I went to Costa Rica and all I got was this rare tropical infectious disease.

Cutaneous Leishmaniasis ( or Kala-azar):  a rare tropical disease 
caused by parasites transmitted by the bite of a female sand fly during a certain point in her gustation period.
Symptoms - Physical signs may manifest 2 weeks to 4 months after being infected.  Initially, the lesion is a small, red papule up to 2 cm in diameter at the site of the bite.  Over several weeks, the papule becomes darker and will crust in the center, eventually ulcerating to present a typical appearance of an ulcer with raised edges and surrounding dusky red skin. The ulcers can be moist or open with seropurulent exudate or dry with a crusted scab.  After about 6 - 9 months, the ulcers may heal, leaving a raised border and possible disfiguration. Other consequences, which can manifest anywhere from a few months to years after infection, include fever, damage to the spleen and liver, or anemia.


Cliff Notes:  I got this disease on my face.  After 30 shots I am healed.  Pictures at the end.

After a quick search on the internet one can easily find a more grotesque picture of this disease however this man seemed the most enthusiastic about being its poster child.  I will warn you now, some of the description below is a bit detailed and there is a picture of the form I had at the end if you want to read without seeing it.

I think any country where you could possibly get this disease or any other of the liking should, at all points of entry, have clearly labeled signs and pass out pamphlets to each and every person that clearly state the potential risk you take when you step foot on their soil.  If this is the kind of information that is handed out on a need to know basis then I needed to know about 7 months ago when I got my passport stamped by a friendly customs official inviting me to enjoy my stay in Costa Rica.  I consider myself an experienced traveler and always do my homework to make sure I have the proper vaccines or necessary preventative measures for my desired geographical location.  I never heard of this disease.  Now I can say I know more than I would like to about this parasite and had a very close relationship with it.


Sometime last September after I had settled into Playas Del Coco, a small red bump appeared on the right side of my face just below my bottom lip.  At first I thought it was a pimple which refused to go away but after weeks of poking and prodding it seemed to just worsen.  I decided it was time I see a doctor.  The local clinic is easy to find as there is only one on the main street in Coco.  I am not sure if is is by design or chance but the clinic is located next to the fast food chain Pollo Crispy where rumors of food poisoning abound.  The line outside each and the wait to get service is equal at both.  After a brief visit, I walked out with a prescription for an ointment and a lack of confidence in the doctor's diagnosis.  After a couple weeks, it was still getting worse and now I had developed 2 large lumps in my throat which had me worrying about something more severe.  


So I went back.  On this visit another doctor was rotating through the clinic.  The new doctor explained I most likely had enlarged lymph nodes due to whatever infection I had under my lip.  This gave me a bit of ease about the lumps but his confidence was also lacking in the diagnosis of the now large red node below my lip.  He prescribed a different ointment and added some pills for good measure.


After two more weeks of things getting worse, both doctors recommended I see a dermatologist.  Of course there is no dermatologist in Coco.  The closest dermatologist is a 1.5 hour bus ride away in Liberia and he only comes every other weekend from San Jose. When I asked if they knew which weekend the dermatologist was there, they were about as confident with this as they were with the diagnosis of what was on my face.  


At this point the sore had begun turning from a red bump to a crusty ulcer and had enlarged to about the size of a dime.  It had what seemed to be a scab over the top which I mistook multiple times to mean it was healing however upon picking the scab off the hole it was leaving in my face was just getting deeper and deeper.  It would ooze a clear liquid and reform the scab over the length of a day.


I had to get to Liberia to see a dermatologist but trying to pick a weekend to see a dermatologist that may or may not be there was not something I was looking forward to.  It was like trying to get matching numbers on a pair of 30-sided die in a nightmarish game of craps.  Luckily for me my parents had planned a trip to visit me in Costa Rica in early December which was now just a week away.  Unluckily for them, the awesome itinerary of sights I put together for them would now include a first day of using their rental car to drive to Liberia to search for a dermatologist.  

Once again the directions I had were cryptic at best since Costa Ricans don't believe in street addresses.    Here is what I had:  "Go straight through the main intersection in town that leads to San Jose.  Go passed the local bank on your left and before the Pizza Hut on the right there is a road where the clinic is but it is one way so you can't turn right.  So you need to go past the Pizza Hut and then around the block to find the clinic.  It is difficult to find.  There may or may not be a sign outside."

So with the parents loaded up in our compact SUV we made out way to Liberia.  After a few wrong turns, asking some pedestrians, knocking on doors we finally figured out that the sign outside the building advertising a hair salon also doubled as the sign for the dermatologist.  Of course he was not in this weekend but my mom did get a good deal on some highlights.  We asked if they knew of another clinic in town being that it was so small but they said they did not.  I figured Liberia is a fairly large town and there had to be something else around so we just began to drive around town searching for anyone that remotely resembled a dermatologist.

The easiest thing to track down was the large public hospital which didn't appear to be located in the best part of town but we had to give it a shot.  I parked the car down a dirty side street while the locals stared at the obvious newcomers to see what form of entertainment we may be to them.  Having been living in Central America for some time I was used to be being in these situations and hopped out of the car, locked the door, and began walking across the street to the hospital entrance.  I turned around to see how far back the parentals were and they were still at the car having some type of mental tug-of-war.  One was outside the car staring at the other one through the rolled up glass of the door window securely locked inside.  Apparently, one thought the safest route was to get out and stay as close to me as possible while the other thought the safest route was to stay locked in the car and not step food outside.  In the end it was agreed upon that the best option was for everyone to stick together however the entire episode ended up being quite hysterical and sent my mother into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.  As soon as we entered the hospital the staff thought it was her who had the problem and my Spanish is no where near good enough to explain to them why she could not stop laughing so I turned them around and we headed back to the car.

After a bit more driving my mother redeemed herself and spotted the most convenient clinic I've ever seen.  A 25 hour clinic.  We couldn't pass this one up.  We entered and were told yes they had a dermatologist but of course he was not in this weekend.  There was a regular doctor who could see me though and at this point I was willing to see anyone who might have a chance at curing this thing.  He had a look and prescribed me some actual antibiotics and a different ointment and told me to check back in a week.  This seems like the only thing they teach at medical schools in Costa Rica but for some reason I had a bit more confidence this time.

However after a great week of travel with my parents the sore had gotten much worse.  The scab area was easily the size of a quarter.  The skin between my lip and chin was inflamed and my lower lip was extremely swollen and bruised.  So as is the beginning, shall be the end.   My parents and I headed back to Liberia on their last day in the country.  Since their were no dermatologists in town last weekend then they should be there this weekend but I am guessing now that every other weekend actually translates into maybe once a month.  Both previously visited clinics were sans dermatologist again.

After leaving the second clinic looking feeling quite hopeless, I began my drive out of town.  After one random turn we ran into another clinic.  This one the biggest and best looking of the three.  I parked the car, told my parents to wait as I did not set my expectations to high.  I walked in and asked the receptionist if there was a dermatologist in this weekend.  She looked at me like it was a dumb question and said of course.  You can see him in 15 minutes.  Well the 15 minutes turned into 1.5 hours of waiting along side  pregnant women, sniffling children, and old men with urine samples in hand but I finally got to see a real live dermatologist.

On a side note, and maybe this has to do with no one using addresses in this country, but it did strike me as quite strange that all 3 of these clinics are within a 5 block radius of each other yet they didn't seem to know that the others existed.  Even if they were in strict competition with one another, if you see a guy with some disease that is eating his face, you direct him in the right direction so he can get some help.

Once inside the doctor's office, he put me on the table and took a look at the infection under his well lit magnifying glass.  After a few seconds he said with a slight grimace that he was pretty sure he knew what it was.  He asked if I had been down south to the jungle recently and told him I had.  He told me it looked like Leishmanias but I would need to go to a bacteriologist in San jose to be sure.

After I asked him repeatedly to pronounce it, I then asked him how bad it was.  Now from my previous experience with doctors and what I have seen on tv, when the doctor gives the diagnosis they usually add a phrase consoling you and saying it will be fine.  Well I did not get that from him.  He just kept grimacing in his chair and moving a bit uncomfortably like he didn't want to be there.  I asked him if their was something to treat it and if it would go away.  To this he replied that there is a treatment of 20 - 30 shots that usually works.  Sometimes it leaves a scar that requires plastic surgery but luckily for me I could just cover it up with my beard.  Not the best news I had heard in a while but at this point I was just glad to get a solid diagnosis and was ready to start anything to get this off my face.

So the day after my parents left, I took the first of several bus rides back and forth from Coco to San Jose.  The bus ride is touted as a 5 hour trip.  I never did it in less than 7, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, usually sleeping.

I made my way to the bacteriologist who worked out of a cramped office behind a Pawn Shop.  After putting an allergen injection in each arm he clamped my head to the wall with his left hand and began hacking away at the sore with the scalpel in his right hand until he was sure he had taken enough of it off for a good sample which felt to me like a good portion of my chin.  He then placed the samples in the refrigerator next to his McDonalds bag.  I had to hang around for 3 days for the results.  As I saw the allergens in my arms swell up I didn't need the bacteriologist to confirm it was indeed Leishmaniasis.  The day I went back, he had an assistant there and they both took turns measuring the injection areas on my arms before they gave me the news.  I asked them how bad it was just to get another doctor's opinion.  They looked a each other with a smirk and said, "Oh it is bad.  You will need at least 30 shots."

After this, I met back with the dermatologist with the confirmed results.  I was ready to start the shots but there was now a different problem.  Since this disease is so rare, the normal pharmacies would probably not have the injections I needed.  I could try and go to a government clinic but since I am not a Costa Rican citizen they will probably not give it to me.  He then asked if there was anyway I could go back to the States for treatment.  I told him this was not really an option.   He then basically said I was on my own for figuring out how to get the injections but I should go back to Coco and try there.   He wanted to see me after 2 weeks of shots to see my progress and check for side effects.  Up to this point he had mentioned nothing about side effects so I asked what these might be.  His response was pain.

So I went back to Coco to my clinic and talked to the doctor.  He had never heard of the injections I needed much less had it.  He told me to check at the government clinic and if they wouldn't give it to me, he would send a local to get the drug under his name.  The clinic didn't even have the drug.

I went to the 3 pharmacies in town on the off chance they might have it.  None of them had it but one was willing to help me out and order it.  The pharmacists there was also a doctor and he could give me the injections.  When they said they could order it I was surprised to hear that it would be in the next day as things usually take weeks to get anywhere.

So the next day I would finally be able to start my road to recovery.  I walked into the Aloe Farmacia and introduced myself to the man who would see my bare ass more than any other man in the world, Dr. Viales.  I obviously became a regular at the pharmacy due to my daily injections.  As the days went on, I finally saw signs of retreat from the infection.  Along with this however came an extremely sore backside.  Even with rotating sides each day, it felt like I had two small breast implants just above each ass cheeks.

After 2 weeks of shots I went back to my doctor in San Jose.  He asked what side effects I had been having.  I told him my joints hurt.  I told him I went for a run and it felt like my calves ripped off of my tibia.  I told him I felt tired and recovered slowly.  I basically felt like a really old man.  He acknowledged all these side effects and then told me that one side effect is arthritis which is rare but I appeared to have it.  He then explained that the injections are actually toxic for your body and can be bad for your heart that is why from here on out I should get a shot every other day and probably get an EKG to make sure my heart is ok.  Hmmm, again things that would have been good to know earlier.  He said I needed to keep taking the shots until it was completely gone otherwise it could come back in years and develop into mucotonious leshmaniasis which will eventually eat through your septum.  Delightful.

So I headed back to Coco and kept going in every other day limping around town until I had taken all 30 shots.  After the 30 were up I sent in a picture to my doc who confirmed that it had indeed healed completely and I did not need to take any more shots which was a great relief to me.  All that is left now is a small circular scar about the size of a dime....that can be easily covered with my beard.

I am doing fine now and left Costa Rica at the end of January however there are still plenty stories to tell.  I am currently sailing around the Bay Islands of Honduras working my way south.

Hope everyone is well,
Jb


As promised the before and after pictures.  They speak for themselves:

Rollin' with the Oldies.

In the interest of keeping these postings entertaining and getting a different perspective on things, I thought it would be a nice change of pace to include the travel experiences of some fellow travellers.  Now the obvious question was which travellers’ tales would I pick to document, fabricate, and exaggerate upon.  Who would put their complete trust in me as I lead them around Costa Rica just to get a few funny stories out of?  Luckily for me the answer was easy:  My parents. 

After all of the places I have been, they surprised me when they said they were thinking of coming to see me in Costa Rica.  After multiple Skype conversations guaranteeing them that this country has running water and electricity, they bought their tickets.  I did leave out that having running water actually means you have to run back and forth to the water well in the center of town two miles away and that each house has its own electricity as long as someone pedals the bicycle powered generator fast enough but I figured I could share these minor missed details with them once they arrived.

So in early December, my parents stepped off the plane in Liberia International Airport and my dad got his first stamp in his shiny new passport.  I was anxiously waiting outside and welcomed them to my home away from home.  Now, the question became what was I to do with them for the next week and a half.   With a whirlwind of ideas running through my head, one stood out as being mutually beneficial to my parents and myself:  Find them a job so they would have to stay down here and buy at least a two bedroom house on the beach so I could stay there for free.  Reflecting on this now it may appear that this wasn’t quite as good a deal for them but at the time I was mainly thinking of their best interests.  So I began putting together a list of possible jobs they could try out as we travelled around the country.

 Since my mom would appreciate some grand kids any time since 5 years ago, I thought she maybe interested in a babysitting job.  Although she had the experience to handle the job with ease it turned out to be a hassle trying get the correct paperwork to verify she wasn't going to run off with someone's baby.  The best I could do was find her a job at a local zoo taking care of the monkeys.  She agreed to the idea and as soon as she stepped into the cage the monkeys immediately took to her like she had been there for months already.  I thought this whole finding a job thing was turning out to be pretty easy.  However after the monkeys got their fill of hugs in they began grooming my mom and in the ended we ended up owing them for their services.

Next we headed down to the Palo Verde River where I had lined up something for my dad.  Since he enjoys fishing I thought he would enjoy something a bit different and try catching crocodiles.  Well even though we were guaranteed a croc from our guide, all we got to see was this guy holding a piece of raw chicken over the side of the boat on a not so long stick for about 30 minutes with no results.  We did discuss downsizing our catch and going after the plethora of large iguanas that littered the river banks however as close as they would let you get to them, trying to actually nab was an entirely different story. 

Chicken on a Stick

That evening, debating my next move, I noticed the price of lobster on our menu and tried to figure out why it was so expensive when all you had to do was just go out for a swim and snag a few from the reef.  Well my mom likes lobster and she likes to swim so the next morning I decided it was time for my mom to get her first snorkel lesson and she if she could catch her own lobster.  After giving her the intro on mask, fins, and snorkel we waded out into the waters to tour around the reef and see what we could find.  I stayed by her side until she got the hang of it and told me she could go on her own.  Within 5 minutes she was back at my side saying she enjoyed it but liked it better when I swam beside her and pushed her around so she didn’t have to kick.  The point of getting them a job was to have something for them to do while I could sit in the hammock at the beach and read.  If I had to be by her side while she hunted lobster, this wasn’t going to work.

Snorkel Intro Lesson 1:  Always look cool

 

As much as my dad drove the family around for trips across the States I thought maybe he would enjoy driving a small tour bus to majestic cloud forest of Monte Verde.  However, after driving 3 hours on bumpy gravel roads to get there my dad was more worried about getting a kidney transplant than getting a job.  It’s almost a slap in the face driving up the roads to Monte Verde.  Around every corner there is a speed limit sign of 40 km/h.  On these roads I was happy to average 15 km/h.  I think the government was optimistic when they got funding for these roads and put the speed limit signs up before they actually fixed the roads.  Then they realized they spent all the money on signs and didn’t have enough to actually make the roads drivable.  Real nice signs though.

Speed Limit = 40 km/h.  Speedometer Average = 15 km/h.

 On a side note, when the roads were actually nice enough to drive fast on, there was a posted speed limit of 60 km/h.  Most people were easily going 80 km/h or faster along with myself to make up for lost time on   the bad roads.  Coming over a hill there were two motorcycle cops sitting under the shade of a tree.  Normally I would brake but as I haven’t seen a cop do much more than sit under a shade tree much less give someone a ticket, I felt no need to slow up.  As we got closer one of the cops nonchalantly raised his radar gun and vaguely pointed it in my direction.  As we passed he made a lazy gesture that somewhat resembled pull over.  I took his gesture as “Hey, you may have been speeding.  I can’t be for sure because this radar gun doesn’t actually work but you seemed to be going fast.  If you would please turn your car around and come back to this shade, I may think about giving you a ticket if I can find my pen.  But if you keep driving, don’t worry I am not going to chase you because then I would actually have to do something.”  So I drove on without incidence.   

Back to the mountains.  Once we reached Monte Verde, we discovered this was a great area for growing coffee beans and to make coffee someone has to pick the coffee beans.  Why not my parents.  They could work together in the cool mountain air and enjoy the spoils of their labor.  We easily found a plantation that took them on as interns but when all they picked after the first day wasn’t even enough to make up for the 3 cups they drank earlier they were quickly let go.

Luckily immigrant labor laws aren't as strict in Costa Rica as they are in the U.S.

After this last failed attempt I pretty much gave up hope and decided we needed a pick me up so my mom and I went on a zip line tour which included the longest zip line in the world, over 1 km long.  She only cussed really loud twice and then denied it when I told her what she said.  If you ask her now she will still deny it.

 To wrap things up I decided to take it easy on them and take them to Costa Rica's most famous volcano, Mt Arenal.  It's last major explosion was in 1968 after it completely destroyed the village shown below:

Its last minor eruption was in 1998 and is now supposedly dormant but when you drive up to park they tell you to pull your car in backwards in case you have to make a quick getaway due to an exploding volcanic lava flow leaving you with a slightly uneasy feeling as you hike around.  So we hiked quickly up to the signs that tell you not to go any farther and then a bit farther before we turned around.  

From here it was all down hill as we made our way back to Playa del Coco for our last night together before they left.  Although things didn't quite go as I hoped with the job search, they had a heck of a time and glad they were still up for a bit of travel and adventure.  It was great to have them here to see what trouble we could get into as a family.  I wouldn't mind doing it again some day.

Hope everyone had a good Christmas and New Year.  I did.

 Jb

All My Exes Live in Texas (and a few in Miami)

It's been too long my friends and there is much to catch up on.  Let's consider this episode a flashback.  I've never written a flashback before but feel it will be a worthwhile endeavor I can add to my resume of semi-nonficitonal material. 

(Note:  All names below have been altered to hide the identity of the actual persons involved until all lawsuits have been settled.)

I made a trip back to Texas in late October for the wedding of a great man and true friend, Nick Sludtke.  This is a man who can honestly admit he has never lied before, even if he tells you he can fly.  And I can actually confirm this is indeed not a lie, reason being, when he gets drunk he can't feel his feet and truly thinks he is flying.  Although one would think the gift of flight an amazing attribute, for our friend, Mr. Sludtke, this usually meant he could end up at any number of locations any given weekday or weekend morning after a night out.   It was no surprise to us to hear he had woken up locked out of his car in a downtown parking garage with just his pants and tank top on, in a random front yard in an unknown neighborhood being interrogated by the police, in a New Orleans hotel room after meeting some rappers in Houston, or behind the barricades of a construction site where the morning crew just put a hard hat on him and let the little guy sleep it off while they jack hammered a few feet away.  Luckily for him he met a great girl who is able to keep him safely on the ground and in a cozy bed where he can comfortably wake up each morning without worrying where he is.

It's always great to have a place to call home especially when that place is Texas.  It was a joy to see so many friends and family especially since at some points along my sailing and jungle adventures I thought I may never see anyone again.  Being back home and seeing everyone reminded me of three things:

1.  How much I missed Texas barbecue and luckily McDonald's brought their McRib back just in time for my return home. It always amazes me how they can make a rib sandwich without any bones.  I packed up 25 in the trunk to take back with me to Costa Rica.  What's more amazing is how I took this picture by myself while driving down 59 around the med center on Friday during lunch hour.  Don't worry it was a rental.  But better than the McRib were the actual ribs and bbq chicken my dad cooked up when I got down to their house.  He always tries to keep me from leaving again by putting me in a bbq induced food comma.  

2.  How nice it is to have friends that let you fly their planes.  Driving is such a bore.

Buzzing by the locals camped out and fishing on the beach.

Our shadow with the coast stretching off into the horizon.

A tribute picture for my friends at Johnson Space Center with downtown Houston way in the background.

I can't mention who I was flying with because we probably broke multiple FAA regulations and he still lives in the in the country but I would like to thank Chris and Mary for letting me crash at their place in Houston while they were out of town.  The party was great you guys.  Sorry you weren't in town for it.  If the cat doesn't seem to be acting normal, no worries.  I was told the effects would only last 3 - 4 months.

3.  I can't remember the third thing right now but hopefully it will come to me before this flashback is over.

 Now to be completely honest, the real reason I flew back to Texas was to go through Miami.  I started out to do this trip to see what more life could offer and what else I could learn about the world.  This is one thing I have learned for sure:  Any time you get a chance to go to Miami take it.  If you are a single man or let's say a man who is in a committed relationship but likes to wear dark sunglasses and can get by with flying from San Diego to LA via Miami, I would recommend it every time.  Miami is the only city in the world I have been to where I have almost proposed to 3 women before even getting out of the airport .  One of them being the lady who works at the over size baggage counter.  And it just gets better from there.  

During my one night lay over, I had the pleasure of going out with the best wing man ever, Mark Horner.  He lives in a condo high rise on South Beach where I would just be happy riding the elevator up and down to the lobby to meet ladies.  However the night I was there we felt a bit more daring and went to a little bar just down the street where I met an attractive girl and struck up a conversation.  I like to joke around a bit and told her I was an ankle model.  Well there are two things you don't joke about in Miami and modeling is one of them.  She took me serious from the get go and then I was in to deep to back pedal so then began expounding on the trials and tribulations of being an ankle model.  She said she completely understand because her career as an underwear model was just as difficult.  She then began to show me some of her work on her iPhone (thank you Steve Jobs) and even though I couldn't see her face in any of the pictures, I wasn't going to discredit her and make her profession any tougher.  I do have a heart.  

The point which I am trying to make but have digressed from a bit is that Miami is great.  Get there.

Oh yeah, and after checking my notes, I now remember the 3rd thing I wanted to mention:  That I am a racist.  Allow me to explain.

After a late night of dancing at Wild West, my friend Dirty Frank convinces myself and our other friend Mark Horner (in town from Miami for the aforementioned wedding) to go to House of Pies for some late night grub.  He basically convinces us by paying for the taxi there and home.  Eventhough at 3 am House of Pies is usually only 10% straight somehow Dirty seems to be able to meet ladies there.  While we are waiting for our table, 2 ladies walk in dressed up in cocktail dresses, they see the wait, and begin to leave.  Dirty grabs them and tells them we are next for a table and they can sit with us.  They give a disgruntled look and ask his name.  They proceed to stomp over to the hostess and ask who is next.  The girls look surprised when they hear his name and agree to sit with us.  As Shakespeare once wrote in one of his most famous sonnets, "The way to a drunk girl's heart is through her stomach."

We end up sitting at the bar with Horner on the left, then the 2 girls, then Dirty, and then myself flanking the right.  Dirty begins chatting up the girl next to him and somehow in a matter of minutes he has her slithered around his arm leaving me baffled once again as to how this guy does it especially under such dim odds.  I just assume she is still really drunk and can't differentiate between a slovenly groomed 14 year old and  grown-ass man.  I begin to scan the restaurant for any other late night contenders but quickly realize that my best chances are chatting up the 72 year old waitress in the hopes she has a grand daughter who has chosen a different career choice.  

The girls' food comes out first and once it comes the one talking to Dirty unleashes her tentacles from his arm and begins to shovel in her chow without saying a word until she is done.  Once complete she then tells us how much she loves food and begins to "assist" her friend with her food as well.  Our food comes out and after I eat half of some sort of egg scramble called the Cancun Special, the side of beans that appeared to actually been shipped in from Cancun and was now beside my plate as a cold side didn't seem quite that appetizing.  I notice Dirty's girl is still engulfing her friend's meal so I lean over and tell him to tell his new friend that if she is still hungry she can have my beans.  To our surprise she abruptly stopped eating even leaving a little bit of potato bake dangling from her lower lip and glared at me with fork still in hand making her look even more menacing.  She then began to say rather loudly that I was a racist for offering her beans.  

Apparently earlier in the conversation she had mentioned she was from Mexico.  Now deep in the folds of her brain somehow her logic path put together that I only offered her beans because she said she was from Mexico hence I am a racist.  I then tried to explain my logic path which was since I saw her scarfing down food like a horse after running the Kentucky Derby, I assumed she was still hungry and was trying to be polite in offering her some of  my food.  This didn't sit well with her either and obviously takes much more than trying to be polite to re-wire the workings of a woman's brain.  She immediately got up and told her friend they were leaving.  I was just glad they stopped to pay for their food on the way out.  I looked at Dirty to apologize although not quite sure why and after the shock wore off at the quick change of events he just began laughing.  Another memorable night at the House of Pies.

The next morning, we were still laughing about the prior night and since Dirty is aware of all things Asian in a 500 mile radius and I needed to work off my racist aura, we spent all day at the 2011 Korean Fest in downtown Houston.  We got full on delicious Korean fare from Bulgogi to ice cream and listened to enough Korean underground rappers until at least K-fest 2012.  Sometimes I wonder why I even need to leave this city when I can learn so much about myself and the world right here in H-town.

Well I guess that sums up my flashback.  I hope everyone enjoyed it.  Presently things are going well in back in Costa Rica.  I completed my dive master training and my parents just came to visit for a week and a half.  They gave me plenty of material for my next blog which will be out soon.

And just to verify that I am indeed back in Costa Rica and put the rumors to rest, I wanted to include this picture of where I am finishing up this post:

There are no rumors that I know of but thought it was a nice picture to end with.

Hope everyone is well and let me know how ya'll are doing.
Jb

Trivia Time: Loco in Coco

First off, I am back State-side for a friend's wedding this weekend.  I'll be in the Houston area from Oct 21st - Oct 27th.  It would be great to catch up with folks so let me know if you are around.

Now to follow up a bit on my current town of residence, Playa Del Coco, Costa Rica.  It's a little beach  town on the north-east coast of the country in the state of Guanacaste.  It's one main road lined with touristy restaurants and souvenir shops dead ends into the beach that sits in a half moon bay filled with boats, one of them being a pirate ship, surrounded by jungle covered cliffs.  It's the low season now but things begin picking up in November and am told in late December the main street is closed to car traffic due to the throngs of tourists, both Tico's and foreigners,  that crowd the street.  I am sure by that time I will definitely by considered a local.

I have legitimized my stay by renting a studio apartment a block from the beach.  It has the basics plus a small waterfall through the ceiling in the bathroom if it rains hard enough.  Some people have asked if they can send things but getting mail here is a task in itself.  There are no real addresses so they use local landmarks, sometimes of statues that are no longer standing.  For example my address would be:
Playa Del Coco,  Costa Rica
Turn at the Lazy Lizard Bar, take second dirt road to the right, across from the hotel Puerta Del Sol, apartment between the family of eight and the prostitutes from Nicaragua.

As far as work goes, I'm basically doing an internship at the dive shop until I get my dive master and then I'll work there hopefully starting in mid-November.  Right now I go diving a few times a week with sharks, eels, rays, whales, puffer fish, etc.. and then work in the shop the other days.  It's an amazing place to travel and dive and I plan to be there until January so if anyone wants to come down, feel free.  I wouldn't charge that much to be your guide.

I was thinking the best way to introduce you to the Coco lifestyle is through a series of questions to which you get to randomly guess the answers since you have no knowledge on the subject.  This is how things normally go for me while traveling so it's a nice part of the experience to share.

1.  What have I not had to do while living in Coco:
A.  Pull a stuck truck out of a flooded creek that flows into the beach while the rising tide is coming in and sinking the truck I am driving.
B.  Bury a dead ant-eater that was hit by a car outside our dive shop before the vultures got it.
C.  Chase multiple parrots outside our store that have for some reason wandered inside but apparently do not want to dive.
D.  Have to jump a creek on my bike on my way to Spanish class after the bridge was washed away.

2.  How do they make the sunset booze bruise so cheap:
A.  Capture wild dolphins and force them to pull the boat around to save on fuel costs.
B.  Hire under age bartenders that will work for oversized surf apparel.
C.  Only go out when a monsoon is about to form so they have to cut the trip short and act like they saved your life so you will give them bigger tips.
D.  Have trained monkeys steel your drinks so you have to continuously buy new ones.

3.  What have I learned so far during my dive master training:
A.  Don't sneak up on sleeping White Tip Reef Sharks especially before lunch.
B.  7 foot long Giant Moray Eels can cause you to consume half your tank in one breath if you unexpectedly come upon one lying in a crack with an open mouth one foot from your face.
C.  Extremely strong pointer fingers come in handy when trying to hold a mountain over your head.
D.  All of the above.

Bonus Question:
Since a lot of folks have been asking about the incident with the hula hoop, the mermaid, her sister, and Mr. Bananas (actually no one has asked), how does an incident like that even come about?

Cheers and hope to see ya'll while I'm back,
Jay



Answers:
1.  D - I haven't had to jump this creek yet but am expecting this bridge to be wiped out any day after a good rain.  The good side is there is a bar on both sides.

Bridge to Spanish Class

2.  B - Unfortunately they only hire these guys for bartenders and not bouncers so you still have to watch what you say when intimidating them to pour a stiff drink.

Thumbs up means keep pouring kid.

3.  D - Yes, all indeed are true.

Bonus Answer - Well it starts off like.  Then add free alcohol and go from there.

Mermaid out of the shot to the right and Mr. Bananas below deck already drunk.

Pura Vida on the Pacuare River

Sorry for the delay in posting.  I know some of you have been holding your breathe until the next installment.  Not sure this will make you breathe any easier but here it is.  As my excuse, I was having a bit of writer's block putting this one together with the building pressure of expectations and I was enjoying finally being settled somewhere for more than a 3 day period.  Plus a good dose of procrastination may have played a part as well.

It pleases me to say I have not been on a speeding bus through rain-slicked mountain roads, stuffed into a sardine can-like ferry, or been the 3rd passenger on a scooter in over three weeks and it feels pretty nice.  I have "settled down" in Playa Del Coco, a small beachfront town on the northwest coast of Costa Rica that is the focal point for diving in the country.  I am getting my divemaster/working at a dive shop called Summer Salt Dive Center along with picking up any other odd jobs I can find to make money legally.  Luckily for me there isn't too much that is illegal down here or I may have been deported awhile back for an incident I was mistakenly involved in that included a hula hoop, a mermaid, her sister, and a howler monkey named Mr. Bananas.

I'll fill in the details on the next post, but let's get everyone caught up first. 

After risking life and limb hiking through Costa Rica's wildest jungle for your reading pleasure, I decided I was due for a bit of rest and relaxation.  So I made plans to go rafting down Class 4 rapids on Costa Rica's famed Pacuare River.

It turned out that Natu, our tour guide through Corcovado NP, is also a rafting guide and owns an old lodge on the Pacuare River.  He told me he was guiding some of his friends down river the next weekend and I should come along.  I could then hike back to his lodge and stay as long as I wanted the only caveat being I would have to bring enough food for as many days as I wanted to stay since it was a pretty isolated location.  Hard offer to pass up.

So the next weekend after just getting back to San Jose from down south, I departed in a bus with Natu's friends on a 3 hour drive to the Pacuare River.  Once we arrived, we noticed we weren't the only ones planning on rafting that day.  There were about 15 other boats from different tour companies lined up on the river bank with gear and people spread out along the shores all hustling to get their boats loaded and going.  We found Natu waving vigorously with paddles in hand to get our attention.  We loaded up, had a quick session on what to do and not to do, and then headed downstream.

The last and only other time I had been down rapids was on the Zambezi in southern Africa where our boat flipped over at least 4 times in crocodile infested waters.  So I was expecting more or less the same here, minus the crocs.  However, what we got, invigorating as it was, brought us no where close to having our boat flip over.  And not that I was disappointed but I guess I was hoping for a little more action and who can blame a 34 year old single male for that.

Now, hindsight is a funny thing in that you learn the consequences of your actions after the you perform them.  What I learned, in hindsight, is don't tell the person who is in charge of getting your raft safely down a raging river that you were expecting rougher rapids.

I was sitting in the rear of the boat opposite Natu and as we were entering the next set of rapids he put the boat at just the right angle which turned that area of the boat I was sitting on into a human catapult.  I was instantly launched off my feet onto Natu's side where he rolled back and tossed me overboard with the precision and swiftness of a judo technician making it look like I fell out of the boat of my own accord.  Once again on this journey I found myself in a precarious situation trying to stay afloat in a small life jacket with another 100 yards of white water ahead laughing uncontrollably at my doomed outlook when I probably should have been focusing on keeping my mouth closed and not inhaling so much water as my head bobbled above the water line.  Once the river calmed, I made my way back to the boat still laughing and Natu helped me onboard with a big grin on his face asking me what happened and why I fell off.   The rest of the boat was happy as well because, per custom, the first person who falls off buys the first rounds of beer at the bar post raft trip.

The other main area of interest on the trip was when Natu pointed out his lodge about halfway down the river that I would be staying at.  The lodge consisted of a cleared area about an acre deep with 5 small bungalows set on the steep hillside with a large outdoor kitchen/dining area and bathroom at the top of the clearing.  He pointed out that his place was on the right side of the river while the 4x4 trail accessing it was on the left side.  With the obvious question being, "Well it's a great place but how do I get across the river?", he smiled and as we floated a bit more downstream his finger pointed to a cable spanning the river.  His finger then followed the line to the right where it ended up pointing to a small steel box hanging from the cable attached to a tree on the river's bank.  The small steel box looked like a modified seat from a shabby carnival's ferris wheel that had once been involved in an accident in which it fell onto a famous cotton candy vendor cutting off his right arm in turn making him only suitable to work at the frog toss booth where as luck would have it, he met his wife.  This couple had a child and when he grew older, to avenge his father's misfortune, he built steel carnival seats that doubled as human torture machines.  His only clients being the producers of Saw IV and the Costa Rican Crossing River With Cable Lines Authority. 

'Detailed' directions to Natu's lodge.

So after I finished buying beers for the guys on our boat and then some, Natu and I came up with this "detailed" map, pictured to the right, on how I was to go about getting back to his place from our current location.   I hopped on a bus and told the bus driver the name of the town I wanted to be dropped off in.  After about an hour on the bus, the driver pulled to the side of the road in what appeared to be a desolate location and motioned to me that this was my stop.  I exited the bus to see that the town consisted of one small store/restaurant/bar on the side of the road with the 4x4 trail I was to take to the side of it.  I began the hike to the river around 4 pm just as the clouds gathered and it started to drizzle.

After about 2 hours of trudging down a steep, muddy, rocky car path trying to follow my map and not make a wrong turn, I got to the cable box after sunset just as the rain began to pick up.  Now does anyone have any experience using a cable box at night in the rain?  Scratch that.  Does anyone have any experience using a cable box?  Well I didn't and even though they aren't very complicated, doing anything for the first time, much less in the rain at night, can fill a grown man with a nervous anticipation similar to a virgin on prom night from what I've heard.  For starters, I was just glad the box was on my side of the river as Natu somehow promised it would be.  I climbed the ladder onto the shakey wooden platform where I then squeezed myself and bag of supplies into the swaying steel box.  I wasn't sure if I was supposed pull myself gently across or just let the thing go and enjoy the ride since it could be my last.  I recalled the words of my favorite sea captain, Captain Cook, who said,"What the hell.  How bad can it be." before he landed on a Hawaiian island and was speared to death by the natives.  So I decided what the hell.  I only saw one hook holding the box to the tree in the narrow beam of my headlamp so I took the tension off, released the hook, and held on to my seat with a definitively firm group as the box picked up speed and flew across the river dangling above the rapids of which I couldn't see but definitely could hear.  As the box neared the other side losing speed, I pulled myself the last few yards and secured the box with quite some effort to the other side.  Land ahoy.  Now all that was left to do was to hike about 1 mile upstream on a rarely used foot path through a dense jungle at night in more rain watching for poisonous snakes until I got to the clearing that was Natu's.  Once there, I hiked up the landscaped steps to the highest edifice which had the outdoor kitchen, got out of my wet clothes and cooked a nice dinner surrounded by the pitch black of night with only my headlamp and a few candles to light my way before picking the bungalow with the fewest leaks to sleep in.

This is obviously not the actual cable box crossing at night in the rain.  It's just a tribute.

View from the kitchen with Pacuare River below and the top
of the smoking Turialba Volcano peaking over the tree line

The following morning, the sun's rays slowly lit up the river valley and eventually crept into my bungalow waking me up to a clear blue sky around 5 am.  I took off my watch and set it beside my bed where it stayed for the duration of my time there.  The sun told me where I needed to be and at what time.  The view was spectacular with the Pacuare River flowing below surrounded by lush green forest with the Turialba Volcano peaking it's head above the distant mountain ridge and letting off some steam.  One of the perks about staying at a lodge in the middle of no where is you can wear as much or as little as you want and since most of my clothes were still drying, this gave me a chance to show the monkeys what separates us from them, underwear.

My daily perch where the only thing passing me by
was the river

With 3.5 days of solitude ahead of me, I had plenty of time to explore the area quite thoroughly.  I followed single track trails not having any idea where they would lead me, sometimes to a hidden waterfall with a pool of turquoise blue water at its base perfect for a refreshing swim and drink in the hot afternoon followed by a nap on large flat rocks that were warmed by the light of the sun earlier in the day but now perfectly positioned in the shade of the trees.  Sometimes the paths lead to dead ends where the brush had grown back too thick to pass due to the trails lack of human activity forcing me to turn around.  I wandered a few miles downstream where I came across an expensive resort on the river that was connected to the other side by a narrow suspension bridge.  I smiled smugly as I walked back to Natu's thinking about how much folks were paying to stay here and how much I was paying.  Aside from that, the closest encounters I had with people were the daily rafting trips that passed by around 11 am each morning as I watched from my cabana perch while reading a book in a hammock.  They rarely noticed the place much less me.  Most of my companions were giant spiders with webs built high in the rafters accumulating a plethora of flying insects of which I more than appreciated, troops of leaf cutter ants acting like important gardeners but always making their paths in the most inconvenient places, lizards sprinting from point to point thinking no one saw them, and I am sure many more things were watching me from the protection of the jungle than I noticed.

Suspension bridge farther down stream with rafters riding the rapids below.

Gone native - working on my rain gear.
What 3 days alone in the jungle will do to you.

Now how to get back to civilization.  Without any form of communication, the only thing I had to rely on was that Natu told one of the guide companies to pick me up on the river on my fourth morning as we planned and that the guide company remembered.  I wouldn't have cared to stay longer but I had no more food.  As I waited at the waters edge and watched anxiously as a few companies passed, eventually a boat yelled out my name.  They pulled up to the shore and I hopped in while the people already on the boat looked at me oddly as they tried to figure out where I had come from and what I was doing out here.  Once we got acquainted, I enjoyed another trip down river, this time staying in the boat and then catching a bus back to my hub city, San Jose.

San Jose:

Fish soup with rice, plantains, and dulce leche
at San Jose's central market

Since I spent a bit of time in San Jose as my home base in Costa Rica, figured I owed it a few words. As far as Central American countries go, Costa Rica has given it the best shot at making a hospitable capital. It's not a city I would choose to visit as a sole destination but they have done a good job at making it welcoming to travelers who have to pass through.  They have sprinkled parks here and there providing unique venues for outdoor artwork as well as blocking off the central downtown avenue and making it a pedestrian only thoroughfare.  This Avenida Central is overwhelmed with Tico's (local Costa Ricans) and the occasional tourist most week nights and weekends.  Pedestrians walk in throngs as salesmen try to lure them into their shops or restaurants.  Men spread out plastic sheets in the middle of the avenue trying to sell remote controls, belts, and dvd's of movies that aren't even in theatres yet while women try to sell soap, shampoo, and fake designer hand bags.  There is a an old man who sits under a store awning playing his keyboard and crooning classic tunes not hoping for applause when he finishes a song but just some spare change from a passer-by.  Pigeons stay well above the fray perched precariously on second story window sills while the foot traffic reaches its crescendo in the late afternoon.  For some of these feathered downtown dwellers the urge is too much as they risk getting trampled to go after a fallen french fry.  There is the constant yell of lottery ticket sellers promising winning tickets, trying to urge the people to buy up their remaining supply so they can go home.  There is a bittersweet competition between the impoverished beggars and the non-profit volunteers as to who will collect the most money for their cause.  All this ends in a sprawling indoor market where one can find just about anything especially good food.

The city's layout took me a while to get used to.  San Jose is built between mountain ranges and it seemed no matter where I went I was always walking uphill like some absurd Escher sketch.  After a few outings though I was able to master the streets and choose my route wisely so I was always walking downhill.  As for the architecture, I think the government must have got a deal with communist block architects in the 70's because most of the buildings downtown are big square concrete grey blocks.  There are, however, some surprisingly pleasant structures that sneak up on you as you walk around the city if you keep your eyes open.  One piece of noteworthy architecture is the National Theatre.  It was built at the end of the 19th century in a definitively classic European style and funded by rich coffee plantation owners who wanted a venue worthy of attracting famous composers of the time.  The interior is elaborately decorated with murals spanning up the walls and across the ceilings.  I went in one afternoon to have a look around and was told it was $8 to see the interior.  I asked if there were any performances that night and was told yes.  A concert pianist was performing that evening and the ticket price was $6 dollars.  I'm not sure if the attendant caught the irony in their pricing but I decided to buy a ticket and treat myself to a nice evening of dinner and theatre. 

Street performers outside the Teatro Nacional in San Jose

Although most people may just spend a night in the city before catching a plane or bus to their next destination, I was glad to have the chance to spend more than a few days here and really enjoyed it.

Well I think that is enough for now.  I will get another post out shortly to fill everyone in on Playa Del Coco.  I've already put quite a few photos from some dives under the Costa Rica Photo link if you want to get a head start.

Buenas,

Jay

PS:  Tribute to Fallen Foot Soldiers

I would like to dedicate this post to my flip flops. They have been my sole's only protector on this trip and have put up a good fight.   I have mended their broken thongs until they can be mended no more.  It was hard to let them go as they served me valiantly but it is time.  They are in better place. 

RIP Rubber Soles

PSS: On the upside, one thing about going around barefoot here in Coco is that I have been taken for a local twice.  Having a tan doesn't hurt either.  One time I got the local's price for a coco loco (coconut with rum in it) and the other time a tourist tried to talk to me in broken Spanish asking if I had shoes.  Then before I could say anything, they gave me $5 and walked away.  I tried to up the ante and walk around with no pants since I had some experience with that already in this country but that didn't get me any where good.