The group and I decided to head to the Caribbean coast for the weekend, to Cahuita. It's just south of Limon, one of the main port cities here. The bus ride there was a solid four hours, but cost a little over four American dollars. Cahuita is basically Jamacia in Costa Rica: carefree atmosphere, reggae out of every speaker, and the faint smell of that green herb everyone seems to love. As soon as you settle in, checked out a few restaurants, and talk to the locals, you could tell relaxation is thankfully impossible to avoid. Paradise
Friday:
We (Lindsay, Stephanie, Kristen, Laura, & I) arrived in Cahuita around 7pm Friday night and were met by Brigitte, the hostel owner. After a relatively long trip and a few bottles of water, food was the priority, but few things seem to come before the beach in my book. Although the clouds dampened the view, the moon provided enough light to see the shore. The vastness of the ocean never ceases to amaze, making you feel both insignificant and little but forever thankful you have the ability to appreciate and enjoy the view. I've realized that the future is chaotically approached by all. We prepare the best we can, and although we may have an influence, the majority of things are not in our control. One thing I plan on controlling? Living on, around, or near the ocean. It's the way to go.
After a quick beach walk, we all went to the local reggae bar/restaurant which was halfway between our hostel and the beach (about a fifteen second walk). The restaurant had a great feel to it: it was complete open, having a roof as the only barrier to the outside. Stray dogs wandered in and out, sometimes looking for a bit of food or sometimes just looking for a little attention. My order was pretty predictable, if you know me at all - the freshest fish on the menu (Red Snapper) with a tall, frosty brew. The snapper was cooked to perfection, didn't need more than a fork to get it off the bone. Oh and it came completely intact, head and tail included - I'm sure you would have loved it, Mom.
After we ate, the girls headed back to the hostel but I stayed back to catch some of the game with the rest of the folks, Costa Rica v. Brazil. The game didn't go as the Ticos would have liked, but it was a good time. I ended up talking with a French kid, around my age, who is vacation throughout CR for a whole month. We bought a few more Imperials and talked soccer. All-in-all, pretty solid night.
Saturday:
The entire time I've been here, seeing a sloth was basically the only important thing on my agenda. Saturday morning, we rented bikes and headed to a sloth sanctuary just north of Cahuita. Now let me clarify a few things: 1. Rented Bikes - not mountain bikes, touring bikes, hybrid bikes, or even a BMX bike. But the bike that Miss Gulch rode in the Wizard of Oz. In fact, it was the exact model. And 2. "Just north" is loosely defined. Apparently, the sanctuary is 30 minutes away. What we failed to realize is that it was 30 minutes in a car, not in a Penny-farthing from the 19th century. Without going into to much detail, after a few broken chains, a ton of sweat, and one asthma attack, we made it to the sloth sanctuary in just over an hour and a half. We spent a good amount of time with the sloths who, in case you were curious, are very passive creatures. Many are in the sanctuary because of an injury or illness that wouldn't allow them to live alone in the wild.
After spending time with the sloths, we trekked back down the highway to the beach. I basically threw my bike down, jumped into a suit, and crawled to the beach with a gallon of water. Hydration and relaxation were the only things on my mind.
The beach by the hostel was nice and close, named Playa Negra because of it's dark sand. I swam out and just floated with the waves from about 3pm to 4pm. I went back to shore to lay down for a bit but was approached by a large, sand covered golden retriever. He was barking aggressively and when I tried to move, he threw himself in front of me, refusing to let me walk further. I looked at him and shrugged. He ran towards a tree and came back with a coconut still in it's hard outer shell. Attacking it like it had insulted his mother, the stray pooch eventually worked the center part free (the part most think of when they hear coconut). He threw it at my feet and gave me that puppy dog look - you know the one. So for the next two hours, I played fetch with a stray beach dog and his coconut on the Caribbean coast. Cross it off my bucket list. People walked by giving me that approving smile you give a dog owner who has a mutually shared love for his dog. I must have thrown that coconut two-hundred times, knowing that the Yanks wouldn't be calling on me for an inning or two for at least the next few months. A few of my friends came to swim, so I went out with them.... and so did the dog. He seemed to enjoy swimming but started barking when it was coconut time again. I didn't mind a few more tosses. When darkness fell, I threw in the towel and told him I'd see him tomorrow. But before I left, I noticed on breaks he had been drinking the sea water, which is obviously horrible for any living being, dogs and humans included. Having the gallon of water, I poured some in my hands to see if he wanted some fresh water instead - he stayed around a drank the whole gallon.
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| La Playa Negra |
I walked the thirty seconds back to the hostel, took a quick shower, and headed into town at around 6pm to meet my friends, Stephanie and Lindsay, for food and drinks. We had planned on staying for a half hour or so, but we ended up trying nearly every cocktail on the menu and buying dinner. I have no idea how long we sat there, but I've never felt more happy that I was doing nothing. While we sat there enjoying the good life, a few guys in the park across the street broke out the drum set; the bar lowered their music and let us chat amongst the drum beats. Holy shit, so this is why people here are so happy. I'll be coming back in the future, for anyone who wants to scope the scene.
We went to the same club that night with the whole crew. Live reggae music and $2 beers? You'd have to TRY not to enjoy yourself. One thing about Ticos is that they refuse to dance unless they have a partner. Americans? We don't care, we dance with everyone or no one. So basically, we tore that place up, singing and dancing until the wee hours of the night. I'll never forget singing 'One Love' as loud as I could with all my Costa Rican buds. As per usual, I had my weekly conversation with a homeless guy: we talked about crime, drugs, women, and life - how easy failure is, but resilience is the key to all success. Great memories, great night. It was the best day I've had in 2011.
This week ends my first half of school. When Friday ends, I'll be starting my week long break. I'll be headed towards the Pacific Coast to Manuel Antonio, just south of Quepos. I'll be going alone (sorry Mom) but a week with nothing but laying on the beach is exactly how I want to spend a week in Costa Rica. A good time to read a few books, relax in the sun, and reflect on my past, my present, and my future.
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| Chiquita Banana field |
I miss my friends and family in New York, especially my Oneonta crew. Time here has been fantastic and in no way do I want to speed it up, but I look forward to my return to the City of the Hills. If you are reading this, you can rest assured I miss you and your company, and that I'd love to hear from you. Whether you're family, Oneonta friends, home friends, or past friends, get in touch! I miss you all tremendously.
Wishing you well, sending all my love, and hoping life for you is as good as it is here,
Dan
Pura Vida, mis amigos
Hasta pronto
