Diary for BW: One More Time

Rum Circle


Let’s see, there was the Salvadoran girl from Austin, the yoga guy from Chicago, Fiona and Emer from Cork, Thomas from Denmark, Steve and Nick from Seatlle, Iz crashed out on her sarong, Neils from Germany who is living here in a tent, forget the dude from Sao Paolo with the guitar’s name, a flute player, a few bongo players and a group of guys who sang wonderfully amid the maybe 30 or so sitting around the fire last night which also had a pencil thin moustached Scandinavian hipster banjo player, competing with the 7 piece band next-door at Lys where Joel (who I might have called Chris back when describing the bearded motorcycle guy in my entry from my last night in san Juan Del Sur and/or the ferry to Ometepe) was kicking back. The vibe here really is perfect.

Soda La Delicias for breakfast, cheap omlette and jet fuel coffee, fast, perfect.

We attempted to go to Cabuya but the bus schedule was backwards.

I attempted to climb the waterfall but my toes did not like that and I had already sliced my left index finger open while rigging another gatorade cap to fit my blown out flops and had it wrapped in dirty newspaper to stop the blood flow and was tired of waiting in this serpentine line of 50 people that were taking one slow tentative step at a time.

One of the consequences of having my ego shrink so much down here is that my skull has actually gotten smaller and none of my sunglasses fit me right anymore, me constantly having to push them back up my nose, or spin to catch them as them fall backwards off of my head.

I attempted to find a remote beach headed in the opposite direction but did not.

My first lunch was two empanadas from a woman on the corner by the bus station for 2 bucks. My second lunch was another empanada from a woman walking on the beach.

I have given up on trying to run here. The beach isn’t long enough or flat enough and the dirt road is all dust in any direction. Bill came flying by on his motorcycle with a red bandana covering his face, stage coach robber style.

The book store is finally open. I traded Harrison for Harrison, getting kind of ripped off in the process, paying 5 bucks for a used book after giving them an almost brand new one which they didn’t even give me 3 dollars credit for. This town needs a free book exchange at one of these places, though she does have a section of good books that she only rents for two bucks and a ten dollar deposit. She has Snow on that shelf, which I really want to read, My Name Is Red being so amazing, but doubt I could finish it in the small time I have left.

It’s kind of cloudy.

Saw Joel going through the checklist on his bike as he prepares to take off for the next place. He has a really cool tattoo of a map of the world on his left arm. I spent a lot of time thinking about getting something similar.

It didn’t dawn on me until I was having a mediocre dinner at La Delicias and What’s Love Got To Do With It came on the radio that one of the charming things about this place was it’s lack of typical music in the bars and restaurants. An 80’s free zone. And then I got offered weed right after and I hadn’t noticed that no one had offered me weed yet until just then. It’s nicknamed Montefuma.

Two Sardinian girls I was talking two were here buying weed (It was 40 bucks for something about the size of my fist, for whatever that is worth), and the dealer tried to get them to snort lines off of his hand, which they wanted no part of. I wasn’t offered any, and wasn’t expecting an offer. Another dealer who came up to me later says it is 60 bucks a gram here and is great. Which means that it is 60 bucks for a half gram that is probably crap.

Had another skewer from Robin and Juan and I misunderstood them yesterday. It wasn’t that the bus didn’t bring their pork, but their boss. The guy with the permit that takes most of the money, and that made me sad. I thought it was their business. I hate that they need a permit for it in a town where I can walk around the grocery store shirtless and sweating while drinking a beer that I bought at another grocery store and started drinking in the street wondering how much food goes bad in these places given the lack of air conditioning.

There are no beggars in Costa Rica in the places I have been, and none of the jewelry vendors are aggressive or annoying.

I decided that my decision to not drink until later in the night was dumb and had a beer at the sunset.

I have to clean my fingernails about once an hour, even if I am just sitting here typing or reading. I have no idea why.