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El Gringo Feo Travel Bob

A Tica pharmacist encounters a Gringo moleman

(To read El Gringo Feo’s Costa Rica Diary from the beginning, start here.)

Saturday, August 25

One of the sights along the coastal highway: monkeys and a replica (I think) of on of the stone spheres pre-Columbian people carved here in Costa Rica. There are several places that feature stone carvings like these along the way.
One of the sights along the coastal highway: monkeys and a replica (I think) of on of the stone spheres pre-Columbian people carved here in Costa Rica. There are several places that feature stone carvings like these along the way.

Her look says it all. It’s a mix of confusion and concern. Clearly, this Gringo is loco.

¿Piel de topo? she repeats incredulously, perhaps hoping she misheard.

“Sí,” I say, repeating it, in English this time, hoping that might make it clear. “Moleskin.”

She responds in English. “I don’t know what that is.”

But the fact that this Tica pharmacist speaks English spins me instantly in another direction, away from my need for moleskin to thwart that nasty blister my hiking shoes have imposed on my heel.

“Is it possible to fill this prescription? And if so, what would it cost?” I ask in Gatling gun English, digging around in my bag and fishing out a prescription for Flovent that my doctor in Ohio wrote. “It’s for asthma,” I tell her, thumping my chest and breathing deeply.

She doesn’t need the sign language. Her English is excellent.

“Let me check.”

While she types on her computer, I think about the moleskin. They must call it something else here. I hope she doesn’t think I’m trying to buy the literal skin of a mole. What next? Eye of newt?

“This is like Flovent,” she says. “But the dose is different from your prescription.”

“Ahhh … May I take a photo?”

She nods, and I shoot a picture of the two options she’s placed on the counter in front of me. “Let me check with my doctor to see if this will work.”

She smiles. Moleman isn’t as crazy as she thought.

I had my doctor write prescriptions for my asthma meds so I could check pricing here in Costa Rica. The cost at my local CVS in Athens is batshit, and I’m hoping to save some money. To that end, I’ve been ordering my drugs through a Canadian operation that imports them from New Zealand, among other places, at massive discounts. Not sure if it’s legal. Don’t care. I’m so disgusted with the greed-based U.S. healthcare system I’ll commit any crime to stick it to the man.

Soda La Jungla, a small onle-in-the-wall restaurant that's next door. These types of restaurants are called sodas here, offering local dishes at reaasonable prices.
Soda La Jungla, a small onle-in-the-wall restaurant that’s next door. These types of restaurants are called sodas here, offering local dishes at reaasonable prices.

Today was another adventure day. I decide to hike all the way to my new favorite liquor store, which is north of where Rio Uvita flows under the coastal highway. I start with a traditional Tico breakfast at Soda La Jungla, right next door to PurUvita.

Two eggs. Fried plantains. Gallo pinto. Coffee. For about four bucks. It’s one of the few bargains I’ve found here. Overall, prices are very comparable to the States, often higher. Some of that clearly is logistic. Some of it is the inflationary pressure caused by a bunch of Gringos — and other non-Ticos — flooding the area.

The gallo pinto is good. It’s basic rice and beans designed to fill you up and send you on your way. I had been wanting to stop at this soda (a small, traditional Costa Rican hole-in-the-wall restaurant). Today I was determined to do that. It doesn’t hurt that the place is empty at 7:30 a.m. If I make an idiot of myself, there’ll be no one here to cluck and laugh at the dumb Gringo. I’m going to make this place one of my regular haunts. They also have an array of lunch dishes, including ceviche, a Peruvian delicacy that Costa Ricans have adopted whole-heartedly. Raw fish “cooked” by soaking in lime juice and spices. Perfecto.

Breakfast at Soda La Jungla. Nothing fancy, but it was four bucks and filling. Fried plantains, two fried eggs, gallo pinto (beans and rice), and coffee.
Breakfast at Soda La Jungla. Nothing fancy, but it was four bucks and filling. Fried plantains, two fried eggs, gallo pinto (beans and rice), and coffee.

From the soda, I waddle off down the highway in search of batteries, moleskin, groceries, etc. I also intend to hit the Saturday farmer’s market, where my new friend, Italian expatriate Sara, is selling her bread.

I pick up a ciabatta and another loaf of bread and ask how Gian is doing. Jeff introduced me to Sara and Gian before he returned to the States and I liked them instantly. Gian and I share Pittsburgh and Destin connections.

After putting the bread in my backpack, I walk over to the market, where I talk to a Boruca woman selling gorgeous carved masks. The one that catches my eye is a devil. Easily worth the $80 U.S. she’s asking, but worry about carrying it home and ask if she is here every week.

Like me, she’s not a native Spanish speaker. Her native tongue is the indigenous Boruca. But through a series of workarounds we manage to communicate in a mix of Spanish, English and gestures. The rainy season makes it difficult to get to Uvita from her remote home, so she’ll probably be here less frequently as the rains become more prevalent. I decide to risk it and wait till later. I suspect I can catch her next week or the following. I really want that astounding devil mask. In retrospect, I should have coughed up the 80 bucks and figured out how to get it home in one piece.

I also manage to procure a bottle fo Flor de Caña rum, AAA batteries, eggs, cheese, organic carrots and fresh-squeezed orange juice that was crying to be mingled with that rum.

Rio Uvita as seen from the bridge on the coastal highway.
Rio Uvita as seen from the bridge on the coastal highway.

The hike home isn’t too bad, though as always the climb to PurVita at the end is a sweaty slog. In all, I log about 10k steps, or 4 miles. I walk that daily at home with Sunny the Great Pyrenees, but the humidity here is soul crushing. Thankfully, today is clear and not too humid. And maybe I’m starting to acclimate a bit. Despite that, I still need siesta in the afternoon to cover from the morning adventure. That siesta is spent in a hammock, finishing Poilu, Louis Barthas’ World War I memoir. What an incredible story. This French barrel maker survived the Somme, Verdun and four years of bloody engagements. The book wavered between boring stretches of logistical details and riveting stories about soldiers who were “turned to marmalade” by bombshells falling in torrents.

My evening vespers are a perfect finale to a perfect day. While we had a stretch without water again today, it didn’t darken my mood the way it did yesterday. I knew the water would come back on. I had faith. And in the end, hay aqua.

I walk up to the shack a bit earlier than usual, expecting the relatively clear skies to put on a show. I’m not disappointed. Perhaps the best sunset yet. Sol’s last gasp sprawls across the Pacific while flashes of lightning erupt behind me in the east, creating the impression that someone is vainly trying to take flash photos of day’s fleeting final sigh.

I think this is my favorite sunset so far. I had a hard time choosing from the photos I took. That's the silhouette of the shack on the right.
I think this is my favorite sunset so far. I had a hard time choosing from the photos I took. That’s the silhouette of the shack on the right.

As the darkness deepens, an insect hum rises out of the jungle. Birds call out one final time like a child demanding a glass of water to delay the inevitable death of day. I hear music in the distance, probably one of the bars down on the highway, and fireflies bubble up from the weeds.

Just another day in paradise.

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El Gringo Feo Travel Bob

Sun dogs and sunsets chase away the blues

(To read El Gringo Feo’s Costa Rica Diary from the beginning, start here.)

Friday, August 24

Yet another sublime sunset …

My first “down” day. Two things conspired to mess with my head. The first was Spanish. I spent a good chunk of the afternoon working on exercises and listening to a few audio resources, and it was daunting, to say the least. In addition, the water was out all day, and my typically pessimistic-paranoid nature turned to what happens if it doesn’t come back on. It went off once while Jeff was here, too, and I think it was exactly a week ago. But it came back on relatively quickly. This time it was all day, and I started worrying about what I’d do if it didn’t come back on before it got dark. Somehow I doubt this is the kind of place where it’s easy to get things fixed on weekends, even if you speak the language and know whom to call to report it.

So as sunset neared, I did the only thing that made sense — hiked up to the shack to watch the show. It worked. Shanti, Shanti, Shanti. And when I returned to The Treehouse the water was back. ¡Que Milagro!

I think my down day also was driven by how much I miss home, especially Lara and Sunny (and yes, even Sydney). I caught myself looking wistfully at photos of the big dog after a friend on Facebook posted a challenge to upload dog photos. I found the perfect one. It’s from when I was walking Sunny and a little girl wanted to pet her. Sunny is timid and quickly shies away from strangers, but the little girl walked right up and presented Sunny a dandelion. It was a really sweet moment that made me a tad misty.

Sunny is a shy, timid great Pyrenees rescue who generally retreats when a stranger approaches. This little girl walked right up and presented the gentle giant with a dandelion. Melted my heart …

A few random things … I saw a beautiful black squirrel outside the treehouse yesterday. Haven’t seen one like him since we lived in D.C. And then I saw a pair of strange rabbitlike critters hopping around as I walked up to the shack. Best I can tell from the resources I have at hand, they were agoutis but I want to do a little more research before I’m firm in that conviction.

Tomorrow I plan to insert my U.S. SIM card into the phone for a few calls home. And since I can leverage my U.S. data plan when I do that, I’m also planning a flood of Internet surfing.

I finished the day on the deck with my AirPods stuffed in my ears, blasting Wake Up to Find Out, the Grateful Dead’s Nassau Coliseum show (3/29/90) where Branford Marsalis joins for several numbers, including transcendent versions of “Estimated Prophet” and one of my favorites, “Eyes of the World”:

There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away

And there follows a wagon behind him that’s loaded with clay

And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom and decay

And night comes so quiet, it’s close on the heels of the day

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El Gringo Feo Transcendental Bob Travel Bob

There’s a new monkey in town

(To read El Gringo Feo’s Costa Rica Diary from the beginning, start here.)

Thursday night’s sunset view from the shack.

Friday, August 23

After hearing howlers almost nightly while catching only fleeting glimpses of them, I finally got a good, long look at monkeys. But they weren’t howlers.

I heard commotion in the trees after arriving at the shack for my sundown services and quickly spotted a band of simians weaving its way through the canopy, which was more or less at eye level thanks to the elevation of the shack.

I made a clicking noise at one who was in plain view. He turned and looked at me, completely unperturbed or surprised, perhaps a tad curious. But his facial fur was white. Maybe a capuchin? He and his cohorts probably had watched me lumber up the driveway, but I was listening to an audiobook on fiction writing and was oblivious to any noise they might have made until I crested the hill.

I counted at least four but I suspect there were a few others I couldn’t single out.

I wasn’t completely confident my ID was correct, but time and a bit of research convinced me I was right. They had light faces and a sort of cowl, and the one who exchanged glances with me clearly had a prehensile tail that curved up in a sort of question mark.

The clincher was when the sun set. No howling. Just gentle mumbled chattering out in the trees.

Apparently, the name capuchin came from the similarity to Capuchin friars of the Franciscan order. Their name derives from the sharp pointed hoods they wear (derived from Italian cappuccino, from cappuccio — hood or cowl).

I counted at least four simian capuchins. Might have been more.

The sunset was muted, choked by a squall line off the coast beyond the Whale’s Tail. Still beautiful. I can’t really describe the calm that descends each night as I watch the horizon, listening to the surf pounding the shoreline over at Playa Colonia … until some asshole trucker engages his burp-farting jake brakes while rolling down the mountain into Uvita from the South. Jeff was incensed about that frequent occurrence.. I wasn’t completely sure what a jake — or jacobs — brake is until I looked it up. It’s diesel-engine braking, basically, using compression in the engine to slow the truck without having to ride the brake. (Jacobs is the company that invented the prevailing method of doing this). Works wonderfully, but the sound is horrendous. Human howlers on the highways.

Until the jake brake butted in, I was channeling that line in T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” — “Shanti, Shanti, Shanti” … the peace that passeth all understanding. In all those dark, apocalyptic images, the poet still found the potential for transcendence, even if it was more the thundering promise of fertile rains than the actual moisture. No coincidence “The Waste Land” was written in 1922, another reverberation from the horror of World War I. That’s one of the reasons I’ve read so widely about that war in particular. It shook Western Civilization to its core and helped give birth to Modernism.

Last night had the added bonus of a waxing moonrise. Banks of clouds rolled in off the Pacific to snuff it soon after it rose. But I got to stand between its glow and the fading day for a brief moment. Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

Home sweet PurVita

I stayed on the reservation yesterday, partly because I was awake later than I’d intended the previous night and was running on about 5 hours sleep. A siesta during the heat of the day helped alleviate that.

I spent time paging though the guide books I bought. The print version of the Fodor’s book hasn’t been terribly useful, to be honest. The section on this stretch of coast is lackluster. But the Lonely Planet guide I downloaded to my Kindle is much more useful. I just wish the bozos had taken time to fix some of the formatting issues that slipped in when they converted it to Kindle format (the colones sign, for instance, didn’t come through, and a lot of the subhead formatting is mangled). I understand the pressures the publishing industry faces, but if you’re going to offer a Kindle version — and charge me for it — at least give it a cursory look to clean up the more glaring issues. Maybe this is something specific to my barebones Kindle Paperwhite, which I love because it’s compact and the battery lasts forever if you turn off wireless.

Hungry hungry bandwidth hippo

One thing is certain. I can’t keep devouring bandwidth at my current pace. In about 24 hours I chewed through 6,000 colones (about 11 bucks) worth of the 20,000 I added Wednesday. No doubt it’s from uploading images and video for use in these blog posts, so I’m going to start putting them up as text only and then doubling back when I hit a wireless connection where I can do the heavy lifting for free. So if you see “Insert XXXX here” in the text, that’s what’s going on. I’ll add them. But it might lag a few days.

Building a better Bob

I’ve started two parallel tracks in my self-improvement plan. I spent a solid hour buried in my Spanish workbook today, dutifully writing out the exercises on my computer. I’m hoping to do that every day, which should start expanding my limited grasp of Spanish. I also started listing to one of the Great Courses I downloaded on fiction writing. I’ve generally been dubious of these things, but I figured it’s not a bad idea to see advice as I dive into this book I’m trying to write. Based on the first lecture, I’m already going to revise some of what I did Wednesday night.

And finally, I was pleased to see a hummingbird while up at the shack. I’m surprised how few I’ve seen in the time I’ve been here. Counting that one, only two. I know they’re out there. I’m just not seeing them. I’ll have to look closer …