Category: Travel Bob

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

Monday, August 20

Last night was my first sleepless night here, but it was more due to sudden inspiration than anxious tossing and turning. I was up until almost 3 a.m. uploading all of my entries thus far to the site. And I still awoke at about 5 a.m. so there will be a bonk at some point today.

While I’m getting a solid 3G connection here, it bogs down massively during prime time when everyone has a straw in the bandwidth and is sucking voraciously. In the middle of the night, my 3G becomes relatively fast and smooth, prompting me to take advantage of my computer’s tethered connection to my iPhone.

A drenching rain fell for much of yesterday, which helped break the heat that had been mounting toward noon. It was incredibly soothing, and as much as I hate to use this cliché, it was Zen. I found it difficult to not just sit there drifting off into the raindrops.

I spent most of the day reading and writing. I’m deep into Poilu: The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker, 1914-1918, and have no idea how the human mind can survive the things Barthas describes in his amazing account of the Great War. Many don’t survive it, crumbling mentally as the shells explode and gore flows out of the trenches. But many find a way to persevere. As a counterweight, I started reading Jack Ewing’s Where Tapirs and Jaguars Once Roamed: Ever Evolving Costa Rica, which was recommended by Jeff, who noted that his wife, Laurie, loved it. She’s a fantastic writer and journalist, so that was good enough for me. Jeff and I drove over to Domincal so I could pick up both of Ewing’s books about Costa Rica (the other is Monkeys are Made of Chocolate: Exotic and Unseen Costa Rica). Ewing first came here in 1970 when he was just out of school with a degree in animal husbandry and intention of working in the cattle business. He gets hired to assist in bringing cattle to Costa Rica for sale. Ultimately, he ends up settling in Domincal and founding Hacienda Baru , a national wildlife refuge and lodge. Jeff and I poked around a bit there after buying the books, and I definitely intend to return before leaving.

To say the two books are polar opposites would be an understatement. Or perhaps not. When Ewing arrived in Costa Rica, it was being pillaged for its natural resources and the jungle was under siege. Thanks in part to his visionary efforts, that was thwarted. Or at least slowed. So there is a sense of impending apocalypse in both books. But the Barthas book is just mind-numbing. He managed to survive the major slaughters of the war, which he refers to accurately as charnel houses. I’m about to enter the section where he details the horrors of Verdun. Wish me luck.

My writing thus far has largely been self-obsessed blogging about this trip, but I’m starting to think about form and structure for a novel I’ve been plotting for decades. It’s Pittsburgh based and focused on the rise and fall of steel. The Homestead Strike is in there. And Tall Tale hero Joe Magarac. And maybe a few ghosts. But the world keeps shifting. The plot line was focused around an unemployed Geek who was spit out in the first great Internet meltdown in 2000, or Dot.Bomb, as it came to be known. The Geek returns home from the Bay Area to Pittsburgh, where he retreats to an hold house in Homestead that his grandparents left him in their will. As he’s tearing out the lathe board to install Cat 5 cable for Internet (this was before wireless changed everything), he finds a trove of letters that date bak to the 1892 Homestead Steel Strike, which triggers the rest of the action. But as time has passed and the nation has been Trumped by populist hysteria, it seems major reworking is in order. I really hope I can get myself to do that during the next few months. On the plus side, there’s not a whole lot else to do most days. My usual vices and distractions are far away, and I’m feeling something that I can only describe as clarity emerging. But there’s still a lot of static and frequent cranial power outages, so we’ll see how that goes.

On the plus side, I’d vowed to write at least 1,000 words a day, which I’ve had no problem hitting. A letter to Mom and Dad alone clocked in at 1,600. If I can keep this pace, I should produce about about 80,000 or 100,000 words. while here. That’s a hell of a lot more than I was doing before I jumped on that Delta jet and headed south.

I spent this morning talking to a helpful American Airlines agent to undo a business-related trip back to the States that I have to take in October. They moved the agenda back a day, negating the itinerary I’d purchased before leaving the States. I don’t want to charge the company I work with for my travel back to the States, but they kindly agreed to pay the change fees on both that trip and the next leg that will take me to my destination.

Last night, I sat here atop the hill, watching a cloud-strangled sunset recede into blackness over the Pacific. Suddenly, I noticed a firefly. Then others. So there are fireflies here, which I enjoyed immensely as I pecked away at my keyboard. White puffs of cloud clung to the trees as the day’s rain instantly evaporated, ready to start the cycle again.

I still haven’t gone off the property. I’m thinking I’ll do that tomorrow, when I’m better rested and will be needing a few minor supplies. I’m also hoping to find a spot where I can poach a wifi connection to do more bandwidth-intensive tasks. But there’s no hurry. I have food. And I’m in paradise.

Sunday, Aug. 19

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

I wake to a gentle rain drumming on the Treehouse’s metal roof. And that same strange braying noise I heard yesterday. (Donkey? Mule? Some exotic jungle critter?) I’m sleeping well, despite being in my fourth day of not getting high after a stretch of pretty heavy use. It’s always been pretty easy for me to quit smoking when I want or need to, but sometimes that precipitates a few restless nights. I guess I’m digesting so much new stuff every day that it’s wearing me out. It helps that we get about 12 hours of sun and dark each day, so I’m getting to bed around 9 and night after it’s already been dark for an hour or two. And the sensory overload each day is exhausting.

Yesterday, Jeff and I had breakfast (eggs, fresh papaya and pineapple) before he took me on a daylight tour of the grounds. PurUvita is a narrow strip of land that juts up from Highway 34 and into the mountains. It essentially lies on two levels, though there’s not a lot of flat ground. The first is where Jeff started his project, several buildings in various stages of construction, including the Treehouse, where I’m staying. It’s a one-bedroom standalone with its own deck and a loft. I sat for a while on the deck reading Poilu: The World War I Notebooks of Corporal Louis Barthas, Barrelmaker, 1914-1918 for a while later in the morning, which was as incongruous as when I read Beowulf at the beach in Jamaica a dozen or so years ago. Poilu is a remarkable account of World War I written by a French soldier, or Poilu as they were known (similar to the way the Brits were called Tommys). The carnage of the War to End All Wars is hard to get your head around when you’re interrupted by a band of white-nosed coati (coatimundi) foraging on the forest floor below. Maybe I should switch to Thoreau?

As we walked the grounds, Jeff explained how it’s all going to come together. He’s accomplished a lot in the five years since he bought this place, and he’s doing it all incrementally and with sweat equity. It’s impressive. The other buildings include a kitchen/bar area with living space above it and another building that will be divided into four or five units. But what really impressed me is his vision for the entire grounds. I’ve always been crap at looking at a swath of land covered in trees and undergrowth and trying to imagine how it could be developed. Not Jeff. He’s planning a jungle pool, a yoga deck and multiple other units as he goes.

The site is up a steep concrete driveway that ascends from Highway 34, and the first phase is located about halfway up the lot. He hasn’t poured concrete the rest of the way up the driveway yet, so it’s a steep walk up the gravel track. As we reached the top we came to a shack and a gutted Suzuki SUV. Oh, I probably should note a stunning view of the pacific and the Whale’s Tail a curious tombolo formation along the beach that looks like, well, a whale’s tail when viewed from above.

The top of the lot will be phase two, where Jeff hopes to create a building that could accommodate groups an an infinity pool. While there are ocean views at the first level of the property, they’re nothing like this, and I was wondering why he didn’t start at the top. Apparently, several sources he read on developing land suggested his current approach. It will be more expensive and difficult to do the work at the top of the lot. so this gives him a chance to learn by trial an error as he builds out the lower section. It’s seems a very sane, incremental way to build create PurUvita, which is a play on the Costa Rican phrase, Pura Vida.

Ask a Tico (Costa Rican) “¿Como estas?” and the answer is likely to be “Pura Vida,” which translates roughly as pure life or simple life. But it’s more than that. It’s the Tico way of taking on the world.

The sad blue Suzuki atop the lot is possibly why I’m here. Jeff was living in the shack while he was doing initial work on the lot and went back to the States for for several months, leaving the Suzuki behind as well as bikes and tools he had locked up in the shack. Apparently a few Tacos realized the place was unattended and used that opportunity to strip the Suzuki and grab the bikes and tools. They took the SUV’s engine, seats, wheels … everything except the frame, basically. Jeff responded by putting up a fence, complete with security cameras and warning signs that anyone messing with the property is being recorded. While the cameras aren’t functional, I suspect this will give future evil-doers pause. And I’ll be here to ensure they know the place hasn’t been left unattended.

I then spent a few hours reading and catching up on tasks related to home before we set off for a tour of Uvita. “Our beach,” Playa Colonia, is accessed by crossing Highway 34 and heading south on a dirt road. It’s walkable, and it likely will become part of my morning routine once Jeff leaves. The town doesn’t have much of a center. No Zócalo, as is common in Mexican towns. There’s a small cluster of strip malls and restaurants hugging Highway 34, and then a maze of dirt roads in the land between the highway and the beaches. There are restaurants and other businesses scattered through that area, including Flutterby House, where we had lunch. The fish tacos were awesome and the vibe was totally beach. Mostly younger folks in various stages of surfer attire hanging out and enjoying a sunny day that was emerging from the morning haze.

Jeff has been awesome. In addition to taking me around and pointing out key places I’ll want to explore after he’s gone, he’s a great guy. We’ve had a series of rambling conversations on everything from the current political mess in the States to music, books, movies and the role of sports in human culture,. He’s been putting together a list of things I should check out, and I’m going to reciprocate.

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

• Gray-headed chachalaca — I’m seeing these grouse-like birds frequently. The like the fruit trees on the property and I see them every day when I stump down to the kitchen from the Treehouse..
• White nosed coati (coatimundi) — I saw a group of them working the fence line on the property. They look a bit like raccoons.
• Blue morpho butterfly— I’ve seen them multiple times already, carving whimsical blue streaks through the jungle flora.
• Tombolo — This is the term for a long stretch of sand connecting a former island to the coast. Playa Uvita features a tombolo that looks like a whale’s tail from above at low tide. Seems appropriate since it’s part of the Ballena (whale, in Spanish) National Marine Park.
• Borucu — indigenous people who make vibrant, phantasmagorical masks I’m seeing at the markets. I’ve already decided I need one of these. At least
• Yellow-crowned Tyrannulet — This is a type of flycatcher bird. I’ve been seeing the around the property since I arrived, and I finally ID’d them in the Birds of Costa Rica book I brought with me. Just after I determined what they were, one of them soared straight up from the tree it was perched on and into a sort of stall. At that point, I saw what it was doing. A large insect zigged aimlessly just below it, prompting the flycatcher to soar downward from its zenith and snag the unsuspecting bug midair. It was beautiful and graceful, but the Tyrannulet returned to his perch as if it was no big deal.