My friend, Max.

So I have this friend. He has a really long, complicated name. So let's just call him 'Max' for short.

Okay, okay, I'm not going to lie, he's not really a friend. He's more of an acquaintance. We've known each other since probably December, and have learned to co-exist in the same, small space. But i've got to be honest, he's not the best kind of acquaintance. He's some what of a moocher. He's been mooching some really important things from me since we met, and creating a lot of abnormality in my life. And even worse, he has a really big family, and they all mooch off me too. They've gotten under my skin…deep into my insides, and I can never seem to get rid of them. In fact, now that I think about it, Max is more of an enemy than an acquaintance.

Tomorrow I'm going to seek help - professional help, to figure out how to get rid of such negative influences in my life. We can only hope that the treatment will work.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted.

But for now, here's a picture of him:

Oh, and by the way, his real name is Endolimax Nana. Asi es la vida.

The View From the Top

It didn't matter that I had just hiked for 8 hours straight, up 8,000 feet, or that I was drenched in sweat, chilled, achey, and sun burnt. All of that was washed away by the engulfment of crisp, thin mountain air; the breathtaking views of rolling emerald peaks and mystical-looking lakes; the small 100-square-foot, rocky peak I was standing on at what felt like the top of the world - one of five people at the highest point in Costa Rica at that very moment. They washed all the discomfort away.

I could have been anywhere in the world at that moment. The lushness of the rolling landscape resembling places like Ireland, Switzerland, Mt. Kilimanjaro. My mind went wild on a mythical odyssey, a silent, personal reverie. But I was here, on top of Mt. Chirripo, the highest peak of Costa Rica and the second highest in Central America. And at that moment, I was so thankful for everything - everything that had allowed me to be at that place, in that moment of time.

It all began eight, long hours earlier, just at the break of day, where just enough light in the sky paved our way up the trail. The first kilometer, called The Thermometer, was just that. It warmed us up quickly giving us a omen of the hours to come. It didn't get much easier, minus a nice half of a kilometer or so on a leaf-lined trail with dense, deciduous trees, stepping stones, and wooden plank bridges just before kilometer seven - the Llano Bonito resting lodge where one could fill up on water, take a break and enjoy a snack - also known as the half way point.

The trail ascended rapidly, giving us a satisfying view rather quickly. In and out of the trees, up and down, in between rocks and stones, the trail wound. The last two hours we were out of the trees, above them, exposed to the bare sun, creating a slight burn on only the right side of our body. Kilometer 11, "The Burns," was intense. It's that point where you can't stop because you know you are so close, but also at the point where you just want to collapse over. All you can do is muster up the strength to keep going because you know that good things (and rest) lie ahead. At about kilometer 14, after ascending steeply up, you reach the top of a small valley and what one sees at that point, looking down into the valley, must always be enshrouded in a heavenly light from above with a golden glow - the albergue, or lodge, where people stay the night. And no, that's not the summit. There's still two hours to go till the summit.

So, upon arrival at the lodge, we momentarily collapsed, ate some fuel, changed our sweat-soaked socks, lightened our packs, and kept on trudging up towards the top. With it being only noon, we figured the summit is a doable goal for the day, where as most people choose to go up early the next morning, we decided to beat the crowds and go that afternoon. A moderate hike ensued, but as we neared the top, it became steep, narrow, rocky, and quite elevated. Finally we had reached the point where what we had worked for was beginning to truly pay off. About 200 meters from the top, the trail turned to a bit of a staircase, having to use your hands and feet to climb up the rocky face. The summit sign was in eye's distance, nearly directly over head.

Finally, we summited! A graffiti-carved sign marked the highest point in Costa Rica, the wind blew, light clouds swept in and out of the valley, and the sun shined through them. Silence, beauty, friends, peace. What more could one ask for?

A warm, home-cooked soup, and a good night's rest lied ahead. Dreams abounded that night in my sleeping bag in the lodge.

The following day, we took a detour through Cloud Bridge Reserve on the way back down. No photos to share from this, as I was in extreme pain from too-much "downhill" motion, and had no desire to lug my camera around my neck. Unfortunate, because this was one of the best parts of the whole trip. PRISTINE beauty. Different beauty from the summit. But I have it in my mind forever, the true experience, engrained. And to me, that's the best type of photo - a personal one, one that is yours to keep, your secret.

I eventually recovered. A few days later….still experiencing sore quads and calves. But to me, it was all completely worth it…one of those experiences that I won't forget.

I plan on doing it again next year, when the season opens up next November. So, if you're in Costa Rica, come along for the ride.

Get a 'Clue'

I think it was Colonel Mustard in the study with the wrench. Or perhaps it was Professor Plum in the dining room with the revolver. Or Mrs. Peacock in the billiard room with the candlestick. No, no, wait, wait. I know what it was. It was the elusive Costa Rican "insect" on the trail in Copey with the stinger.

And the victim was me.

The story went a little something like this:

I go out for my daily morning walk/hike. As I'm hoofing it uphill, all the possibilities of things happening in the universe collide into the perfect moment where a mystery insect and my chin run into each other in that wide open space of the vast mountain terrain. A rapid, angry buzzzzzzzzzz was let out, with a sharp sting, and an instinctual, sudden brush of the hand by me on my chin. "Okay, so I was stung by a bee," I think. "I'm tough, it's happened before, I'll keep going." So i continue to hoof it up the trail. On the way down, minus a little swelling on my chin, I'm feeling good. So I decide to run. I return to near my house, and think I'm feeling extra good, I'm going go a little bit longer today. So I turn down another trail and head off running. Little by little I begin to feel my chin swelling larger and larger into a nice tender balloon-like state. "Okay," I think, "I better hurry back and at least take some benadryl…or at least get back to be near some houses in case anything happens to me."

Thankfully, I make it back home, frantically search my Peace Corps medical kit for anything, grab some ice from the freezer, grab my homeopathic sting stop and apply all. Immediately. Little by little, I begin to feel rather funny. My forehead is breaking out in bumps and swelling. My ears are swelling, my eyes are swelling shut. My neck is breaking out in redness. I jump in the shower and notice that my entire torso, hips and thighs are absolutely ONE. BIG. RED. WELT….itchy as ever, like an ugly red landscape of distorted little knolls.
Oh dear.
In and out of the shower.
Call my mother, the nurse.

"Uhhhh, Mooommmmm? So I was out walking and I got stung by……"
"Oh no," says Mom.
"Weeeelllll, it get's worse……."

Before I knew it, I hung up with her and considered my options as to how to make it to the nearest medical clinic….20 minutes down a steep mountain road, the next bus an hour and a half away still. Quickly, I call my friend Seidy who has a car. She drops everything and we head down to the nearest town to the free, public clinic.

At this point, I resemble a cartoon character…my face nearly unrecognizable to even myself. I put on my shades (my only disguise), and muster up all my will power to not itch my entire body raw on the way down. I walk right in the clinic, and they immediately rush me to the back, question the series of events in Spanish, and stick a needle in the ol' buttocks. They escort me to another room, put me on oxygen, and stick my arm with an IV.

"How long will this take?"
"Oh about two hours…you'll need to stay here for observation after too" the friendly nurse replies.

Midway through I get very, very sleepy. Two benadryl and now this (the Costa Rican version of liquid benadryl) but heading directly into my veins. I could have fallen asleep right there in the institutional, metal, not-at-all-comfortable, social services chair. Thank god I had Seidy there to keep me company.

A couple hours later, my face returned to me. And my skin returned to a nice pretty peach color, and I was on my way with a couple prescriptions in hand. I didn't have to pay, they never asked for my insurance card, and I didn't have to fill out a ton of paperwork. Completely the opposite experience of the US medical system. Michael Moore sure had some obvious rationale to make the documentary, Sicko. Public health care is amazing! Then I proceeded to buy four prescriptions for only eleven dollars (it would have been free had I opted to wait in the long line at social services, instead I went to the regular pharmacy). Wow. Costa Ricans really care about the right to health care. Or at least it seemed so today.

So, that's how the story went. And although the exact criminal still remains unknown, and will probably never be caught, the weapon and the place are clear as water. G-U-I-L-T-Y. And that's enough for me.

And what also is enough for me is to think about all the times that all the possibilities of things happening in the universe DIDN'T collide into the perfect moment where a mystery insect and my chin ran into each other. Those moments are infinite. So, I guess one out of infinity isn't too bad for chances. Asi es la vida.

New Year, Same Juxtaposted Life

A new year is upon us. 2010.

This year, this March, more specifically, I will complete one year in country. It’s hard to believe. Time has passed quicker than the blink of the eye, and has passed slower than molasses. Oftentimes I feel like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show, lost in a life that is routine, predictable, planned, and protected. It’s a time warp here, and it’s a bubble, just like Jim Carrey’s. I wonder if this is every Peace Corps Volunteer’s experience. Aside from the occasional glance at the New York Times online when I can get to functional Internet, I have no idea what is going on outside my bubble. I barely heard about the earthquakes in Haiti, I have no idea what Obama is up to these days, nor did I know about the State of the Union until the day before. I feel so ignorant about world news. Instead, I hear when the soccer field opens for the season, I learn my neighbor has a fig tree in her yard, I discover a new fruit, I hear of Raquel getting into college, I learn the first day of school was changed to a week later, I learn Rocio and Mario got new chickens.

Life here is both funny and serious, peculiar yet ordinary, stress-free yet demanding, uncomplicated yet complex, ambiguous yet incredibly clear, spontaneous yet remarkably calculated. It’s a juxtaposed world of duplets I live in.

And the month of January began in very similar fashion, back and forth between my comfortable North American style life and my adopted other, temporary life.

I rang in the New Year on the Pacific coast, asleep in my hotel, The Pelican. I was there for a wedding of the Peace Corps assistant country director, chock full of out-of-town guests thrilled to attend a destination wedding in Costa Rica. Following that I returned back to my site to “work” for a week. Side note: my town is somewhat of a ghost town -a sleepy mountain town, the Yin of the Yin and Yang, and during summer vacation, even more so ghostly. So by “work” I mean stroll to the local corner store, talk with the people, teach an English class, garden, sleep a sufficient 8 hours a night, and spend a lot of alone time.

Then a week later arrived the Yang to my Yin – my parents, and two weeks of traveling and showing them Costa Rica – in luxury, might I add, something I do not know of this country. The trip was without parallel. How do I sum up two weeks of occurrences, comings and goings, escapades, and mishaps in one blog post? Sure, I could regale you with tales of how we almost got a piece of luggage stolen right off the car seat with us in the car, or how freezing cold wind and rain in a funky mountain town of Costa Rica forced us to sleep in our coats and hats, or how we walked hundreds of feet high in the jungle tree tops on hanging bridges, or swam with schools of fish in the mighty Pacific, or how we ate fresh seafood nearly every day, or how we witnessed herds of both White-Faced Capuchin monkeys and Howler monkeys on the prowl for food as wallflowers from our eye-level, villa balcony, or how we traveled over 900 miles on pot-hole covered roads only to find that Toad Hall (“it was written in Lonely Planet”) was permanently closed, or how we learned on our Costa Rican coffee tour that your $4 latte at Starbucks is worth every penny of it, or how we sometimes felt like we were in Germany due to the plethora for German-owned places, or how we got lost almost every day oftentimes finding ourselves in slums or seemingly unsafe areas with our fancy rental car, or how we turned the wrong way down one way roads a time or two, or how I made my parents help teach my English class, or how my parents learned the Pura Vida lifestyle of the Costa Ricans, or how we ate fresh tropical fruit every morning, or how my parents were both simply shocked and humbled by this tiny little country. But then I thought, ‘Naaaaah, that wouldn’t be so interesting for you.’ So instead, I just decided to post some pictures.

Arenal and the hanging bridges:

My front yard in Copey:

Coffee tour in my site!

Breakfast all the time:

Drove so many miles, only to find out it was permanently closed:

Relaxing over the Pacific:

Getting ready to relax in the Pacific:


And so now my parents are back safely in their North American home, and I’m back to my juxtaposed life, back in my bubble, waiting for something interesting to happen. Perhaps the corner food store will put everything on half price tomorrow, or Carlos Andrés will buy a new bicycle. But until that does, I’m just living my simple, humble life, grateful for a new year….waiting, thinking, being.