OUR JOURNAL

Brian's Journal- Jan 16th- Thursday- San Francisco - Houston - San Jose - Tamarindo

Molly and I spent three lovely hours on the floor of the George Bush International Airport (trademark R) snoozing and waiting for our connecting flight to San Jose, Costa Rica. Both of us were a bit surprised and disappointed in the lack of Beer Cozies in Texas. We had hoped to bring four cozies (or coozies, if you're not in to the whole brevity thing) for the purpose of fighting the eventual warmifmafying of beer in the tropics. It's a well known fact that a beer cozy is an essential asset to drinking beer at a sane rate in the tropics (without a weapon against the warm weather, one must drink beer in such an accelerated pace that becoming obscenely drunk, quickly, is an ever-present threat).

We arrived in San Jose without incident, and after only an hour in line, we collected our luggage and met Steve, Bb and Bubba outside. Steve and Bb had had a lovely day already of filling the poor little FJ40 Land Cruiser with enough food and supplies (heating oil, grain, beer) to feed...well, us. They don't have Costco down here, but they do have some large stores (such as "El Cost de Co") and I don't think it's just coincidence that Bubba's brakes gave up the ghost soon after. The result of which was that Steve and Bb had to pick us up from the airport in a fully-loaded FJ40. Three of us in the front, and Bb somewhere in the back, along with the surfboard and all our baggage somehow made it safely, albeit slowly, into town to pick up Sandy and start the long drive to the milkshake place (and later, Tamarindo).

It's a little known fact to us Nortes that Ticos love milkshakes (and Germans love David Hasselholf... it's a strange mixed up world.) In the mid-1950's a contingent of Quakers from the States came to Costa Rica in protest to our occupation of Korea (a country not known for having any dairy products worthy of mention, least of all milkshakes). Monteverde was settled by these fun-loving party animals, and voila: dairy products. (It should be noted that nowhere in my rambling about shakes will I share anything resembling fact or history.). The real point of this story is that half way between San Jose and Tamarindo, a distance of 150 miles that takes on average five hours to drive, there is a dairy outlet of sorts that offers dairy products straight from Monteverde. And with their offerings of good cheese and other milk-like substances, milkshakes. Really damn good milkshakes. Let me repeat that. Really damn good milkshakes.

Our convoy, Sandy and Bubba, stopped in Liberia about an hour short of our destination. Liberia is the biggest city in these parts, a whopping guess-timated 30,000 people. Big enough to have a beer outlet. Therefore, a damn good reason to stop; if I do say so my damn self. We finally arrived to a full-moon over the water in Tamarindo, a perfect end to a long journey. Molly and I had been traveling since 12:50 am; 20 hours. We found Ted and Jess waiting at the house (all whopping 500 square feet of it), and we all went out for a great late meal at the best restaurant we could find open... well, the only restaurant open. But it was pretty good.

Brian's Journal- Jan 17th-Friday-Tamarindo

While Steve and Bb went to work (suckers), Ted, Jess, Molly and I took off for Avellanas. It takes about 20 minutes to rattle and roll your way down the coast to the really great beach. Aside from one little bar and some palapas, it is mostly undeveloped. The break is fun, with several different sized waves to play on. Ted and I wasted no time paddling out, and within a few minutes I had ridden my first Costa Rican wave (and my third wave ever). Aside from the nice white sand, the cute little bar, and the fun waves... there is also an 800 lb pig. You won't believe me, that it's 800 lbs, so I won't bother trying to convince you; except to say, it really is 800 lbs.

Brian's Journal- Jan 18th-Saturday-Tamarindo

I slept a little uneasy after finding a scorpion on the bed (the insect, not one of the members of the Glam-Rock-Metal 80's band). I suppose this is common place by the snickering and outright laughter at my girlish shrieking. But, aside from National Geographic and Far Side comics, I have never seen a scorpion; therefore finding one in the room of which I am sleeping on the floor is somewhat disconcerting. So, for the people who laughed at me (and here I am not naming names, besides "Steve") f*** off. Those things are scary looking.

Surfed a bit in town and watched movies laying in the hammocks out front.

It should be mentioned here that Ted is proving to be a great cook. Several times now he has whipped up food for the entire gang that not only was of great taste... but more than adequate quantity. I mention the quantity because one of the first things Molly and I noticed about living with Steve and Bb: they never eat. I have never seen people become full off so little. This is nothing against their character as good people, to each their own. But having a voracious appetite myself, I find it hard to understand and nearly alarming to live with. In any case, the new call for meals lately has been, Leave it to Teddy. As in, "hey, who's cooking for breakfast?" "Leave it to Teddy"; or "Wow, this is great, who cooked?" "Leave it to Teddy to whip something out of nothing". Thanks for all the great food, Ted.

Ted, Jess, Molly and I headed down the coast to go camping. Unfortunately, we forgot to buy food before leaving Tamarindo. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, as there are quite a few small towns on the way down. Of note is a cute little town called "The 27th of April" (Did I mention that the address of the place we are staying at is, "Orange"?). We backtracked to Santa Cruz, where a huge festival and rodeo had engulfed the town. After a few wrong turns, we found a little bodega of sorts that was able to sell us some stale chips, warm cokes, and other essentials.

The beach camping spot that Ted and Jess led us to proved to be very pretty and aside from a few gravel bandits, pretty quiet. We set up camp, made a fire, and settled in for a nice night of beer, hammocks and Leave It to Teddy food.

Sometime around 10 pm I was walking back from the Cruiser and felt a piercing pain in my left foot. I jumped back and started yelling and dancing around. Upon investigating, we found two puncture marks in my foot. Spider? too big. Barbed wire? Too clean. Must have been a snake. Great. Here I am on a somewhat secluded beach on a third world country, at night... with a snake bite. The books we have say that reactions may include shortness of breath, sweating, clammy palms, rapid pulse. Great. Those are the exact reactions of anyone scared half out their mind when they know they have been bitten by a snake and are at least 2.5 hours from the nearest hospital.

The bite proved to be harmless beyond some pain and minor swelling. But I'll say this, I hate snakes.

Another great meal at "Leave it to Teddy's". We spent most of the time lounging and reading. I followed Ted out to play in the big waves... and didn't last long. Although we had long ago given up on Steve and Bb meeting us at the beach (both were busy and tired), we were awe struck by their night arrival just in time for dinner. Driving at night in the third world is never a good idea... and driving at night on gravel, rutted dirt roads to find a beach one has never visited is never a great idea. But with their amazing sense of direction, orienteering skills, and knowledge of local land marks they were able to track us down on a remote, deserted beach; at night. Of course, the GPS coordinates helped a bit too.

Brian's Journal- Jan 21st-Tuesday- Playa Frijolar - Tamarindo

"We've got a half pack a cigarettes, full tank of gas, it's [90 KM to Tamarindo], it's dark, we're wearing sunglasses... Hit it". Or at least that is how Molly and I felt when we found ourselves footloose and fancy-free. We were left behind by Steve who had to hightail it back to work; left at the camping beach to find out way back home (thank god for those bread-crumbs I had the forethought to drop). Granted, we were only about an hour from Tamarindo, the road was well-marked, and it wasn't dark... I still felt excited about driving around Costa Rica in a 28 year old Land Cruiser with no supervision. The excitement lasted a full 25 minutes or so, then the somewhat monotonous washboard roads lulled me into complacency.

Once home, Bb, Molly and I turned around and headed 30 minutes up the coast to Flamingo, a larger town that might not look out of place on say the Italian Riviera. In fact, if one were on a banana-hammock viewing safari along the western coast of Costa Rica, the highlight of the trip would be Flamingo. Our reason for visiting the unofficial banana-hammock capital of Guanacaste was not for out viewing pleasure, but rather to finally exchange our dollars (dolares) for colones (colones). The best part, in my esteemed opinion, about changing dollars (again, dolares) for colones (you know) is that you don't have to say anything. So for those of you that don't speak good spanish (espanol), and only speak english (ingles)... or for that matter ebonics (el ebonics) or jive (el jivo) or whatever... you don' t have to do anything more then walk up to the glass ("say it don't spray it") and slide your cold hard cash through the slot, give the teller a smile and nod (and a wink, if you're into that sort of thing) and collect your colones. Now would be a good time to have a wheel-barrow (carretilla) to cart your butt-load (carga de nalgas) of cash. The current exchange rate is about 385:1... so the 80 dollars I had was changed into something like 124,354,346 colones (or close, my math is a little rusty).

On the way back we stopped at the Sharkbite Deli. The only deli... in Central America (that's any good). It's run by three kids from Atlanta, and they can skin a pretty good sando. Not to mention the powerful A/C.

Brian's Journal- Jan 22nd- Wednesday-Tamararindo - Monteverde

Our (Molly and my) quest for milkshakes continued. And sloths in a cloud forest. Monteverde was our destination. At a distance of 150 KM (about 100 miles) our estimated driving time: 5 hours. While that seems excessive compared to the States, the scenery is 10 times better then sitting in traffic in the Bay Area. Outside of Liberia (Spanish for big town with a normal bank), pulled over on the shoulder to stretch my legs, we watched a van with huge speakers on the roof and a generator hanging off the back, pull into the small town. They soon fired up the speakers and began idling through the town. We looked at each other, "what the hell?" Our Spanish being at the level of a monkey, neither of us understood a word of what was coming out. We could only imagine, "Tonight only, the original Blues Brothers, rythmn and blues band, Carnegie Hall. Tonight! You! On the bike! You two girls!" Steve told me later that these vans are just spouting advertising. Pretty annoying actually.

The road to Monteverde is great... if it's purpose is to provide some sort of defense mechanism from tourists. It's pretty easy to find a t-shirt in town that says, "I survived the bus ride to Monteverde". Monteverde (Motto: Rain, Mmmmmm) is about 6000 feet, so the weather was cool. We were lucky enough to avoid any rain, and experienced an unbelievable sunset. In Monteverde, the sun sets over the Golfo de Nicoya, 30 miles away.

We stayed at the Manniken. For 30 bucks, we had a room with two beds, private bath, and continental breakfast. When I say, "Continental", I do not refer to the traditional breakfast found at Best Westerns and Hojo's worldwide; stale muffin and Sanka. The breakfast was fresh coffee, fruitplate, toast and jelly, and an omelet. And of the caliber of "Leave it to Teddy" no less. We left very happy and very full.

Arriving a bit late to join a guided tour of the cloud forest, we found ourselves led by Daniello. His love of the cloud forest was apparent in his accent and his funny little sayings. In a whispered voice, "The forest, she is like a woman, you must love her and treat her with respect." Within the first 15 minutes, we spotted a Quetzal, which apparently is the end all and be all of birds. No offense to all the professional bird watchers out there, but... no big whoop. To our entertainment, an overly-delighted tourist and apparent bird lover (if it's cold enough), was excited enough to blurt, "This... kicks.... ASS!!!"

Do not be surprised if t-shirts are soon available in Monteverde that read, "Monteverde Kicks Ass!!!", at which point, we will be able to document the eventual demise and destruction of the beauty which is Monteverde.

After the cloud-forest tour, we slowly made our way out of town. Monteverde seems like a Swiss-Village, with crowded, curvy, rutted lanes and lots of dairy products. Before heading back down the hill, down the evil road of cement-like rutted mud and rocks, I finally came to my senses and aired the tires down. For those that don't spend a considerable amount of time driving off-road, letting a bit of air out of your tires will dramatically improve your ride quality offroad There are many other advantages, but for this trip, comfort was the main goal.

We made much faster progress, and upon reaching Juntas, we turned left, North, to La Fortuna in hopes of seeing a live volcano. La Fortuna and the nearby town of Arenal are on the far side of Lake Arenal; which is about 20 miles long, 10 miles wide. In La Fortuna we secured a bus-ride for Molly to get to her flight the next day. We then drove back outside of town, back toward the chi-chi hotels with hot-springs. In the search for a cheap place to stay, we found a place with two small cabinas. Can't remember the name of the place, but the kid we rented the cabina from was named Rudy. Rudy the cowboy. After checking in, we ate sandos and headed back toward the fancy-schmancy hotel/hot springs that was supposed to be worth the $17 entrance fee. It was. The place was like a mini Raging Waters with a bar and really warm water. More funny then fun, we couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of the place. I mean, here was this very nice hotel, with hot rivers running through manicured gardens, cascading off waterfalls and into pools with swim-up bars and water-slides... that is only accessible after several grueling hours over roads with Volkswagon-sized potholes.

After leaving the hotsprings, Tabacon, we headed back to our crib (el crib). With the little beer we had in our possession, we motored down the grassy knoll to talk to our new friend Rudy... the cowboy. The fact that he was a cowboy was especially exciting for Molly, who recently attended the National Pro Rodeo thingy in Las Vegas, NV to cover the event for NPR radio. Being well versed in the sport of bull-riding and other rodeo events made for great conversation. Or at least entertaining conversation. Neither of us spoke enough Spanish to accurately hold a conversation, and Rudy's English was limited to being able to name his favorite music: George Stait, Garth Brooks, Creedence, Willie Nelson. Upon the subject of music, we tried to explain that there is a great song by the Clash called, "Rudy Can't Fail". It took about 45 minutes to explain. We had time to spare.

Oh yeah, and we saw some molten lava spilling down the mountain at night... Very cool. Looked like red-hot tears.

In the search for trinkets and souvenirs for Molly to take home, we met a local artist who carves and paints animals out of hardwood. He was very excited to learn we are from California as he has his art in a gallery in L.A.

While we sat talking to the artist, picking out carved wooden animals (ended up with an iguana, frog, grasshopper, and turtle) we casually asked the time (que es la hora?), and were shocked to learn it was 12:55 pm; Molly's bus was at 1:00 PM, in La Fortuna, 13 KM away. To top it off, I had locked the keys in the car. From the moment of realization that I had locked us out, till I was able to borrow a tool from the artist, and break into the Cruiser took all of 38 seconds. Don't ever leave anything of value in a parked car... I might just be walking by.

Then Molly stole my passport. I realized this three and half minutes after she hopped the bus to San Jose. I tried in vain to chase down the bus, but the rather poor high-speed ability of the FJ40 Land Cruiser coupled with the fact that I took off in the opposite direction from where the bus went (realized later), prevented me from having a ice cube's chance in hell of catching her.

(I retrieved it three weeks later from the hotel where she stayed in San Jose.)

Truly on my own now, I turned the Cruiser back south and west and started the 5 hour drive back to Tamarindo. In Arenal I stopped at a great German Bakery for a sando and brownies. Down the road I picked up a Tico kid hitching to San Jose to see his father in the hospital; so I gave him my second brownie and some bus fare. Also stopped in Huacas to watch a mini-Rodeo. It was fun to watch them release a small bull with a young Tico holding on while no less then 30 people, from the crowd, ran around the ring trying to avoid being skewered by the small bull's large horns. Safety is their middle name: they ask that if you choose to enter the ring, please don't bring your bottle of beer (you might spill!). Got back just as Steve and Bb were starting to worry.

The slow days. Did laundry. In a bucket. With my feet. Then we went to the tire repair guy to get a flat fixed... $2.80 Then to the hardware store; where we walked around in awe... In awe that anyone could ever find anything in the chaos that is a ferreteria. It looked like a stockroom, organized by dyslexic monkeys, ravaged by an earthquake.

Late night we went to the "Big Bazaar" Bar down on the beach to watch the filming of "Wild on E!" which was a joke not just because it was "Wild on E!" but because the "Wild on E!" film crew was too drunk, stoned, and lazy to rally the crowd into anything worth filming.

What little respect I had for Tico "workmanship" went right out the window once I started cleaning up some small details on the FJ40. The wiring was so absurdly half-assed that it is a wonder the car ran at all. Bare wires arching to ground, melted wires from bad grounds, broken soldered connections fixed with electrical tape; the type of half-assed approach that makes my own sometimes rushed, workmanship seem professional. Even after spending all morning cleaning the wiring, the headlight switch died on the way back from the beach.

Brian's Journal- Jan 27th- Monday- Tamarindo

Other then a notably great sandwich from Shark Bite Deli, an otherwise uneventful day. Really. Although I suppose I should note that most slow days are spent laying in the hammocks on the front porch, reading fun books (suggestion: Carl Hiassen's "Sick Puppy" or the short stories of Roald Dahl). In the evenings we have rum and tonic cocktails, with the occasional tumbler of ice cold sipping Tequila. We also watch the few DVD movies we have over and over: Fletch and Caddyshack.

Brian's Journal- Jan 28th- Tuesday- Tamarindo

Another slow day. Ted and I took the little FJ40 Land Cruiser to the welder to have some extra steel bars added to the roof rack; the better to strap surfboards to. Another $13 well spent.

Brian's Journal- Jan 29th- Wednesday- Tamarindo- Santa Cruz

Ted whipped up his usual breakfast for the crew: dozen eggs per person, half slab of bacon, gallon of coffee, all mixed together and deep fried. Actually, this is about what we would need to soak up the residual alcohol from our late night sessions of rum and tonics (and later on, rum and rum, rum, rum and rum, and my personal favorite: rum, rum, rum, rum, rum, lime and rum.). Seeing as Ted and Jess's "A-Team" truck was getting constant praise from the local low-rider's club, it was deemed necessary to seek attention to the rear suspension. For those of you who are not seriously mechanically minded (example: you go to full serve and use AOL to access the interweb), cars use something called "suspension" to make them comfortable (unless the car in question was built in England, where apparently springs and shocks are illegal). Ted and Jess's Van (heretofore known as Magnifico) was dragging it's ass like two legged donkey. Magnifico is a van conversion, which means they took a regular van and added certain amenities to make it more comfortable. This is readily apparent by the curtains in the windows. Unfortunately, the manufacturer decided to start with a rather light-duty Van. In addition to the curtains in the windows and other useless "Currently the Rage At Purchases time", other wise known as C.R.A.P. that was installed by the dealer, Ted and Jess added their own creature comforts (including, but not limited to: jacuzzi tub, trampoline, trapeze, library, den, and a computer room). Well, after subjecting poor Magnifico to the torturous roads of Central America, all the while loaded down with C.R.A.P. and surfboards (not to mention a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... Also a quart of tequila, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls...) the poor old gal had bent her springs.

Ted, Steve and I had entertained ourselves for several days by asking the local mechanics (mechanicos) if they could replace or fix Magnifico's (El Magnifico's) suspension (El bouncy-bouncy). Most conversations went something like:

us: blah blah blah blah, can you fix the bent springs, blah blah blah blah
them: (hysterical laughter)

us: blah blah blah blah, can you fix the bent springs, blah blah blah blah
them: no.

us: blah blah blah blah, can you fix the bent springs, blah blah blah blah
them: there is no such thing as a suspension

us: blah blah blah blah, can you fix the bent springs, blah blah blah blah
them: there is not enough rum in the world to make me want to attempt that

us: blah blah blah blah, can you fix the bent springs, blah blah blah blah
them: allow me to answer your question in un-intelligible Spanish, then puff heavily on my cigar while I contemplate the word "suspension".

Finally, after about a week of this wild goose chase, we heard of a spring shop in Santa Cruz. The three of us made our way 45 minutes north to the town of Santa Cruz. Steve had to make a "quick" stop at the bank.

Interesting side-note, Ticos do not have a translation for the word "quick". I'm surprised you didn't know that.

While Steve was in the bank, Ted and I walked into the heart of Santa Cruz to find some food. We settled on a Gallo mas Gallo (kinda like Colonel Sander's, except they don't believe in refrigerators [note, this is foreshadowing, pay attention]). By the time our food was ready (Tico's have no translation for the word "fast" either), and we walked back to Magnifico, Steve was done with the bank. If you know anything about Central American banks, the fact that Steve took almost as long as the chicken place did, tells you how slow Costa Rican fast food is.

After forcing down the "chicken" and meeting up with Steve, we drove down the road to the Spring Shop (El Shop de Spring). Before Ted could even turn the ignition off, two young Tico boys were under her, removing the bent springs. It seems we had found he right shop. Using only hand tools and a couple jackstands, the two young Ticos worked through the (f---ing) hot afternoon to remove the springs, re-bend them, add extra springs, and replace them on Magnifico; all the while whistling the theme song to "The A-Team" . Side note: The A Team is referred to as "Los Magnificos" in Costa Rica. Side-side note: Rumor is, the A Team is being made into a feature length film. Sadly B.A. Baracus, aka Mr. T, will probably not appear. Side-side-side note: I can't believe I am making reference to the A-Team... things are kinda slow around here.

After several enduring hours in the hot sun (watching someone else work), we set Magnifico back down on her own legs, and low and behold... she didn't sag-ass like before. We all gave each other non-ass-sagging high-fives, jumped in, and drove off into the night. I love it when a plan comes together.