Frogger Goes To CR

Photos Are Up

pwu — Sat, 8 Nov 2008 15:15:00 GMT

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Gallery: Costa Rica Photos

pwu — Sat, 8 Nov 2008 12:39:00 GMT

Buggers!

pwu — Sun, 2 Nov 2008 11:42:00 GMT

Whatever was bugging me continued to bother me—bed bugs, something in the sheets, something in the air—I dunno... Whatever it was, it put a damper on my experience. I stopped enjoying my trip, and when I realized that it became clear that it was time to come home. The journey from Montezuma to the airport took 9 hours that began in a van, transferred to a boat, then a taxi, and finally ended with a bus. Eventually I made my way back to the states.

Though I had to cut my journey short and didn’t plant any trees, I still came away with more than my share of stories and experiences. I figured I must have come in contact to something akin to poison ivy. The little bites were actually my body's reaction to poison in the form of little blisters. I saw alternative way of living outside of the rat race. And I learned to make a mean pot of bean! Of course life experiences do not end here, but the Costa Rica experience does.

Montezuma

pwu — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 11:34:00 GMT

Montezuma was a cute little beach town, touristy nonetheless. I came here because I wanted to be right on the beach and away from the dampness of the forest. It was also en route to the next volunteering place. I checked into a hostel with beachfront view and tried to put the bug-biting issue behind me. Exhausted from the journey itself and the lack of sleep during the past couple of nights, I went to sleep even before sun down. To my disappointment, the night was peppered with occasional itchy and scratchy, and I woke up to inflamed feet-- red, swollen and uncontrollably itchy. My fingers were also starting to show these little red bumps. Despite the cleanly appearance of the hostel, I thought perhaps it still had bed bugs. In attempt to end this madness, I forked over the big bucks to stay somewhere really nice up the street, hoping for a bugfree bed. For the next three days, I stayed at a beautiful resort, Amor De Mar, right on the beachfront. Colorful hammocks and palm trees frame the manicured lawn overlooking the ocean. Best of all, it appeared to be very clean.

During the day, I tried to do what people do in a beach town during the day—lay out or walk along the beach. I assumed that all the beaches in Costa Rica would be as nice as Uvita, but sadly, that was not the case. The beaches here were rocky, with more debris and trash washed ashore. To get to white sandy postcard-like beaches, one would have to walk an hour or so to get to it. Booo…

As far as food goes, I found there were a variety in cuisines from around the world–mostly western foods, but I did find a “soda,” small local eatery that served casadas and freshly blended fruit drinks at very decent prices. I went there at least once a day and enjoyed my tropical fruit beverages.

Traveling

pwu — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 11:29:00 GMT

It’s hard to travel around Costa Rica in general. Getting anywhere typically requires several transfers and takes 6 to 12 hours. Transferring between buses is not as easy as getting off at one station and get on the next bus when it comes. It usually requires taking a taxi to a different bus station in order to make the transfer. In this light, I considered my journey from Cascada Verde to Montezuma relatively easy due to fewer transfers. Two buses, a taxi, a boat ride, and 6 and a half hours later I arrived in Montezuma.

The Itch

pwu — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 15:39:00 GMT

The working schedule is chill; however, the perpetual dampness, being right next to a creek, and the invasive buggers on my bed became an issue. I’m not sure which is the cause and which is the effect. All I know is that together they became a big issue. My feet were getting bit, but only in my sleep. Little by little, more and more, I was waking to itchy feet. Whatever these bites were, they were very itchy and they seemed to be inset repellent proof. My feet were inflamed, on fire. I could not stop itchy and scratching. I was scared of going to sleep. It became a waking nightmare. I slept in the hammock in the terrace during the last couple of night. I couldn't stand it anymore. It is time to leave Cascada Verde.

Life in the Jungle

pwu — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 15:36:00 GMT

A typical day in the jungle is to wake up at sunrise, some time between 5 and 5:30AM. Have breakfast at the terrace that looks over the jungle. Enjoy the morning calm with bird chirping and a book. We would work between 8:30-ish and Noon-ish. By noon, the sun would be beaming and I would be dripping with my own sweat, poison (inset repellent,) and sun block. It would be time to get out of the stanky work clothes and clean myself up. I’d have lunch or descend down the mountain into town for the market. Whenever I do head into town, I know I have to do it quickly, because invariably, it would rain in the afternoon. (I would hate to get caught in the rain again, because there is so much moisture in the air that clothes hardly ever dry.) I’d read until dinner or until time to prepare dinner. We would have dinner around 6-ish, right about when the sun sets. Clean up. Bedtime 9-ish. I dig a life that revolves around the sun.

Noel

pwu — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 15:33:00 GMT

An Indian-Canadian showed up in a taxi at Cascada Verde as a guest. Noel did not do his research and was in for a surprise. Noel is all about himself. He talked about his pension, his plan to retire at 55, and his job. It turned out he had wanted to do an all inclusive cruise, but since those package deals are usually quoted based on double occupancy and he could not find anyone to go with him. He thought visiting Costa Rica alone might be cheaper. How does a gas-and-oil drilling business, beacon-and-eggs eating kinda guy from British Columbia fit in a vegan, raw food eating commune? We, the volunteers, invited him to sit with us during dinner his first night. As far as conversation goes, people are generally excited and interested in the upcoming U.S. presidential election, and thought I would miss the election all together. I said I voted already with an absentee ballot. They were interested in who I voted for, to which I replied it’s none of your biz-wax, politely of course. Noel jumped in and said that he likes Palin (nothing about McCain) and would vote for her. She’s good for Alaska. Good for drilling. Good for business. And good for me. Tension filled the air.

Not My Kitchen

pwu — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 15:23:00 GMT

We’ve been having delicious meals made by different volunteers each night. Presentation ranged in color and flavor. Everything made from scratch, even the salad dressing, and salads were typically harvested from the garden right before consumption. Dinner conversation generally revolved around cooking tips and appreciation for the good meal. When it was my turn, I wanted to make gallo pinto, the traditional rice and beans, with a side of veggies. I chose to make rice and beans because I wanted to learn how to make a mean pot of beans from scratch, rather than relying on the cans as I had been in the past (shame shame…). I did not want to harvest the veggies from the garden, because at this point, I was uncertain which plants I could and could not use. To be safe, I picked up a cabbage from the market earlier in the day for stir fry. I started the beans the day before it was “my night,” and judiciously followed the instructions from the bean masters on site. When it came time to prepare for dinner, I noticed that a pot of coconut rice was already made from the morning not yet touched. So I got permission from the lady who made it to have it for dinner. Now I just had to figure out how I would heat up this pot of rice, given that we did not have a microwave. Mind you, this kitchen is old school. It's a gas stove of two burners. A lighter or match is required to get the fire started once the gas is turned on. Having limited experience with this, I tended to be slow in getting the fire going as I was always afraid of burning my hand. There I was thinking, one burner to heat up the rice and another burner for the beans that’s been stewing... OK, everything was going according to plan and under control. Then the lady decided to eat the rice with her son, while I was chopping cabbage. Before I knew it, I was left with half a pot of rice, certainly not enough for everyone at dinner. The beans were not quite done yet, the rice needs to be heated up and more rice and cabbage still need to be cooked… Amidst of everything I was trying to do, I ended up putting too much water in the rice to cook on the stovetop, so it became porridge. The beans were not as soft was they could’ve been. The cabbage wasn’t as delicious as the veggies from the garden. And the lady and her son decided not to have dinner but did not tell me. It was a dinner consumed in complete silence, a stark contrast between the night before and the night after. In my defense, I’d like to say it was NOT MY KITCHEN.

The Volunteer Quarter

pwu — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 15:15:00 GMT

The volunteer quarter makes me feel like a chicken kept in a chicken cage. While there are actual walls defining each room, there are no fully enclosed walls separating the inside from the outside. The wall-like barriers are roughly three feet tall, with bamboo sticks tall enough to reach the ceiling to fill the void every 8 to 12 inches or so. I later learned that the bamboo sticks were an after thought. The word on the trail is that the Nicaraguan day laborers come to CR to do the jobs that the locals don’t want to do (ie construction) and are often accused of stealing stuff in and around neighborhood. Apparently, the volunteer quarter experienced some theft in the past, hence the attempt to enclose the quarter. The pitched roof and overhang were also made from bamboo sticks. The space, as far as I could see, was full of lines made from bamboo sticks and I couldn’t help but feel trapped in a cage.

A creek meanders behind the volunteer quarter, right next to my “window.” The melodic sound of water flows downstream without ever missing a beat. Idyllic as it may seem, I was weary of the mossy situation. When I approached the bed with some sheets after being shown this as my space, I noticed trails of ants and tiny spiders were busying themselves on the mattress to who knows where. With a big sigh, I brushed them off as much as I could and hoped for the possibility of not getting eaten alive. Hung above the bed was an old mosquito net, so old and worn that it had big holes in them. At least I came prepared…so I thought. I slide the old one aside and set up my own. I came to find out that night that sleeping in a mosquito net diminishes air flow and could be somewhat suffocating.

The Garden

pwu — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 08:18:00 GMT

Hans, Yvonne (another German who showed up a couple of days ago) and I were given a tour of the eatable garden by a Turkish woman, Ursula. She showed us which plants and flowers are eatable, pointed out the fruit trees and different herbs, and how to harvest them. We ate the plants as we went along. These plants have so many flavors on their own! Many are tangy while others are citrusy. One leaf was as pungent as a clove of garlic! Then we were put to work. For the next three hours, we weeded the garden, cleared the pathways and the planters. The plants have over grown during the last month and a half she’s been gone.

The Commune

pwu — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 08:17:00 GMT

I some how have stumbled into “Little Germany.” There are many people from Germany here in this commune. Then there is Lori, a dude from the UK, Jenny from Canada, and Gustav from Texas (I think there are two dots over the letter “a”. I can’t seem to make that sound with my throat. Sorry dude.) As I mentioned earlier, several of them were going to Panama. I don’t know if I will ever see them again. My first night here, they made pasta with alfredo sauce, salad from the garden, and banana mush for dessert. We also had wine from the box. Salute! The commune where I didn’t have to do anything is great!

Caught in the Rain

pwu — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 08:01:00 GMT

Jungle living was a little too still for me. I descended back into town for a coffee. For $1.60, I got a freshly grounded pot of coffee, brewed on order. I sat in the shop for a while, enjoyed this pot of strong coffee that appeared to be endless. As soon as I paid for it, rain started to come down. And only came down harder. I had no choice but to brave a heroic return, so I won’t get stuck in the low-land for the night. Needless to say, by the time I made it back, I was drenched. I’ve never heard thunder so loud and seen lighten so bright that turned the forest white for that second. The rain continued for the rest of the night. That's what I get for not sitting still.

Cascada Verde

pwu — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 07:58:00 GMT

Tugged away in the jungle is this glorious tree house, like Noe’s but ten times bigger. It's an eco-retreat and takes in volunteers to help around the organic farm. Organic garden is more like it, as I haven't seen any animals. I think it’s totally luxurious because it has electricity and running water. Mirko, from Germany, runs the place and the volunteers. He put my in the attic of the guest quarter because the volunteer quarter was full, but only for one night as five volunteers would be leaving the next day for visit Panama for five days.

The distance from the pitched roof to the floor of this attic was so short that even I have to bend forward some. While I can’t imagine how other traveling gringos would be able to handle it, I came to like it, even if it were for one night. It had a gorgeous view of the jungle (no windows) and in the distant background, you can see the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. When the sun sets, the sky turns orange with bright yellow and orange rays penetrating through the foliage of the dark green forest. Besides the songs sang by the animals and crickets, it is quiet. Everything seems to be at a still, even time.

Hans

pwu — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 07:56:00 GMT

While still sitting in the courtyard of Tucan Hotel, an old gentleman approached me and asked if I was going to Cascada Verde. I said Yes!

We ascended into the jungle together, about 1.24 miles. Hans, frail old guy, from Germany, has been traveling in Central America during the last 15-20 years. Ecuador is his favorite. He makes trinkets and sells them at the market as a way to make a living. Now he’s in CR, with his little dog, who gets drugged before boarding the bus so that he can keep the dog close to him.

The Escape (Cont)

pwu — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 07:53:00 GMT

Peggy-the-no-good-farmer decided not to return to Noe’s commune with Chris and Amanda. Actually, I told him I wasn’t coming back when we were leaving. It didn’t go quite well with him, considering he assumed I was going to stay for a week and asked to pay up front. Well, this no-good-farmer still has commitment issues, and paying a week in advance would be cramping my style too much (talk to the hand).

Somewhere in that conversation about me not coming back to the farm, he told us a story that began with “This one time…”
The guys working at the CR customs didn’t use to check bags all that often. So this one time, he packed a beautiful purple bong along with a traveling pipe, his favorite-green frog with buggy eyes that sprang and bounced while he smoked. He got nervous when they stopped him. It turned out they didn’t care for those things, they confiscated his little bag of fruit seeds. Hummm… “fruits seeds,” I’d imagine so…

Truth be told, the benign-full of stories-Noe was just a little too cookoo for for me.

La Playa

pwu — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 07:48:00 GMT

String of beaches line the southwest coast of CR. I don’t know how the locals tell where one begins and one ends. There are that many. They are pristine, warm, and softly sandy. Best of all, we had it all to ourselves. I only saw a few people at a far distance. With my “pervi gift” from my pervi sempis, I saw from a distance that a few horses came horsing around briefly and left.

The sun is fierce at the equator. I felt the rays on my back as I raveled in water like a sea otter. The high-altitude SPF 40 and reapplication didn’t quite do the trick. See pictures of my instant tan. (Pictures will come when I have a faster internet connection.)

Tucan Hotel

pwu — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 07:44:00 GMT

As far as hostels go, Tucan Hotel is a five star. It is clean, friendly, and full of character. The courtyard was lit with lanterns, some made from sea shells, others made from bold, colorful rice papers. To top it off, they are wrapped and/or draped with yarn, as if Emeril was here and said BAMB! Tucan Hotel epitomizes the sleepy feel of a beachy town. There is no surprise that Tre, who runs the place, talks so slow as if he is permanently high.

By the time we arrived in Uvita, it was already dark and raining. So we checked in to Tucan and got a room with bath, since there were three of us. We ate in the courtyard with a bottle of wine, with soft Latin music playing against the pattering of rain on the tin rooftop over our heads. It was a nice way to end the night, except I thought our room smelled like the bathroom the whole night. DUDE, what the big deal is about Americans liking to get a room with bath anyway?

The Farm and the Escape

pwu — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 02:15:00 GMT

This morning, I composted, fed the animals, used a machette to cut banana leaves to feed the goat and the sheeps. This may sound like a lot of work, but in reality, it didn't take very long, maybe 90 minutes or so. Noe{s farm is not an industrial farm, just a few of the essentials. For example, I only needed to cut down 6 or 7 banana leaves to feed the goat and the sheeps, just enough for them for one day, not an entire forest. In the afternoon, we got ready to Uvita where there are pristine beaches 2 hours south of San Isidro. A super drunk guy on the bus took a liken to Amanda and I. He{d pass out, wake up, ask us the same questions, and pass out again. Right before he got off the bus, he threw up. Lovely. Good thing we only had another 30 minutes to go.

Noe and His Farm

pwu — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 02:11:00 GMT

Little enthusiastic old dude. Expat who came in the 60{s and fell in love with CR. He still thinks it{s 1969. He has a pocket alarm clock that reminds him that something needs to be done at that moment, but doesn{t quiet tell him what. I don{t know how he knows judging by the way he runs around, often like a chicken with his head cut off. In my first two hours of interacting with him, I found myself telling him the alarm rang, your cell phone is ringing, your house phone is ringing. No wonder he never heard Orlando calling.

It was torrential rain by the time my bus reached San Isidro. Lo and behold, he was waiting at the bus station for me. He asked if we could wait a little bit for Amanda and Chris. Sure. What have I got do with. But Amanda and Chris never showed. I got into his little Toyota that looks much more like a Jeep Wrangle, with the back seats actually facing each other. He said, Don{t let this little guy fool you, it{s got a brand new engine last years. Like me, I got a brand new hip last year. (WTF?!) Conversations with him often ran something of this sort, where he{d slip in a thing or two about his crazy past.

In this disconnected fashion of a conversation, we off-roaded to his farm in torrential rain, the most rain CR has received in 60 years! I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing...against everything I{ve been taught about not getting into strangers car, home, etc. What if he turned out to some crazy serial killer? What he I get poisoned? What if Chris and Amanda are not real? There I hopped on my usual train of paranoid, which i typically don{t let you know I{m incredibly worried about what{s to come. He said to make myself comfortable and started cooking. He was making leek soup and rice. You like rice? Jasmine rice okay? It{s the best.

Oh, how relieved was I when Chris and Amanda showed. A neighbor{s son Taiva, from Florida, came over for dinner too. By the dimly lit dinner table, we ate our vegetable leek soup, with rice and beans. Just as we ended the conversation about what weird foods we{ve had traveling, I found extra portein in my veggie soup. There lies in a moth inside up.

I now eat raw garlic by the cloves. Even though I brought plenty of insect repellent, I{m still getting bit here and there. I{m doing everything I can to keep those little buggers away! Chris is also a poor victim. His skin is inflamed with bites as well as his own scratching. Noe hooked him up with some antihistamine and slipped in about how he used to take vellum to calm the biting down (WTF?) Now he doesn{t get bit all that much, and when he{s bothered he takes the antihistamine that he shared with Chris. This was all during the first few hours after I arrived at the farm. Then there was movie night freshly pirated--still playing in the theater. Even though it was in English, I had no idea what I saw. I eventually fell asleep after my coconut popsicle.