...and it wasn’t how Stella did it. A failed relationship prompted a last minute trip back to one of my favorite destinations- Costa Rica. I needed to clear my head, start fresh, and who are we kidding here- meet some Ticos! (Costa Rican men). On my last few days in the states all of my friends wished me luck and advice on letting lose and enjoying what Costa Rica had to offer me.
I packed for this trip as if I was going to be on a deserted island. I brought every form of entertainment possible assuming that I was going to be spending a lot of time alone. My first night in San Jose set the tone for the next 17 days. After checking into my favorite hostel, I opened my bag-o-fun, and pulled out my brand new pastels and sketchbook. I had a revelation 3 days prior that I was going to find my inner artist on this trip. As I was looking at my pastels and trying to remember how to use them, one of the girls staying in my room invited me out to dinner along with everyone else staying at the hostel. Not one to turn down an invitation, I tossed my pastels on the ground and agreed to go.
My first night in Costa Rica and I find myself at an Asian restaurant. My new comrades hailed from all parts of the globe. They were in San Jose either on vacation, volunteering, or going to school. As the Asian man, who speaks fluent Spanish, asks everyone what they want, I’m feeling quite insecure. Not only have I not had the opportunity yet to flex my little to no Spanish skills, but, I also never eat Thai food, which the menu mostly consists. So, I not only feel like I’m going to embarrass myself when trying to form a sentence to place my order, but I have to ask him what 90% of the menu entails. Here’s what I end up saying: “Yo quiero una cerveza por favor.” And yes- that’s how vacation starts, self consciously ordering one of probably 100 cervezas over the next 2 ½ weeks.
That night I party like it’s 1999. Literary, like I’m 19…and I pay the price when my alarm rings at 5am the next morning. I arrive at the “Cola Cola” bus station after paying the taxi driver way too much money because I’m too hung over to count my change in colones.
The “directo” bus takes me to a ferry, and then another bus, and what for it…..yes, another bus which takes me to my final destination of the tiny costal town, Montezuma. How do you say “that was not f**king “directo” in espanol? I’m not going to lie, my Zen was being compromised after 8 hours of confusing travel. I re-centered my Chi and asked the first person I saw where La Escuela del Sol was located. I was embarking on 2 weeks of Spanish and yoga classes. The gentleman pointed in a direction. I asked “cuentos minutos?” He said 10 minutes. Now, for this trip I did not use my super cool backpackers backpack. I instead opted for a regular suitcase being that I was staying in just one location. So, me and my extra-large-generic-version Samsonite hit the road for this 10 minute walk. I don’t think the company of my suitcase did any trial runs for rolling ability in Monetzuma. If they did, they would have made the wheels much bigger (think child’s tricycle) and not made them from plastic, but rather industrial grade rubber. After rolling over rocks and through the mud, and oh yes, up a few hills, I made it to the school. I also had lesson number 1 in what is called “tico time”. It’s a dimension of time that only makes sense to those native to Costa Rica. 30 minutes later, soaking wet from sweat, covered in mud from my mid back to the my ankles from the flip in my flops, I had made it to my destination!
To be continued…
