a highly functional method, but it also minimizes both the overall risk of bodily harm to the crosser, as well as the total amount of feces accumulation in the crosser´s "pantalones" during any one isolated crossing.

Are you ready?

Here it is:

(Copyright 2010--Gringo Central, Inc.--Patent Pending)

Step 1: Wait until there are no cars in sight. (The use of a telescope is preferred, but if there are no sight augmentation devices available, then the largest distance detectable by the naked human eye is sufficient.)

Step 2: Run.

It´s beauty is in it´s simplicity. My heart stays beating, and my pants stay shitless.

Another facet of Costa Rican road etiquette that has had me completely baffled is the excessive use of the horn.

Take a stroll through the town of Coronado on any given day, and you´re bound to be met with a caucophony of vehicular flatulation. What makes this phenomenon so puzzling, though, is that to the untrained observer it seems like all of these cars are honking at nothing.

Actually, what it really seems like is that they´re always honking at you.

Earlier this week, though, I took a ride around town with Kristian´s best friend, Luis, and I cracked the code. Luis is thirty-five years old, and he´s lived in Coronado all his life. Well, from the moment I entered his car to the moment I exited, he honked his horn at nearly everyone he saw.

And they all waived back.

So, that cleared that up. None of the honks I´ve heard in the past two-and-a-half weeks have been intended for me.

That is, until "The Moment."

Yesterday, after leaving the grocery store, I was standing at the corner waiting to employ the GCMCRCR (Gringo Central Method for Crossing Roads in Costa Rica) when, suddenly, I heard an incessant series of honks. I turned my head, and low-and-behold I saw Ricardo, the driver from the language school, whipping around the bend in his van, waiving out the window.

"Bran-don!" he screamed.

I smiled and casually waived back (as we people here in Coronado often do when someone we know honks at us.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.

Riches to Rags

Yesterday afternoon, my Costa Rican mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking completely defeated. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, she turned to me and said, "Brandon, I don´t know what to make for dinner."

Eventually, she figured it out. And it was absolutely delicious. So, while we were cleaning up the kitchen last night, I offered to cook dinner for tonight.

After class today, I took a trip to the grocery store to gather ingredients for the meal. On my way, I made my first ever stop at a Costa Rican ATM machine. I ran through the selections, withdrew sufficient funds for dinner, and awaited my receipt.

Now, when I left the States, I knew just about how much money I had in my account. But when the receipt popped out and I glanced at my balance, I almost fainted.

Are you ready?

Account Balance:

$1,800,216.35

Ball-errrr!

It took about a second-and-a-half for me to realize that my balance was in Costa Rican Colones (CRC), but it was the best second-and-a-half of my life.

I´m a Costa Rican Millionaire, bitches.

So off I went, with my wads of cash, to the supermarket, Mas por Menos (More for Less.)

I still had no idea what to cook, so when I got there I took a moment to think it through. I wanted to cook something my family doesn´t eat very often. I also needed to find something the kids would eat, too. After a few minutes, I decided on Chicken Parmesan.

Simple to make, and a real fan favorite.

I used a combination of broken Spanish and sign language to explain to the butcher how I wanted the chicken. Then I did some quick math in my head before asking the deli counter for a quarter kilogram of mozarella cheese. And I was able to find most of the other ingredients on my own. The only thing I had trouble with was bread crumbs, but after searching for close to fifteen minute I decided to make a fool of myself. I pulled aside one of the workers, and asked him where I could find the, "pan en polvo."

"Excuse me, sir. Where can I find the powdered bread?"

It wasn´t pretty, but it got the job done.

Then I took it all up to the register.

Remember that little incident at the ATM machine? Well, go ahead and play that in reverse, and that´s what it felt like at the checkout counter.

I didn´t realize it while I was filling up my basket, but there´s a reason why they eat rice and beans in Costa Rica--it´s because things like parmesean cheese and tomato sauce are imported. To make a long story short, I got banged up for $20,000 CRC (almost $40 USD.)

Ouch.

On my walk back home, I passed by some guy on the side of the road selling avocados out of the trunk of his car. They were the biggest freakin´avocados I´ve ever seen. We´re talkin´avocados on HGH.

And cheap.

But what´s more weird? The fact that some dude was selling avocados out of the trunk of his car, or the fact that when I got home and told my Costa Rican father, his response was:

"Oh, man! Was he parked right up the street from the grocery store? If I had known he was there I would have told you to buy some--they´re the best avocados in town!"

T-minus (Part Deux)

Hey, all.

I´d like to start by apologizing for missing my post yesterday.

I´ve learned that in Costa Rica, there are two things that are not to be relied upon with any regularity. (Well, three, if you include my aforementioned bowel movements.)

They are:

1) The plumbing

2) The internet

Only one of these three things was working yesterday--the plumbing--so that´s why there was no post.

Now, on to the meat and potatoes:

I´ve been here for a full two weeks now, and when I left the United States I was nervous as hell. I had no idea what to expect, and I felt as though I was diving headfirst into a sea of unknowns. Now, with a bit of time under my belt, I´m confident (and delighted) to say that I´ve adjusted fairly well. (Truth be told, before I came to Costa Rica, there was a part of me that was worried I´d be itching for home.)

I´m not sure what the hell I was thinking. I do love all you guys back in the States, but I must say that returning home ASAP just isn´t an itch I´m yearning to scratch at the moment. My stay here in Coronado is coming to an end, but there´s still a whole lot more I´m excited to do.

With change, however, comes more preparation. I feel like I have a lot to accomplish this week before embarking on the next leg of my journey. And it all begins with, well, planning the next leg of my journey.

Part of what makes the next leg of my trip so exciting is the fact that I have no set plans, and no responsibilities. Here in Coronado, I have some structure, and along with that structure comes a safety net to fall back on--namely, the language school and my family. A lack of structure is also what will make the next part of my trip a bit scary, so I´d like to be somewhat prepared before I head off on my own.

Other than to throw together a makeshift itinerary, it´s a goal of mine to cram as much Spanish grammar and vocabulary into my head as possible in the next four days. I upped my class time this week--from 12 lessons to 18 lessons--in order to accomplish that. I figure that I´ll be well served to plough through as much grammar as I can while I´m here at the school (read: shove ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag), cross my fingers, and hope that it all sorts itself out over the next six weeks.

I guess I could have worse things to do this week than to plan a six week vacation and study a language for fun.

But, hey, what can I say? I´m a bit of a drama queen.

I enjoy making much ado about nothing.

Craters and coffee

Yesterday, I went on a "Craters and Coffee" tour. The itinerary for the day was a trip to the crater of an active volcano, a tour of a coffee plantation, and then a visit to a small artesan village in the Central Valley.

The start to my morning was a bit rough. I was slated to meet the tour group outside of the Hotel Aurola Holiday Inn in San Jose at 7:40 AM. I missed my stop and I wound up running a solid ten blocks, from the bus terminal to the hotel. I made it just in time.

On our drive out of the city, the tour guide pointed out the construction of a new soccer stadium that was being built for the Costa Rican national team. She explained that the stadium was a gift from the Chinese government, commemorating a recently signed free-trade agreement between the two countries. It was reassuring to learn that the U.S. isn´t the only country that China has by the (soccer) balls.

As we drove into the mountains, our guide explained that since the peak of the Poaz Volcano is nearly 8,000 feet above sea level--in the middle of a cloud forest--she´s never sure whether or not we´ll be able to see the crater until we´re standing right in front of it.

When we arrived at the volcano it seemed clear enough. The hike to the crater took five or ten minutes, and everyone in the group was itching to get a peek.

When I got to the crater, this is what I saw:

Well, that´s not exactly what I saw. What I saw was a bit lighter and fluffier. Regardless, it was a fairly disappointing moment when I realized that I paid $65 to stand in the middle of a cloud.

The guide said that sometimes it clears up at a moments notice, so we should hang around for a little while. I was a bit dubious. But, we hung around for a while, and sure enough it began to clear up:

The $65 cloud

After about ten minutes of waiting, I caught a glimpse of some vegetation...

$65 shrubs

Finally, though, after fifteen minutes, I began to get my money´s worth:

And a little bit closer now.

There she is.

B-B-B-Bwoah yeah!

Do me a favor? Have me be me, and you be an active volcano?

Thanks.

At this point, I´d say that I had gotten my volcano fix for the day. But I was definitely hitting a mid-morning lull, and I was in some serious need of caffeine. So, we headed over to the Doka Coffee Plantation, in the fertile foothills of the volcano.

The coffee tour was very interesting. We learned all about the process--from planting and picking, to drying, roasting, and packaging.

While on the tour, one person asked the guide how they make decaffeinated coffee. The guide began her response by asking why anyone in their right mind would want to drink such crap. Then, she told us that you´ll never meet a Costa Rican who drinks decaf. "Drinking decaf coffee is not part of our culture," she said.

"For all you crazy tourists, though, we send the beans to Germany. There, they are decaffeinated by very expensive machines, in a very expensive process. Then, we sell the decaffeinated beans to you, and we sell the caffeine that´s been extracted from the beans to Coca-Cola, and a bunch of pharmaceutical companies."

Anyway, after drinking approximately fourteen cups of REGULAR coffee (for free), I was cocked, locked, and ready to rock.

(There are pictures of the coffee farm, too. But after running an extensive cost-benefit analysis, I´ve decided that your viewing pleasure just isn´t worth the current upload rate of 9 minutes per picture.)

From the coffee plantation, we headed over to Sarchi--a small artesan town that´s known for it´s woodwork.

On the way, we made a short pit stop in Grecia to see a massive church that´s constructed completely of metal. Everyone else in the group "ooohed" and "aaaahed."

The tour guide asked me if I wanted my picture taken in front of the church. Then I showed her the results of my bris, and she backed off.

In Sarchi, we were given thirty minutes to browse a woodwork shop. I wandered into the back room, where I saw one of the artesans hand-painting a wooden whatnot.

In Spanish, I asked him if I could watch. He said I could. Then he asked me where I´m from, how long I´m in Costa Rica for, and where I learned to speak Spanish. We spoke for about twenty minutes, I shopped for ten, and hopped back on the bus.

All in all it was an action packed day, capped off by a conversation in Spanish with a complete stranger.

For me, that´s some pretty good stuff.

Excuse me, officer?

(Before I get into things, I´d just like to mention that tomorrow I´m going on an all-day excursion--leaving at 7:00 AM, and returning at 8:00 PM--so this will most likely be my last post until Saturday afternoon.)

Now that we´ve taken care of all the administrative details...

Today was my last day of classes for the week, and at the end of each week my professor fills out a short evaluation form that notes my progress (or lack thereof) in a number of different categories. In all of the "participation" categories--attendance, homework, class participation, etc.--I received 100%. (Remember, I´m the only student in the class.) And in all of the other categories--reading comprehension, oral comprehension, written communication, oral communication, etc.--my marks have increased, from the high 80´s last week, to the low 90´s this week.

As for negatives, the professor only had two small points of criticism:

1) He told me that I´d be well served to study some more vocabulary on my own.

2) He told me that I think too much.

I´d say he has me pegged pretty well: I´m a lazy overthinker.

We had a conversation about how sometimes, when learning a new language, it´s best to just absorb what you can and to try to speak it freely, rather than to construct each line in your head before opening your mouth.

"If you get your point across," he said, "you´ve done your job. But you don´t always have to worry about sounding correct. That´ll come with both time and practice."

In other words, he told me I should stop thinking before I speak.

So, when I left the school today I was determined to transfer this pesky case of diarrhea from my ass to my mouth. I said hello to everyone I passed on my walk into town, and when I arrived at "Main Street" I took a moment to decide what to eat. I saw a small chicken stand with a sign that read, "Pollo Asado y Frito."--chicken, grilled and fried--so I decided to see what it was all about.

I marched right up to the counter.

"Buenos dias," the girl said.

"Buenos dias," I replied. "Como viene el pollo asado?" How does the grilled chicken come?

Looking back, I now realize that this was a fairly broad question. It probably deserved both the ridiculous look, and the state-of-the-union-length answer I received.

I didn´t understand a word, so I politely asked the girl to repeat herself, this time a bit slower. When she finished talking, I gave the gears in my head a moment to cool off.

Still nothing.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Do you need some help?"

I slowly turned my head, and the first thing I saw was a pair of shiny black combat boots. Then I saw a gun. And finally, my eyes found a patch, stitched to a sleeve, that read, "Fuerza Publica."

It was Costa Rica Five-O.

Well, to make a long story short, I got my grilled chicken.

Maybe next time I´ll be able to do it without the help of law enforcement.

Man´s (second) best friend

Yesterday evening, after dinner, one of my five year-old sisters walked into my room unannounced, and she stumbled upon me doing something she didn´t quite understand.

Yup. I´m afraid so.

I had retired to my room to whip it out, and she just walked right in.

I would have liked to put it to rest as quickly as possible, but, as I´m sure you´re all aware, when little children encounter something they don´t quite understand, they´re never too shy to inquire within.

She looked up at me with a puzzled face. Then she hit me with it.

"How come every time I see you in your room," she asked, "you´re always reading that book?"

I really didn´t know how to respond, but, since I had already been caught red-handed, I decided it was best to just tell her the truth.

"Because most of the time," I replied, "I have no idea what´s going on. And this book helps me get through."

The book she caught me with was a Spanish-English dictionary. And she´s right--I´m reading it all the time.

The dictionary was the first purchase I made when I arrived here a week and a half ago, and I carry it with me wherever I go. What makes it so valuable--to me, at least--is that I already possess a working knowledge of the basic grammatical structure of the language, but my vocabulary is often just too damn small to say what I need to say.

I`ve had an absolute blast since I got here, and, for the most part, I´ve done a good job of shedding the inhibition to open my mouth. Every afternoon, I walk around town talking to anyone who´ll listen, and I can honestly say that both my speaking and comprehension skills have increased 10 (20? 30?) fold since I arrived.

Still, it´s been a bit of a rollercoaster.

What I find most frustrating is that sometimes I understand everything that´s being said, and sometimes I haven´t the faintest idea. When I´m being directly spoken to, I tend to comprehend a large majority. Maybe it´s because when people talk to me they intuitively realize that they need to talk slower. Who knows? But when some schmuck yells across the street to his compadres, I don´t understand a word.

After class today, I went to a small eatery and sat down at the diner-style bar to order some food. I placed my order, then I sat there quietly, trying as best I could to decifer the conversation between the cook and the waitress. After what seemed like five minutes of complete babel, I heard the waitress say "este muchacho" (this guy), and then watched as the cook looked my way. I took a quick peek over my shoulder, but, to my dismay, there were no other muchachos behind me. The muchacho in the conversation was me.

Q: What has two thumbs, knows you were just talking about him, but has no idea what you said?

A: Este Muchacho.

Working things out

So, I´ve been in hardcore deliberation as to whether or not I should share this next little tidbit of information. But, I finally came to the decision that since you´ve all been following my blog, this is your trip, too.

You should be in the know.

When I first arrived in Costa Rica, one of my primary concerns was that the food wouldn´t agree with my stomach. Quite frankly, my biggest fear was that I would suffer explosive diarrhea--at the most inopportune time, in as public a place as they come--and shit my pants.

Actually, my experience thus far has been just the opposite--I´ve been eating a ton, but I haven´t felt the need to go.

Yup. There´s been a bit of a backlog in the Isaacson camp.

That is, until this morning, when I was blessed with a condition I´ve never before experienced:

Constipated Diarrhea

I´ll spare you the details, but there are two things I´d like you to know about CD:

1) It´s a delightful mix, really.

2) I´ve never had to work so hard just to piss out my ass.

Have no fear, though. After putting in a few solid hours on the bowl, I managed to work things out.

In other news: The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth once again.

Heike left Coronado on Sunday to continue on her journey, but two new students arrived this week. Katie, 31, is a recently graduated lawyer from California, and Wolfgang, 23, is an economist from Germany. Katie and Wolfgang both placed at a lower level than myself, and they´ve been grouped together, which means that I get to keep my private lessons for at least another week.

I´m really excited for this weekend, as well. This past Sunday, I went with my family to their friends´ house for a birthday party. Their friends´son turned one year old. At the party, I met the birthday boy´s grandfather, who owns a farm in a town called Guapiles. He told me that he´d like to have me over his house for a traditional Costa Rican dinner. So, that´s what my family and I are doing this Saturday evening.

On Friday, I signed up for a one-day excursion--it begins with a tour of a coffee plantation, followed by a visit to a volcano, and the excursion culminates at a waterfall garden.

Of course, I´ll be documenting my adventure with plenty of pictures.

Weekend Adventure

Phew!

Sorry I wasn´t able to post in the last three days. Friday and Saturday were spent bushwacking through the Costa Rican wilderness, and on Sunday my blogging efforts were hampered by technical difficulties. But now I´m back.

This weekend was absolutely amazing. As I mentioned in my previous post, Heike and I decided to take an overnight excursion to Tortugero National Park. The park is accessible only by boat, so the voyage involved a two-and-a-half hour bus ride, followed by a one-and-a-half hour boat ride.

On the first part of the drive, we passed through the cloud forest in Braulio National Park. It´s called a cloud forest because, well, it´s always cloudy. But we happened to pass through on one of the clearest days of the year, which was quite fortuitous given the fact that Volcano Turrialba was showing a bit of activity.

Our guide told us that we were among the four percent of people passing through the region who are lucky enough to see the following:

O´scuse me.

After passing through the cloud forest we stopped for breakfast, and then continued on our journey to the boat.

We pulled off of the road for ten minutes when we spotted one of these...

This guy is one lazy MF.

...then we stopped at a Del Monte banana plantation...

The bananas are in the blue bags, drowning in chemicals.

...and finally we arrived at the boat.

Our bus driver, Thomas, passed us off to our tour guide, Alonso...

Shit, dawg.

...and off we went.

The boat ride was amazing, and I was a pretty happy camper...




...but this kid was happier:

After an hour and a half, we arrived at the hotel. I wasn´t quite sure what to expect in terms of lodging. The price for the tour was inclusive of hotel and meals, so I figured we´d be shacked up as cheaply as possible. Quite the contrary, though, the resort was a tropical paradise.

I dropped my stuff off en mi Cabina Privada...

...then we ate a traditional Costa Rican lunch, hopped back on the boat, and headed over to the park.

After watching the most boring informational video of my life, we took a short walk through the bushes...

...and arrived at the Caribbean Sea.

The only thing missing is a photoshopped Corona.

Here, Alonso asked each member of the group to introduce themselves and their country of origin. Heike, 27, was from Germany, and Emily, 24, was from Canada. Mal, 38, and Kate, 30, were from England, and Gregorio and Norma, both 70-something, were from Argentina.

Brandon, 27, was the only American.

Alonso proceeded to give us a tour of the beach and the village. I hung in the back and talked to Gregorio the whole time. Gregorio spoke very little English, but when I told him that I was in Costa Rica to practice my Spanish he was more than happy to oblige. He asked me a million questions about myself, and then he began to give me little exercises. He had me recount for him what we had done on the tour that day, and then he had me explain to him the itinerary for the next day. When I made mistakes, he corrected me--which is exactly what I need--and he explained the proper way to say things.

Gregorio was the coolest old foagie I´ve ever met--with the exception of maybe my father--and by the end of our conversation he requested that I call him by his nickname, Goyo.

Here´s a picture of Goyo, his wife, Norma, and I:

Goyo and I got so involved in our conversation that we lost the tour group. Eventually, we found our way back to the village on our own, and we headed back to the resort with the rest of the group for dinner.

After dinner we headed over to the bar, and after a few cervezas with Heike and Emily I retired to my cabin for the evening.

The next morning, Goyo and I sat in the rocking chairs outside of his cabin while Norma got ready. Then the three of us headed over to breakfast together. It was a typical Costa Rican breakfast of gallo pinto, eggs, cheese, fresh fruit, and coffee. Gallo pinto (literally: "spotted rooster") is a dish consisting of white rice and black beans mixed together. From that moment on, I began referring to my buddy, Goyo, as "Goyo pinto."

He ate it up.

After breakfast, we all boarded the boat once again and headed for the canals (which were supposedly teeming with wildlife.)

I asked the guide if I could sit on the bow of the boat for a while, and he obliged. This was probably the best decision I made all weekend...

(I had a video of this that I really wanted to share, but I´ve been sitting here for three hours and it hasn´t uploaded yet.)

And they weren´t kidding about the wildlife, either. Here are a few snapshots of what we saw:

This guy just wanted to fit in.

This guy asked to borrow my Grey Pupon.

This guy convinced me to eat an apple off of some tree.

And this guy saved me 15% on my car insurance--if not more.

By the end of the day, we were all exhausted and ready for a nap.

Goyo took the lead...

When I arrived home in the evening, the three children greeted me with big hugs. The family now refers to me as Tio Brandon. (´Tio´is Spanish for ´uncle.´) I got home later than expected, but Kristian and Sebastian had actually waited for me to eat dinner. It was a very nice gesture, especially since I had no way of informing them that I would be late.

Then, finally, after a long and fulfilling three days, Kristian and I sat outside with his best friend, Luis, and had a few beers...

All in all, it was a weekend to remember.

(And now, thanks to the internet, it´s been thoroughly documented.)

Pobre Polly

I´ve been here for nearly four full days now, and I finally feel like I´m starting to achieve a bit of regularity--in both my schedule, and my bowel movements.

Mornings are a bit hectic in the household. By the time I wake up at 6:15, Sebastian and his mother have already showered--separately I hope. Kristian is usually in the shower, and the two little girls are in their parents´room being dressed for school.

Denise and the children eat breakfast first, and they´re out the door by 7:00 AM on their way to school. (Denise teaches at the school that the children attend.) I shower while the children are eating, then Kristian and I eat breakfast together in a quiet house. At 7:47, I embark on my twelve minute walk to school.

Kristian and I have really hit it off. He´s a real mench, with a big heart and a great sense of humor.

At breakfast yesterday morning, the two of us literally laughed until we cried. We were talking about my life back in the States, when the subject of my having worked in a Mexican restaurant came up. Kristian began to speak some Mexican slang, and I reciprocated.

Then, the dog began to scratch at my leg, and I looked at her and said, ¨Polly, mi amor. Que tu quieres de mi vida?¨ Polly, my love. What do you want from my life?

Kristian burst out laughing, and for the next ten minutes we took turns assaulting poor Polly--a three pound poodle--with Mexican slang.

¨Polly, calmate que te calmo.¨ Polly, calm down before I calm you down.

¨Polly, caete que o te cayo.¨ Polly, shut up or I´ll shut you up.

¨Polly, ahogate en mi verga.¨ Polly, choke on my_______. (Alas, boys will be boys.)

Anyway, we´re getting along really well.

In other news, since my lessons at the school were converted to private lessons from group lessons, and there are less of them, I front-loaded my week so I could take off on Friday.

The other student, Heike, and I signed up for an overnight exursion to Tortuguero National Park this weekend. We leave tomorrow morning at 6:15 AM from San Jose, stop at a banana plantation along the way, and arrive at the park around lunchtime. We have the remainder of the day on Friday to wander around on our own, and then on Saturday morning we take a boat tour through the canals before heading home in the evening. Supposedly, it´s fairly common to catch a glimpse of crocodiles and other such amphibious rodents (see: The Big Lebowski.)

On Sunday, Kristian is going to BBQ at the house, and I´m in charge of the guacamole and margaritas.

Anyway, hopefully I´ll have some free time to put up a post tomorrow night at the hotel, but it´s possible that I wont have computer access again until late Saturday night.

So, until next time, I leave you with a public service announcement from my twin sisters:

Round 1

And here´s the moment you´ve all been waiting for...


Without further ado, I present to you, the first round of pictures:

This is my crib. I park the Lambo out front for everyone to see.





This is the electric gate outside of my crib. In the town of Coronado, having a gate outside of your house is not necessarily a sign of affluence. Not having one, though, is a sign of stupidity.





This is where I wine and dine the Coronado brass...






...and this is where we discuss politics.






This is where I get me some...


































...sleep.














These are my twin sisters, Mariana (left) and Sofia (right). Last night, the three of us played monkey in the middle with an American football. I kicked ass.






This is my brother, Sebastian. Last night, we arm wrestled.
Again, I kicked ass.



































I rule.































One of these things is not like the others. Well, two, if you include Polly (pronounced po-lee), the dog.






Papa is dukes on the left.

I still need to take a picture con mi madre, Denise. Tomorrow, I´ll post some pictures of the town, along with some pictures of downtown San Jose.

Hasta mañana, compadres!

Back to school

So, I just finished up my second day of classes here at the language school.

Yesterday, on my first day, my new papa drove me to school in the morning. When I got to the school, I took a short written exam, followed by an oral exam, for placement purposes. I was the only student at the school when I arrived, but I was told that one more student would be joining us. Supposedly, she had just flown in from Germany, and she was set to arrive at any moment. That would be all, I was told. Two students for the entire week.

When the other student, Heike, arrived, we were in the middle of a short orientation. The staff at the school caught Heike up to speed, and she took the placement exam as well.

We placed at different levels, which actually had some interesting implications. When I signed up for the program, I signed on for twenty, fifty-minute group lessons a week. The policy of the school, though, is that if there are not enough students (two or more) to comprise a group, then 20 group lessons becomes 12 private lessons a week. So, at least for this week, it´ll just be me and an instructor.

Apparently, there is a standard language rating system. There are three levels, A, B, and C, which correspond to beginner, intermediate, and advanced. Then, within each level, there are two subdivisions--A1, A2, B1, B2, C1, and C2. I was rated a level B1.

After class, Heike and I were taken on a short tour of the town. And after the tour, Heike was taken to meet her new family.

I, on the other hand, was dropped off in the center of town.

Alone.

This next part of my life is called: Shitting my pants.

Talk about a ¨what-the-fuck-have-I-gotten-myself-into¨ moment.

The reason I picked the town of Coronado is because I was told that no one there speaks English. They weren´t kidding!

I knew that I needed to buy a notebook, a dictionary, and some lunch, but I walked around for a solid hour before I even had the courage to ask someone on the street where I might find a bookstore. He rattled off a bunch of directions that I didn´t understand. Then I nodded as if I understood, thanked him profusely, and was on may way. Finaly, I found it. Still scared, I managed to navigate the bookstore and pay without saying a word.

Next, it was time to eat. I saw a girl standing behind a counter at a small roadside bakery and decided to check it out. When I approached, she looked up and said something in Spanish, which I can only assume was something along the lines of, ¨Can I help you?¨

I responded in Spanish. ¨I don´t know. What´s your favorite?¨ The girl proceeded to explain what every last thing in the case was, 90% of which was too fast for me to understand. But I understood `Empanada de carne,` so that´s what I bought.

Then came my first unintentional rude moment. I asked for a cup of coffee, and she something about sugar. I decided I wanted to try the coffee black, but instead of saying, ¨None,¨ I said, ¨Never.¨

Do you want sugar? Never. She looked at me like I was a dick.

I´m over it.

All in all, it was an interesting day. Very eye-opening, and I wasn´t quite riding the high that I had the day before. The magnitude of the situation--living in a town that truly speaks another language--really hit me.

I decided that I definitely need to lose a bit of the inhibition if I want to truly maximize my time here. But, you know the old saying, ¨If you walk into a room, and you can´t immediately identify the mark, then you´re it?¨

Well, let´s just say that I don´t see myself identifying the mark anytime soon.