Goodbye, Northwest

Every now and again I start to panic because...  We leave in less than two weeks!  I can't stop myself from thinking, 'This might be the last time I ever do this.'  Which is absurd, as I will be back here again.  As Jamie has expressed it, I feel like I'm in limbo -- waiting.  I feel antsy and I am ready to move.  It's this waiting that's frustrating.  Especially the waiting in Seattle where I'm unemployed with too much time on my hands but uninterested in cleaning/sorting/packing.  It's much better when I'm adventuring and taking in my last breaths of the Northwest summer.  Jamie and I just took a short camping/hiking trip to Mt. Rainier and visited the meadows at Spray Park to see the wildflowers blooming.  It was stunning (looking beyond the mosquitoes). 

I love that mountain.  I grew up with a magnificent view half a block away from my parent's house in Olympia.  I took it for granted until I moved to Extremadura where there is nothing of the sort.  Pennsylvania?  I don't know, but I think not.

I keep thinking of things I want to do before I leave.  I found out that Jamie had never been to the San Juan Islands...!  Then my mind goes off, planning a bike trip around San Juan, Lopez, and Orcas Island.  And I'm not sure there's time, especially if we go to the Olympic Coast for a few days.  

I'm sad to leave my friends and my family.  I've spent my entire life here (minus traveling and Spain adventure) which, of course, means it's time to leave.  I'm so excited to explore somewhere new and make that place my home for awhile.  We're already talking about what we should do for Labor Day weekend, we've been researching vegan/vegetarian restaurants in Pittsburgh, locating the REI, finding hiking nearby.  But as I'm leaving, I'm liking Seattle more and more.  Why?!  Oh, right, it's summer and I don't work on the weekends so I can go explore with my friends.  Right.  I think I'm also letting the city in and appreciating it for what it is instead of wanting it to be different.  And the beauty?  I'm not sure I can find this elsewhere.  That's what I'm about to find out.

Three weeks ago or so I got this tattoo.  Goodbye, Northwest, for now.

Colorado

Jamie and I got back from our road trip to Colorado a little before midnight last night, having driven from Salt Lake City that morning.  I was excited to sleep in our bed, in our apartment, but now that excitement has worn off and I want to be at it some more.  I'm sure we tried to do too much in those twelve days, but it was a great way to begin this summer.

We stayed with Jamie's friend Alan in Fort Collins, where we spent the fourth of July with few fireworks due to thunderstorms and rain (the best way to spend that day, anyway).  Next we went up into the mountains for an other-worldly experience at the Shambhala Buddhist Center, with the largest Stupa in North America.

We spent two nights camping near Long's Peak, "the Mt. Rainier of Colorado" according to Jamie.  With an elevation of 14,000 feet.  The hike into the site wasn't bad, but the day hike to Lake Chasm (over 10 miles, which we initially added incorrectly, due to lack of oxygen) was probably the worst idea of the trip.  We got back to camp and slept like the dead for several hours.  Really, worst idea for two sea-levelers.

We spent the day in Boulder, this mystical city about which I have heard so much.  Everyone who has lived there or even visited raves about it, and I can understand why.  The mountains so close, the sun (except when we were there, as we had apparently brought Seattle with us on the trip). 

From there we headed to Denver for a whirlwind tour of people and sites.  We went on an urban adventure from my friend Bronwen's house (just off the notorious Colfax Avenue) to downtown, experienced the insanely repetitive and touristy 16th Street Mall, walked by the river, and caught the bus back to her house (an adventure unto itself).  Later that day, we went to Jamie's friends' rehearsal dinner in Littleton (yes, Columbine High School), which was followed immediately by dinner with a first cousin I had never met, Natasha, and her family--with much entertainment provided by her daughter, Nina.

Then the wedding!  The event that brought us to Colorado!  I finally met Jamie's friends from college, proof that he says who he says he is.

We drove to Salt Lake City the next day--I hesitated at the turn-off toward Moab, tempted.  Maybe the ghost of Edward Abbey was calling me....?  There are so many other things I wanted to do in the Southwest but Seattle was calling us.  Next time!

Then the thirteen-plus drive back to Seattle (only four states as opposed to six on the way to Colorado).  This entry has taken me hours to write.  I'm still exhausted from the trip.  I'm not sure what I just wrote.

Bellingham Complicates the Situation

Jamie and I went to Bellingham this weekend and I feel more confused about my looming decision.  I keep telling myself to STFU and decide already but I can't!  We stopped at Tulip Town outside of Mount Vernon for the annual Tulip Festival.  I needed to check this off my "Things to do in Washington before I leave" list.  It was a typical spring day, with unpredictable and blustery weather.  We left after I finished working on Saturday, so we passed most of the crowds as they were leaving and we were entering.  The rain left and the sun came, lighting the sky in that surreal way as though after a storm with a faint rainbow.  The tulips were beautiful, of so many shapes, sizes, colors.

We continued on to Bellingham, where we stayed in a (too) expensive, (too) tacky hotel by the freeway.  I agonized over where to eat and decided on Boundary Bay, if only for the beer sampler.  Yes, the ESB is still my favorite.  The next day--an obscenely gorgeous spring day--we went to the Mount Bakery (vegetarian Eggs Benedict!) and walked around Western.  I had to show Jamie the legendary MHB statue, the fountain where I skinny-dipped after graduation, my favorite study place in the library.  We walked down to Boulevard Park from Fairhaven, lounging in the grass like days of old, watching the undergraduates engage in adorable flirtation and frisbee dates.  We dined at Flats, an excellent tapas bar in Fairhaven that lived up to my memories of the place.

Now for the confusion: I love Bellingham!  I don't want to live there now, but spending time there again reminded me of so many things that I did enjoy about the nature of the town, and many of the things that are lacking in Seattle.  Yes, I did remember some of the things that I didn't like--the incestuous nature of the place (I only saw six people I recognized on this trip), twenty-one-year-olds running around everywhere on Saturday night.  It made me confused about Ann Arbor, which is larger than Bellingham but is probably similar.  This was the largest hesitation toward the University of Michigan.  But on Sunday, sitting in the sun outside the Firehouse Cafe, I wanted it again.  As I've said before, with every day comes a different idea of what I want.

PDX

When I learned that I had an entire (*gasp* entire *gasp*) weekend off, Jamie and I immediately booked Amtrak tickets to Portland for us and the bikes.  I hadn't been there in years, and had certainly never biked it, or navigated it myself.  I love weekends and I love Portland. And trains.

We spent the weekend eating, biking, and doing touristy things in the sun.  We stayed with Jamie's friends, Laura and Jeff (and Clarke and Pot Pie), in Northeast Portland by Alberta street.  The neighborhood felt so comfortable, with adorable 2- and 3-bedroom houses, constantly reminding me of the neighborhood where I grew up in Olympia, and so different from everything I've seen in Seattle.  Within walking distance to their house, we ate at three places and had coffee at two.  Everything was great but the winner: Extracto Coffeehouse.  It's a small roastery...  Their single-origin Ugandan espresso with hints of blueberry...  No one plugged into a laptop...

We biked into downtown, visited the end of the farmer's market at PSU, then went to the Saturday Market, then headed to Rogue Brewery for a sampler.  After several games of Uno with newly-made friends living in Olympia, two samplers and a shot of hazelnut rum, we zig-zagged to Voodoo Doughnut for a vegan powdered sugar doughnut and a bacon maple bar.  Back over the river for dinner with Laura, Jeff, and Laura's aunt and grandmother.

The next day we spent hours in Powells, miraculously leaving with only two cookbooks.  Next to Deschutes Brewery for their sampler and some Black Butte, with lunch, before catching the train, in a less-than-straight motion, back to Seattle.

I knew I shouldn't really ever visit Portland because I would want to pack up and move there (or just never come home).  It's true.  If I wasn't moving across the country in the fall, I would seriously consider moving down the I-5 corridor to the home of Stumptown Coffee.

Hasta luego, Mexico

Once again, that letdown.  I'm back in Seattle, after an incredible trip, wanting to be back where I was twenty-four hours ago.  Of course, there will be next times, many of them.  As I left one wonderful place after another, I lamented the parting, consoling myself with, "Next time."  It is part promise, to the place, that I will return and uncover more.  It is part promise to myself, that I can find this feeling again.  The sentimentality, so soon forgotten.  I'm not sure if I have time in my life, were I to travel until the end, to experience everything I want to see, and return to the places to which I have whispered this promise.  During each step of the return journey (bus to Puerto Vallarta, airport, boarding plane), Jamie and I looked at each other, daring the other to make the choice not to return home so soon.  At a different juncture, I would not have returned so easily.  Alas, here I am.  How responsible.

I am left with daydreams of overnight buses to Mexico City, mole in Oaxaca, Mayan ruins in the Yucatan, arches on the Baja Peninsula.  Next time.

Guanajuato to Sayulita

Here in Sayulita, Mexican population: 1500; gringo population: 500.  Clearly an exaggeration but there are so many white people here.  I know, I'm part of it (and one of the whitest).  But nowhere else in the trip, Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara, Guanajuato, have I heard so much English or felt so spring break.  It's grown significantly in these nine years and now resembles a surf mecca similar to those in Costa Rica that I've visited.  Doesn't matter, the beach, the ocean are incredible.  It's a nice way to finish the trip, although I'm very glad it wasn't the whole trip.  Today is overcast so Jamie and I will probably set out to explore a beach north of the city.  The trip here from Guanajuato was, well, long.  The night bus ride was punctuated by screaming babies, often in a duet.  Kinked necks and cramped legs later, we boarded a public bus to Sayulita (the driver was kamikaze, according to Jamie).  Upon arrival we learned that our reservations had been canceled.  Hot and sweaty and exhausted two hours later, we found a place with one room vacancy.  Mmmm, beach time.





[written 01/29/10, unable to post due to internet connection]

Mexico!

My last day in Guanajuato.  I'm waiting around in a cafe with tenuous internet connection for the night bus back to the coast, to Sayulita, for the last part of the trip.  I love Mexico.  I've been here once before, in Sayulita in fact, about nine years ago for less than a week.  I've crossed over the border in San Diego/Tijuana and Nogales with my family for an afternoon.  That's all.  Why?  This wonderful country, so close to my own but absolutely dissimilar.  Jamie and I have spent four days here in Guanajuato, a city of callejones and colores vibrantes, exploring.  The city is in a bowl, creeping up the sides of the surrounding hills, colorful house stacked upon colorful house--colors, red, orange, yellow, blue green purple pink, as the only divider.  A city of Legos, built by some imaginative child in the hills of Mexico.  Every time we set out, we somehow complete a huge circle and end up back where we started even though we began climbing westward and didn't seem to turn the other way at any point.  Yesterday, Jamie and I adventured into the hills to find La Bufa, a shrine marked by a cross at the top of one of the peaks.  With vague information from the internet and vague directions from the tourist booth, it took us over an hour to find the trail.  The entire trip was mostly sketchy, with many-a "Uhh, this way?".  It was one of those hikes that only happens in Latin America.  Sweaty, incredible.

Today we went to the famed (infamous?) mummy museum.  So extremely creepy, I can't begin to say.  Desiccated bodies--men, women, children, amazingly preserved.  I've seen mummies in museums before, but they've been wrapped in cloth.  These were simply skin, bone, cloth, most were naked, some clothed.  The skin was so thin, delicate.  Their hands were like claws, their mouths contorted in what the living would perceive as pain.  There were babies, by far the most disturbing.  I now understand why there are mummy horror movies; I did not want to turn my back on some of them.  The museum was fascinating and (as Jamie pointed out) provided a momentary glimpse into Mexico's relationship with death, something we Americans can only try to understand.

I have that feeling again, where I've begun to fall in love with a city, and there's a small heartbreak when I leave.  San Sebastian, Sarajevo, Leon, Dublin, Guanajuato.  The trip is going too fast.  Already, too many "next times".  I must return.

"You boys like ME-XI-CO!? Yeeeee-hawwww!"

(Kudos to those who get the reference.)

Procrastination, of course.  Instead of packing or finishing my Simmons application or preparing for my trip or worrying about my car, it's time to blog because...  I'm leaving for Mexico tomorrow!  Jamie and I are flying into Puerto Vallarta, quickly trading that city for Guadalajara, Guanajuato, and the coast.  It hasn't sunk in yet as I've been working on and worrying about applications for the last several weeks.  I have three to submit before I leave.  All but one are done.  Also: my car was stolen several days ago so I'm dealing with that situation too (not dealing like mourning but dealing like police and insurance, etc.).

Anyway, poorly written.  My mental powers--what's left after this long week of 5:30am shifts and grad school apps--are still reserved for this last one.  All day I've been fretting about getting it all done.  It's almost there.  It's closer than I think.  Tomorrow at this time, I will be sitting, exhausted, in Puerto Vallarta somewhere.  I can't wait: the food, the smells, la lengua (figuratively, or literally as you can never be sure what you're eating). 

The beach.  Twelve days away from Seattle and my job and the winter and school applications.  This will only whet my wanderlust, I fear.  I promise I'll come home.


....update, one hour later.
I submitted the application.  Pre-packing ritual: clothing, toiletries are spread around me on the floor, the bed.  The dryer hums, with intermittent zipper.  Harvey Danger's Private Helicopter.  How to pack for twelve days?  I'm taking nearly as much stuff as when I moved to Spain, or traveled in Central America.

This trip may offer salvation, for the time being.  I hadn't succumbed to wanderlust for months.  I kept it at bay, fending it off with promises of exciting future plans (like graduate school).  But, lately.  Everywhere I turn.  I went to Ocho, the Spanish tapas bar in Ballard this week.  Shit, I want to go back to Spain.  Jamon serrano?  No!  I want jamon iberico!  The tortilla espanola was, to say the least, disappointing.  Dry and flavorless, when compared to a true tortilla.

Within the last week, I have had several conversations with different customers at work about travel.  The first was with a couple who had done the camino.  That, with the tapas bar, made me yearn (yearn!) to go back.  To contemplate which camino to do next.  The camino portugues?  Tackle part in France?  As far as Istanbul?

The next conversation was with someone who had recently returned from Russia.  Russia--I want to go.  It's been the back of my mind for awhile, but then he gave me a ruble that he found in his bag and a pass from the Moscow subway system. It's my next big trip, this summer.

Then, a customer had a pile of travel books.  She was planning an eight week trip to Egypt, Israel, Turkey, and Eastern Europe.  We talked about Bosnia.  Please, let me go.  Just let me go.

Anywhere But Here

As is to be expected, I am working on my personal statement for the umpteenth time, now distracted while writing about travels in Europe.  Let me out!  I want to get away from Seattle and the monotony that is my life.  I have visions of myself in Budapest, on Castle Hill overlooking the Danube, dripping sweat in the morning and dodging hailstones in the afternoon.  I see myself in Tarifa as I shield my eyes from the sun, looking across the strait of Gibraltar to hazy Morocco, where the Mediterranean and the Atlantic meet, the wind whipping the sand against my skin with a gentle violence found only in nature.  It's Christmas Eve and I'm in Lisbon, cobbled streets lit with thousands of tiny lights as multitudes of people laugh and talk, bustling past, small puffs of breath slowly dissipating in the clean, icy air; I stand transfixed, smelling, feeling, hearing the spirit of the city.

I want to be there now.  Anywhere but here.  More and more frequently, I find myself daydreaming about traveling.  Partially, it's an escape from the many things I dislike about my life right now.  This will be my first Northwest winter in two years, and it's going to be a hard one.  Mostly, traveling is the one thing that I can think of that would make me happy right now, that I would want to be doing.  I suppose I'll need to be a bit more creative.

The Wide World Calls, Faintly

Working on my personal statement for the University of Wisconsin.  I've been writing it for about two weeks now, alternately hammering and sewing it together to create some positive picture of myself for a panel of people I've never met.  First, I don't want to.  Second, if this is hard, what about graduate school?  I've become lazy!  Whenever I hear people talking about schoolwork, I think, Fuck, I don't want to do that again.  Third, (I'm not sure where this list is heading) I want to adventure.  As I struggle to incorporate my incredible travel experiences into the essay, my mind wanders to Tanger, Tarifa, Brussels, Barcelona, Budapest, Montezuma, Mostar, Monteverde, Leon, Lisbon, London, Liberia--spanning continents, time, life.  Then, the daydream turns to places not yet explored.  St. Petersburg, Santiago, Sapporo, Brisbane, Bogota, Montreal, Mexico City.  Can't lie: I hate this weather.  But more than that, I want to travel!  I feel the world calling me again.  Last year at this time, I was preparing for the trip to Costa Rica (which turned into the trip to Central America).  This money I'm saving...  Does it have to be for graduate school?

I'm feeling it again.  As the winter chill sets in, so does the need to experience, explore, see, learn and do.  Not write about why I should be accepted into some advanced-degree program.  Take me away!

Upon Arrival in Salt Lake City

I have just arrived in Salt Lake City. Rather, Em, the Subaru (newly christened Rex), and myself have arrived in Salt Lake City. We drove from the California side of Tahoe, through Nevada (passing a whole five towns, probably), and into Utah. It's strange to be here. We arrived after dark, after discovering that this area is in a different time zone than the west coast, scanning the city for the Mormon temple (no such luck, must find it later).

We stopped in Wendover, Nevada--partially because it was the first town we came to after several hours of NOTHING in Nevada, partially because we couldn't stand being in the car any longer, and partially because we figured it was probably the last place we could gamble and drink before we hit Utah (based loosely on rough calculations and guessing as the pixelated map from Google maps showed nothing between Elko and Salt Lake City). We had a Budweiser ($1 schooner), collectively lost $4 on penny and nickel slots, and continued into Utah. Maybe it was the slight buzz or the hours of driving, but the earth became immediately unrecognizable. I don't know what Em was thinking but I felt as if the world had morphed into something complete alienupon entering the great state of Utah. It was a flat, white valley, with nearly nothing for as far as I could see. Disconcerting, to someone raised in the lush and mountainous Northwest. We had entered the salt flats, but it took a little reasoning to figure that out.

I have two days to spend here, and it most certainly will not be enough. This trip has revived my wanderlust--more specifically, to see more of this country. We drove through so many different landscapes, each stunning in its own right. I can't wait to see the island in the Great Salt Lake with the bison and the bighorn sheep (in the middle of a salt lake!? what kind of place is this?).

SLC- a voyage to the land of the Mormons and my birthplace

Instead of last minute packing and preparation and running around frantically, I sit down to write this. I'm leaving for Salt Lake City whenever Em arrives at my house, decrepit Subaru sagging under the weight of all her earthly possessions. I sit here, sleepy and sleep-deprived, surrounded by abundant food for several on-the-road meals.

We have hours of road-trip-to-Salt-Lake-City playlists (mine are titled "SLC Punk" and "SLC Punkier"--neither of which contain any punk), hours of books on tape (one about learning to meditate), hours of driving snacks, hours to hash over the future. I'm so excited for her: this new experience, in a new land. A true American adventure--and I'm along for the ride!

We will be stopping in Eugene to see Em's sister, then on to the Sierra Nevadas to rough it in the rustic cabin of a friend where we may or may not be attacked by bears, then to Tahoe to visit another friend, then on to Salt Lake City! I haven't been there in years. It is my birthplace and holds great significance for my parents. I can't wait to see it now, at this age, with this perspective. I wonder how I will feel--am I romanticizing it? This mysterious land, where my parents met, married, started a family and a life together. During my childhood, it was the stuff of myths, a fabled land of desert and adventure, a time before children. Also an oppressive land, perhaps, where my parents did not want to raise a daughter. I wonder: what would my life be like had we never left? Where would I be now? The question is too daunting. (And the answer obvious: I would have married a jack-mormon as Em will undoubtedly do!)

I'm certain she will arrive any moment now and not be pleased to see me blogging, ruminating on the topic of our impending trip and its implications with my bags half packed downstairs and my teeth half brushed.

I'm so excited. Giddy (lack of sleep?) to be on the road. I don't think I've ever been to Eugene, I've never been to a cabin in the Sierra Nevadas, never been to Tahoe. I wonder what I will find in Salt Lake City--but more importantly, what Em will find. Will it be a starting point for an entirely new life like it was for my parents? Just a blip on her journey elsewhere? I can't wait to see that Great Salt Lake!

Riding Upright

I feel as if my life has been tossed into the air by some unknown force and, as it comes floating back around me, it resembles what it was but not entirely. I guess what I mean is that I don't have a firm grasp of anything that's happening right now. I just got back from a three night camping/biking trip with Em and it is such a rude awakening to be back here in Seattle, working a new job, dealing with insurance companies, passively looking for a place to live, actively worrying about my graduate school plans.

I spent three nights on Lopez Island in the San Juan Islands. The trip was amazing. As with any adventure with Em, I was wholly unprepared in the traditional sense but ready for everything. I just got my bike fixed and hadn't spent much time on it since the accident, so I was a wee bit apprehensive. We parked in Anacortes (up and down a huge hill from the ferry), strapped everything to our bikes with the ten-plus bungee cords I brought, and biked, wove, and wobbled to the ferry. I had a large hangover from a small binge in Bellingham the night before, and barely made it up the hill from the ferry on Lopez.

The first day we biked around Lopez, with a short stop-over in Lopez Village to avoid the short rain shower. The island is wonderful for cycling: the roads are nicely paved and maintained, there aren't many cars, and drivers are careful and cautious around bikers. We did a 30+ mile loop, stopping at several parks. Nothing was hectic, everything was serene and beautiful. It was so relaxing to be in the woods with almost no one around.

The next day, Em and I took the ferry to San Juan Island and biked to the American Camp park. As it was a hot, late summer day, the logical decision was to go skinny dipping. Ideally, it would have been a quick dip in and out but the water was absolutely frigid so we had to slowly inch our way to an acceptable depth. When the water was just covering our knees, Em looked behind us to see if anyone was nearby. A middle-aged man with a ponytail was standing on the bluff taking our picture. Now, we both came to the conclusion that he was just some aging hippie trying to capture a picturesque moment with two attractive women skinny dipping against a breathtaking scene. However, the next time I turned around (maybe waist-deep in the water), he was directly behind us on the shore telling us to turn around so he could take a picture. Em firmly told him to leave; when he continued and threatened to take our clothes, she yelled at him. It was great--even greater, he listened. Creep. That annoyance aside, we submerged and quickly slogged back to the beach.

The next day was, unfortunately, the last day of the trip. We took a scenic ride around Lopez to a different park, Spencer Spit State Park, dawdled, then realized we would barely make it in time to catch the ferry. After an epic race back, we barely caught the ferry (per usual), found Em's car unticketed in Anacortes, drove back to Bellingham. Em is leaving Bellingham forever; with her, she takes my only reason to visit. I said goodbye to Bellingham for what will be the last time in a long time, I'm sure. It's sad. The end of an era even more than when I left, perhaps.

It was difficult to come back to reality but I'm making it. Things will surely begin to fall into place soon.

Solo cabras comen la ropa

Here I am, back in San José. I fly out the day after tomorrow, back to home (wherever that may be), back to reality, back to my future. It's all there waiting for me, more or less as I left it. I'm not sure if I'm actually any closer to any conclusions, any plans, but I've had an amazing trip so that must count for something. Although everything is nearly the same as I left it, this return (homecoming?) is entirely different from last time. I feel a sense of... I'm not quite sure. It certainly isn't panic and dread, what I felt about 7 months ago when I returned from Spain. That recently? That long ago? I feel optimistic about my future and the plans I've sewn together while I've been here (near the top of Chirripó, precisely) and I'm excited to continue my life in Seattle. I miss my family and friends and dog a lot. I'm looking forward to sleeping in the same bed for more than 3 nights in a row, having hot water more than once every few weeks, being free of insect bites, having more than 4 shirts, privacy! But I'm going to miss so many things, specific to Central American and more generally about travel. Trying new food (weird meat), seeing amazing new things each day, learning, sharing a common bond with everyone at every hostal, challenging myself, living quite simply, riding chicken buses, having only three valuables (camera, wallet, passport), having all my possessions in a backpack.

Two days ago the inevitable happened. Something that Emily and I have been joking about for the past several weeks. My money and credit card were stolen from my locked bag (Emily's too). We had been saying that if our money/credit cards were stolen at this point it wouldn't be so bad because we had so little time left and getting wired money one time wouldn't be too bad. And it happened. Although the guy--who I even had a conversation with in the hostal room--did see fit to leave my debit card and several smaller colones bills. Nor did he steal the passports in the same pocket of my bag. I can't be sure if he was being somewhat kind in this regard or really had no need for my debit card (although he took Emily's), passport or colones of small denominations. It's also a huge mystery as to how: the bag was locked and everything looked normal. At any rate. I had to the cancel the card in the middle of an internet cafe with a terrible connection and two children running around me, yelling. Afterwards, our friend Chris who we met on Ometepe bought us dinner and all was fine.

Besides the petty theft, I enjoyed San Juan del Sur. In fact, in spite of the theft, and that the water was turned off for the entire city for over 24 hours. No showers, no toilet, nothing. Apparently it's common to lose water for several hours at a time. I spent an amazing day at a beach north of the city, Playa Maderas with Emily and three people we met on Ometepe. It was basically deserted, white sand, blue water, no trash. The best beach day to end a trip filled with awesome beach days. A beautiful sunset, with only the neon pink sun in the sky, slowly descending past the horizon. (No green flash, unfortunately.) It was eerie, the flaming sun alone in the sky; I've never seen a sunset like the ones in San Juan del Sur.

I've already begun planning my next trip: 3 months (or more) in Mexico and Guatemala, with a one-way ticket to Guatemala and then heading north. I'm fairly certain no one reading this is very thrilled to hear this. Clearly, it's just a fantasy. But how incredible would that be? I'm finding that I need to have a future trip in mind (even as I'm not quite finished with my current one). It helps me feel free. It's helping me go home because I know I can do this again in the future. Traveling in Latin America is so cheap and not frightening (as I had previously thought). Everyone I've met here who went to Mexico absolutely loved it. Anyway. This thought, this fantasy, may help me go through with my plans for the immediate future. I will have time for more travel. I will be able to afford it. I will never be trapped in a life that I hate, so trapped that I can't get away and go to Mexico. I am excited to come home and move on in my life knowing that this will not be my last adventure.

Nicaragua (Nic-ar-ag-oo-a)

This country is incredible. I've been here for a week and a half so far and I absolutely love it. It's so different from both Costa Rica and Panama. A bit dirtier, a bit louder, hotter. I love the street food, the chicken buses, the currency. I spent several days in Leon: the most beautiful city I've seen this entire trip. It's not very touristed yet so it was easy to walk through the streets (sticking to the shady side of course) without being hassled or hustled--no more than the locals are hustled by the regular vendors with baskets of various food and drink on their heads. I went to the central market there several times and each time I found something amazing. Refrescos naturales (fresh juices) in all sorts of strange flavors for 10 cordobas (50 cents). Dulce de cacao, a type of sweet with cocoa. The largest papayas I have ever seen in my life. Delicious home baked pastries of all kinds. You're allowed to walk all over the roof of the cathedral (unsupervised) for great views of the city and all the neighboring volcanoes, provided you don't ring the bells or run around on the domes. I would have spent more time there but it was just too hot. And I'm near the end of my trip so each day must be carefully planned (yikes!).

I then spent several days in Granada which is also beautiful but entirely filled with tourists. It became overwhelming with everyone offering taxis, buses, hammocks, vases everywhere, even in restaurants. I was dying slowly from the heat--seriously, I've never been this hot before for an extended amount of time--and suffocating from all the attention so it was a relief to go to Isla de Ometepe. It's a huge island in the middle of the Lago de Nicaragua, a huge lake with sharks. The island is in the shape of a figure eight with a volcano on each side, one larger and one smaller. The natural beauty there is incredible. It is not highly developed or overly touristed yet so my entire stay was very relaxing. I stayed at Finca Magdalena, a coffee farm at the base of the smaller volcano, Maderas. One day Emily and I climbed the volcano with a group from the Finca. The hardest 6 mile hike I've ever done (not to mention the terrible shape in which I find myself cardiovascularly). The trail passes through several kinds of forests with great views of the larger volcano, Concepcion, and there's a muddy lake at the top in a crater. The second day I took a bus to Ojo de Agua, a natural spring that was turned in to a swimming area. I tried to swim in the lake on the way back but it was pretty dirty and too shallow for hundreds of feet from the shore.

I'm now in San Juan del Sur on the southern Pacific coast. I've been hearing opposing opinions about this place for several months now so here I am to judge for myself. The beach looks nice? It's hot.

Al Norte

I'm back in Liberia, as a necessary stop on the way to Nicaragua. I left Jenny in Montezuma, waiting for a shuttle to the airport. It was great to see her--I can't believe it's been almost a year since I said goodbye to her in Coria. We spent a long time reliving our Spanish experiences, talking about some of the intolerable people we knew there, missing the food; we probably bored Emily to with it. The three of us went to Monteverde and Montezuma on the Nicoya Peninsula.

Monteverde was amazing. When I was trying to figure out what to do when Jenny came, she told me the only thing she really wanted to do was go on a zipline. We did a canopy tour which lasted about 3 hours and consisted of 14 ziplines and a Tarzan swing. I was pretty terrified before we began (heights not being a personal strength) because I had no idea what to expect. We had picked the tour at random the night before, bleary-eyed after 5 hours on the bus (as I am at the current moment--what's new?). We got in to these ridiculous harnesses and helmets-- yeah, that's right, safety is ridiculous-- and worked our way up slowly, starting on small lines. The longest one was 750 meters long, spanning an entire valley. The wind is so strong up there and the whole experience is surreal, gliding (swinging, flying?) so high above everything. The scariest thing was the Tarzan swing. I didn't know what it was before we started the tour, and Jenny knew what it was but didn't know it was going to be on the tour, or we may have chosen differently. It's just a huge swing, where you jump (drop, plummet) from a platform and free fall before swinging impossibly far (and, in my case, coming very close to a tree). I'm not quite sure how I managed to step off the platform but the swinging itself was so much fun and I'm certain I had a -eating grin on my face. It sounded painful while others were doing it (screams, not of but of pain) but I think it was just the guys that had problems there (hah!).

That afternoon we went to the Monteverde National Preserve. We did a whirlwind tour of the area and unfortunately didn't see very much wildlife because we didn't go in the morning (no quetzals, alas) but the trees there are incredible. They're so tall and everything is so green. The weather was beautiful--ironic, that I finally have good weather in a cloud forest.

Next day we went to Montezuma on the Nicoya Peninsula, spectacular beach. Best one I've seen yet.

Tomorrow to Nicaragua!

Guanacaste

I am in Liberia, Guanacaste; it is entirely different from any other part of Costa Rica I've seen yet. It's dry, incredibly sunny (as the guy at the hotel said: "por la mañana, hace sol; por la tarde, hace sol; por la noche, hace sol), hot. Not at all jungly or humid like the rest of the places I've been. And there are sabaneros (cowboys) everywhere! Herding horses down the street, riding through town. It's very interesting. I've always had an aversion to cowboys (Marlboro man, anyone?) but I really enjoy seeing these ones around--especially because they're actually doing something and aren't just hicks wearing cowboy hats spitting tobacco.

The landscape is beautiful. It's very stark but so green near the rivers. Today I went to the Parque Nacional Santa Rosa and saw a tropical dry forest with the tree of the region, the Guanacaste. The budding/flowering season is completely different from our own ("spring" doesn't mean flowers or leaves necessarily) as some trees lose their leaves during the summer, the dry season, to conserve water. Thus the budding happens in winter, or the rainy season. It's strange to see leafless trees everywhere while it's so hot and sunny.

Yesterday I went to the Parque Nacional Rincón de la Vieja (Corner of the Old Woman, literally). It was amazing: by far my favorite park in Costa Rica. It has fumaroles, mud pots, steaming, sulfurous pits of boiling water. The landscape is striking, with some of the strangest trees I've ever seen. All against a backdrop of tall ridges and impossibly blue sky. I hiked to the Catarata Escondida (Hidden waterfall) and for most of the hike I believed that it couldn't exist because there was no water anywhere and it seemed simply impossible. But I found it, it was possible, and there was an incredible view into the valley below where the water fell several hundred feet beneath me.

I really like this region but the heat is very intense and there are so many biting bugs so it seems good to leave soon. I'm meeting Jenny at the airport in a few days and I can't wait!

Cascanueces

Back in San José. It's strange to be back here after 2 months. I guess I should count myself lucky for not having to come back here sooner as it's the main transportation hub in the country. A lot has happened in the last week or so. I made it to Punta Mona with little mishap--well, less than would be expected on a hike through the jungle with unmarked trails with our entire packs in ankle- and calf-deep mud with a map drawn by someone who had attempted it, gotten lost, and was later told the way by someone else. After about 2 hours of hiking through muddy, mosquito-infested trails, Emily and I came upon a farm. It didn't really seem like the right place, but I assumed that there weren't very many residences out there. I asked the guy working on a shed, "¿Dónde estamos?" to which he replied "Punta Mona", sealing any doubts I had about the place. He seemed a little agitated by our presence and asked us to wait down on the beach for the dueños to come back in about an hour. So we went down to the beach, skinny dipped for awhile, ate our "lunch" (oreos, crackers, peanut butter) and climbed back up to the farm. The same guy came back and seemed even more agitated. After a long series of awkward questions, we finally determined we were in the wrong place and that the farm we were searching for was farther down the trail. When asked the location of something, who gives the geographical feature? I found it hilarious but the guy didn't even crack a smile. He pointed us down the trail. Another hour of slogging through mud, but even deeper, wetter, stickier. At one point Emily's shoes were sucked into the mud and she had to a) balance rather gracefully to avoid tumbling over with the weight of her bag and b) walk in her socks in the mud to extract her shoes (with several loud sucking sounds). This was also hilarious and I did my best to avoid that area. We finally arrived in Punta Mona (the actual organic farm, not the geographical feature which we had been hiking on already for several hours).

I spent two days at Punta Mona, during which it rained on and off the entiretime. I had a great time, though. It's an organic farm which is sustainable and mostly self-reliant. Basically, a commune of a bunch of hippies from the US and Canada who wanted to escape our sociopoliticaleconomic system. Communal, vegetarian meals (absolutely amazing) with produce from the farm, yoga at 6am on an open wooden platform from which you can hear the jungle, the ocean, the rain, the birds, the howler monkeys. I would have stayed longer but the weather was terrible and I was getting tired of staring out at the beautiful Caribbean through a sheet of rain. The hike out was less eventful, took about half the time because they lent us rubber boots. It would have been impossible otherwise because of the (even) increased mud from several days of constant rain. I saw many red dart frogs on the trail.

I spent two nights in Puerto Viejo, hoping that the weather would clear. One day was mostly sunny with several unannounced downpours. I did manage a bit of beach time. That night, the last night there, I was awoken at 2am to painfully loud reggaeton and lots of shouting. I was a bit disoriented and it took a few minutes to realize that there was a man outside shouting about how he had a right to do what he wanted in his own home, etc. I went out to the balcony to see what the fuss was and everyone from the hostal was out there too. Some guy (stoned? as the Norwegian girls suggested because they had never seen someone high before; drunk, more likely) was outside at the entrance of the hostal yelling and shaking the bars while several of the ticos staying at the hostal were trying to reason with him (I have no idea where the owners were: not where they should have been, caring for their hostal). We were all peering down the stairs when there was a gunshot. Mass exodus of gringos and europeos back to the dorm room. We all got in bed, absolutely shocked and completely unsure of what to do. Not that there was much to do besides stay in the dorm room and listen to his music. A little while later, some dumb American staying in a different room went out to the balcony and threw a bottle at his house, hitting the tin roof and making a really loud noise. The music stopped and we all waited to see what would happen. The guy retaliated by throwing several things (bottles?) at our tin roof. Loud, but not that scary as they were obviously not gun shots. Obvious to me but the two Norwegian girls ran to my side of the room and threw themselves under my bed and the one next to it. Eventually some women outside started arguing with the man and he turned the music off. The Norwegian girls climbed out and went to bed. All nine of us in the dorm left the next morning.

Nothing so eventful here in San José. Yesterday I went to the Museo de Arte y Diseño Contemporáneo where I stumbled upon a "summer festival" and so got to see the National Symphonic Orchestra last night for free. I haven't seen an orchestra in years and this one was really good. They played about 9 pieces, among them 2 from the Nutcracker (Cascanueces--is it Christmas?), 2 from Harry Potter (yeah, I don't get it either), and several Costa Rican songs during which everyone around me cheered and shouted a bunch.

I'm happy to be out of the rain and looking forward to impending trips to Arenal, Monteverde, Irazú, Liberia.

2 water taxis, 4 buses and 3 border crossings

I'm back in Costa Rica after 2 water taxis, 3 buses and 3 border crossings (as the title suggests--I'm waiting for the 4th bus currently) today. Three times across the border because on the first trip across the rickety bridge there was no one on the Panamanian side whose job seemed to be stamping passports. So the jerk official on the Costa Rican side made me return to Panama for a stamp (this time with a line pointing to the obscure office), thus making me cross that stupid bridge between the two countries three times. It's obviously old and has oddly placed planks and is filled with people, so the multiple crossings made the whole situation even more annoying. I'm coming from Isla Bastimentos in Bocas del Toro, which is highly preferable to Isla Colón, the main island there. It's so strange to go from absolute tourist trap (albeit with excellent Indian food) with 40 hotels to an island with no cars or roads where the nightlife is nonexistent and the "street" is quiet by 9pm. There was a consensus among all the travellers on Bastimentos as to how horrible Bocas Town on Isla Colón was. A bunch of 20-year-olds Americans who can't drink at home so they come here to form little cliques in the hostal. Very strange. I also had some amazing food on Bastimentos. There's a Thai restaurant run by an American man and Thai woman up this slippery, muddy slope into the jungle. It was delicious--as I had been lacking Thai food for 2 months now. I also had some of the best fish of my life: red snapper with a "Caribbean sauce". I don't even know: riquísimo. I met some pretty cool people there, too. Three Texans who had graduated from UT Austin (Texas, I know, scary but) who basically convinced me to go to that university instead of the one in Montreal. I am just kidding but I've had great luck with finding out about possible grad schools while I've been here. Saw a British guy I'd met a couple weeks ago in Boca Brava. Three hilarious Germans who are in Panama studying bugs and other creep critters who taught an enthralled audience about various tropical diseases we had never heard of (Chagas disease, anyone?) and how long we could go before we lost a limb or our life after various types of snakes bit us. The mating habits of small, introduced lizards. The weather wasn't great and the beaches weren't very accessible but I really enjoyed myself.

So, back in expensive Costa Rica. It's going to be a shock, I'm sure. Getting used to this currency again... I'm going to miss Panama. I loved the country and especially some of the food. Ceviche (also found in CR), hojaldres (fried dough which sounds kinda gross but excellent), rice and beans with coconut milk (also CR I think), various type of fresh juices (superior to CR), that "Caribbean sauce". I wish I could have spent more time here and gone further south/east. I'm excited to be back here too; tomorrow Emily and I will attempt to hike in to Punta Mona, something of a communal organic farm where someone we met a long time ago now is staying. I do hope we don't get bitten by a terciopelo or get lost in the jungle!