Hit me up... 2 times (San Jose, CR)

It is always interesting to return to places I have been to before. A general rule of thumb for me is not to do so, but I make an odd exception now and again. This past week, my buddy Chris from California and I went to a couple of beaches outside of San Jose.  After spending a week in the big city, it was nice to get some fresh air. Sadly though, because it is low season.... and have I mentioned yet that it is also rainy season, the beaches were not so busy.

The first place we went to was called Manuel Antonio, which also has a national park there.  We didn´t go to the national park though, it has a $10 entrance fee which neither of us were willing to pay.  Manuel Antonio, according to the Lonely Planet, and from other people I have met along the way, is known to be a gay friendly place, with two gay hotels, a gay bar, and a gay beach! Chris, the naive, bright eyed, gay Californian on his short vacation was hoping to find the gays in Manuel Antonio.  Fail.

The first night we arrived we walked, uphill, at night, in the rain, to get to Liquid, a gay bar that we read about. When we arrived... it was closed because it was Sunday. As well, they were closed on the Monday too. And we were not going to be around for Tuesday.

The following day, we actually met up with a friend I had made in Jaco a couple weeks prior, Emi from Austria and his boyfriend (Georg) who had just arrived from Europe on his two week vacation to visit Emi. So the four of us set out to find the so called gay beach called Playa Playitas. Chris and I had to meet Emi and Georg at 11am, but before then, I found a man who was working on the beach. As he swept away the trash that had been accumulated I asked him the time, and as well if he knew where ¨Playa Playitas¨ was. He gave us directions as he looked us up and down, which really gave us some hope that playitas really is a gay beach!

So, once we met up with the Austrians we headed for playitas. Manuel Antonio has a very long strip of beach with beautiful large rock formations in the distance on the ocean. We walked and walked for about 30 minutes to the end of the beach. We had to go where the beach ends and make a small climb over top these boulders and shale, supposedly too dangerous to cross during high tide, and tricky as well to cross over in slippery flip-flops.  As we made the trek, we kept joking around, saying that once we arrive we will be greeted with daiquiris served by drag queens, while singing ¨somewhere over the rainbow¨.  Well, that did not happen.  Once we got over the final hump, we found two couples (straight couples) on the beach and more followed later on. Behind the beach was a top notch hotel resort that had rooms starting at $340 per night! We felt more like we were at some kind of honeymoon resort rather than a gay beach. Fail.  Nonetheless, we swam there and made the most of the day. The walk back was somber, with less enthusiasm and anticipation. And once again, we walked back... in the rain.  Did I mention that it´s bloody rainy season here! Ugh!

Chris and I left Manuel Antonio the following day and went to Jaco. I had spent 3 days in Jaco with Cesar and his buddies probably 10 days prior.  This is when it gets interesting to return to places because you feel a sense of orientation and security. You know what to expect, you know where things are.  So when we arrived, I knew exactly where to get off on the bus and we even returned to the same hotel I had stayed at previously where the lady remembered me. There was even a couple restaurants where the servers remembered me as well, that´s kinda nice.  However, Jaco was not the same as it was ten days prior. It was dead. The night life was non-existent and the town seemed empty and deserted.  That first night in Jaco Chris and I said that we already missed San Jose, despite the pollution and the fact that there are no beaches there. We thought of returning the next day but remembered we had already paid for two nights at the hotel. Oh well.

And once again, when we finally returned to San Jose two days ago, it was like coming back to familiarity. We checked into our same hostel as before, each of us got our same dorm room and I even got my same bed as before. A creature of habbit I am.

So, as per my previous post, I am going to stay here just a little bit longer. I have friends here. My good friend Luis who I met last week, a local here from San Jose, and I are going to the Ricky Martin concert next Wednesday! It´s a big deal here, there are Ricky Martin Posters everywhere and I have seen news coverage of it as well. I guess he hasn´t been here in years. Well really, Ricky Martin hasn´t been performing anywhere in years. Too bad Ricky Martin is from Puerto Rico, it would´ve been cool to say that I saw Ricky in his home turf.

Stuck or Living it up? {San Jose, Costa Rica}

Where you from? Where you been? Where you going? And, for how long? These are typical backpacker introductory questions, commonalities and social norms, per se.  It can get exhausting at times to make new friends all the time. But every now and again, it is well worth the endeavour...

I stand here in my swanky hostel in San Jose, on the rooftop lounge and restaurant, a common area for the guests, with internet stations, hammocks, a pool below us, and wide open air streaming through. However, at this time, rain has just started to pour and the wind chills my arms.

So, my sister is the one who taught me how to travel as a backpacker more than 10 years ago in the UK. I distinctly remember her once saying, "don't get stuck in one place Dean, always keep moving because you will never get to see all the places that you'd like to", as she pointed to this one girl who had been at the same hostel for 3 or more weeks.

Many people come to San Jose, Costa Rica's polluted and expensive capital city, only to pass through to their next adventure in Costa Rica's green environment.  As I have stated in my last post, I have made some friends here, and I have made a couple more now that I am actually IN San Jose.  Last night I reunited with Cesar and his buddies, and it was so nice to walk into a pub and join a large table and go around and greet everyone I knew with a hug.  Getting there, now that was a different story. Not having a cell phone can be problematic. I think it's fine when I'm hanging with other travelers because none of us have one, but when I've got plans with various people within this expansive city, where the roads really don't have any names, it can be difficult. I plan on buying a cell phone today actually, just a cheapie so I can text here and there.  It will be useful throughout Latin America I'm hoping.

So, my question is, am I stuck? Or, am I living it up?  I'm happy, I'm enjoying the company.  I am not going on the numerous, and very expensive mind you, volcano tours, bungee jumping excapades, hot spring swims, and every other nature tour there is around here, but I am having a blast nonetheless.  I am learning more and more, as I miss my friends and famiy back home at times, that adventures and journeys are not about where you necessarily are, but it is perhaps about the good people you meet along the way.  Do I make great friends and leave them behind so quickly with a yearning for more?  I will have fond memories therefore. I will always remember the cool times we had and will never get to the point in which we got fed up of one another, in which we discover each others' flaws and annoying habits. TV series often do the same thing, end them while they are ahead, rather than with a subtle, whimpering death.  However, friendships often grow stronger over time.

Last night, in Cesar's drunken, emotional birthday state, he told me that he was so happy to see me again and that there is one reason why he hates Couchsurfing, because great people come in and out of your lives with a bittersweetness.  I told him, that is just like traveling, as he already knows.  A nomadic lifestyle, always on the go, never planting roots.  FYI, for anyone thinking that Cesar and I have some kind of romantic relationship, you're wrong.

And now, my new travel buddy from San Jose, Califormia {ironic, isn't it} and I have decided to leave San Jose on Sunday morning.  We have already pushed it back by one day, to stay for a party on Saturday night.  I write this with a sense of anticipation... no that's not the right word.... with a sense of contemplation and doubt perhaps.  What's around the corner? More friends?

"Where you from? Where you been? Where you going? And, most importantly... for HOW LONG?"

Couch Surfing (Grecia, Costa Rica)

I only discovered what www.couchsurfing.org was all about a month ago. Essentially, it´s a website that has a tonne of profiles from people all over this great globe of ours, that are either traveling or hosting. It is a reciprocal process where a host will offer a free bed in their house for travelers, and the travelers will eventually return the favor in their own abode.

After 10 days, I have ended my first couchsurfing experience.  I was blessed to stay in Grecia, Costa Rica, about a one hour bus ride outside of the captial city of San Jose where I stayed with my gracious host, Cesar and his mother Celi. I am something like Cesar´s 35th couchsurfer to date. Needless to say, Cesar has done his fair share of backpacking and traveling himself, so that is definitley one thing we have in common. Another is that Cesar is also gay, I actually found his profile in the couchsurfing subgroup for queers, or perhaps I should say in the rainbow colored section of the website. So not only am I learning about the local Costa Rican or ´Tico´culture, but I am also learning about the gay culture here as well.  Gee, it took me years to figure it out in my home town.  

Cesar and I have done a lot of cool things together. Nothing crazy out of the ordinary stuff, that many people would be expecting me to be doing on my so-called adventure,  but more of the day to day kinds of things that people would do. So, I have been hanging out with Cesar´s friends, shopping, going for coffee at various cafes, drinking at the local pub, singing karaoke, chatting with his mom in my broken spanish, etc.  One day just Cesar and myself took a small daytrip to San Jose and went clubbing at a place that is much larger than any gay club in my hometown of Calgary. It was on a Sunday at 5pm (early start due to Monday being the start of a new work week), but we arrived before the doors opened and had to stand in a line up around the corner. This is only one gay bar of like 10 or more in the city. Calgary has like 4. The bar played a wide array of music: cumbia, reggaeton, US top 40, dance/electronic, and salsa.  It was cool to see so many gay couples dance to salsa. Cesar was asked to dance and didn´t enjoy the experience because he´s used to be the one who leads, haha.  

This past weekend we went on a 3 day party filled trip out to a beach 2 hours away, called Jaco, with his new boyfriend and a few of his other buddies.  I gotta tell ya, it was tonnes of fun, but hanging out with a 5 other Ticos that all speak spanish, exchange jokes in their slang, tell in-depth stories, etc. was pretty hard for beginner spanish speaker Dean.  Not to mention that I was the oldest one in the group, trying to keep up with 20 somethings is challenging. Gladly, a couple of them speak English and would explain stuff to me everynow and again. It was best when we´d play games in the pool or in the hotel room, just actions, no words.... kind of.

It is so interesting to hang out with locals that know what they´re doing. I don´t have to be confused and lost the whole time, I can just go with the flow. Nor do I need to be scared of being robbed or whatnot (not that I always am). But for example, we hardly ever locked our hotel door and they all left their cell phones and cameras in their many times.

As well, it´s is nice to know that so many things (culture wise), once translated into English, is really just the same or very similar to what life is like for me in Canada. For example, Cesar and I spent a lot of time talking about relationships with friends and partners, we would gossip about this person or that, and talk about experience a, b, and c, and it was just like hanging out with my best friends in Calgary.

When traveling, I find it always so comforting to find a friend that I can chat with about our lives, and know about who each other is talking about. It takes a while to get the new friendship going, but Cesar was very inviting and I got to know his other friends and all about Cesar´s life, and vice versa.  I told him this morning at his house before I left, that my favorite times were when it was just the two of us sitting at the counter in his kitchen, eating our typical, delicious Costa Rican meals that his mother always so deligently cooked for us, chatting about life. Cesar is a beautiful human being, with a big soul, open minded and curious about culture, life, humanity, and love, just like myself.  Thus his reason for hosting couchsurfers.

Today he told me the significance of the tattoo he has on his back of a tree and a falling leaf, and how it reminds him of his travels in Europe where he first experienced the changing of seasons, and how magnificent it was to witness leaves fall and then come to life again in the spring. Just like life, he said, it is full of new beginnings, and when one leaf leaves this world, it leaves with happiness because it knows it will come back again.

Another thing he told me last week was about his Chinese friend he met while he was once backpacking. They were eating and she was given a fork to eat with and then went into her bag and pulled out her own chopsticks. When asked why she didn´t just eat with the fork, she said, I don´t know how to use a fork, I have eaten with chopsticks my entire life.  What a profound thought.  Life is filled with always more than one side, more than one perspective, more than one worldview.  It reminds me of the song I have come to embrace these last 4 months by Joni Mitchell, ´Both Sides Now´, in which she so eloquently expresses that life is full of two sides, and we never really know what life and love is about. Life can change so quickly, but there is always another side to it.

So here I am, on my own again. I wasn´t asked to leave nor did I really want to go, but I didn´t want to impose and overstay my welcome at the house. I am now in San Jose, going to explore the big city, and maybe meet some other backpackers once again, in my new fancy hostel.  With that said, Cesar is only an hour away and he is celebrating his birthday here in San Jose on Thursday, so we will party it up once more! 

Gin (Grecia, CR)

Note to self: Gin in Costa Rica does not mean Gin the alcohol, it is short for Gingerale. Next time I go to a bar during happy hour offering free drinks, I will not order five glasses of Gingerale and then wonder why I'm not drunk. I will order Ginebra!

Cockfightin´Gallos (Grecia, Costa Rica)

I left Nicaragua yesterday morning and arrived in Grecia, Costa Rica around 7pm last night, where I will be "couchsurfing" for the next while... that is another post though.

Let me first say this... I eat chicken on a regular basis... I write this post with some hesitation, but also without judgement I suppose... 

3 days ago Silvio, my spanish teacher, took me out on an all day field trip to Rivas and San Jorge. It was him, his brother and myself.  The day started at 10am, in which we took a taxi to Rivas which only cost each of us 40 cordobas (less than 2 bucks each), whereas when I first arrived in San Juan two weeks prior, the gringo price was $10.  Anyway, Silvio took me to the Ticabus office so I could purchase my ticket to San Jose. He forced me to speak to the lady to practice my english, and then made sure that I understood everything she said and even walked me to where I would catch the bus exactly in two days time.  Sometimes I wonder how I am able to travel by myself, but I always manage. I guess it´s because of good people like him. 

Anyhow, we then proceeded to walk through the city, there was lots of festivities going on because of their independence day. Silvio and I both agreed that the fesitivities were a little boring. We then took another taxi to San Jorge to have lunch on the lake which oversees various islands and volcanos.  We chatted over lunch and exchanged stories about... stuff... in english and spanish. I made Silvio practice his english and made sure to correct every grammatical mistake he made, just as he does to me. It makes me feel better when he talks in English because then I don´t feel so lost and uncapable.  

The three of us then headed off to the cockfights... when we first pulled up I thought we were dropping off another lady who was sharing the taxi with us. The place looked like a large house having a family party, with tables set up and music playing, in my head I thought, oh what a nice family function on independence day.  Then, Silvio opens the door and gets out of the car, and I´m like, oh this is the cockfight? 

We each pay 50 cordobas at the entrance and enter a very innocent looking place. Men are gathered around tables chatting, laid back, tranquilo. A few women linger around and chat as well. In the corner lays a few vendors selling beers, sodas, and some typical foods. In the background plays loud old school Mexican country music, the kind you would normally slap your lap with, as men in sombreros do-si-do, with accordians and guitars overtaking the lyrics.  

Once we walk past the crowds, Silvio points out all the roosters (gallos) that are lined up in blue cages.  I ask him where his is, but he says that his friends are bringing his two fighting roosters in a bit.  As we browse the potential winners, others follow suit. We bump into one of Silvio´s friends and he introduces us, but as what often happens, many people are afraid to speak to the guy who is learning to speak spanish. The man asks questions about me via Silvio, and Silvio prompts the guy to ask me directly. I answer as best I can. 

A bit of time passes while we all wait in anticipation for the first match.  I pull out my SLR camera which Silvio had advised me was safe to take with me because I am with him, my local protector. I take some shots of the , silent, empty, hollow ring. Imagine a blue octagon shaped arena with white lines on the ground to mark the centre and initial fighting stances, all surrounded by scaffolds of wooden benches for the on-lookers, the gamblers, the playa´s. 

Before the first match, I see two roosters getting weighed in by their attendees, their coaches, so to speak. As well, Silvio takes me behind the arena to see one rooster getting his fighting blade stapped onto his foot where one of his claws once was, but has now been shaved down for this specific purpose.  Quickly thereafter, I see the crowd all head into the arena... we rush in. There appears to be no more room, but of course, there is always more room. Silvio spots a some free wood too stand on the top bench, he grabs the beer out of my hand and a stranger 8 or 9 feet above me grabs my hand as I climb up. 

There we are, all standing, hovered over one another, reaching in to see the first match. The referee (a well dressed, light skinned Latino man from Costa Rica, tall and buff) holds a clanging bell in his hand, along with a wooden board to seperate the roosters on their assigned marks. Prior to this, the two coaches must decide on an alotted time for the match, maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10 or even 15.  The match is not until death, but until the end of this time.  As well, each rooster is antagonized with another rooster that is swatted in front of their faces a few times to get them riled up, ready to go at it with a vengeance! 

So the bell rings, the gate lifts and the two cocks encounter one another, already pissed off, the crowd starts to cheer, shouting out words I do not understand, at times perhaps it is simply a rooster´s name that they want to win.  The roosters start attacking each other, at times they will stare each other down with a look that says I will effin´kill you, as their manes stand up straight on edge, tense and threatening.  One jumps in and starts pecking away at the other, as the other retorts. Wings fly up and down, legs and the attached blades go in and out.  The referree will stop the fight every now and again and give the roosters a break, or if they have gone astray, the referree will get the two coaches to step in and align them again for another round. As we wait for the break to end, the referree takes his bell and counts down... clang.... clang... clang... clang.... In the meanwhile, the two coaches, the men that are essentially the assigned directors for the roosters nurse their rooster back to health. At times they will suck the blood out of their rooster and then spit it out to the ground, or they will take a cloth and wipe the blood away, or adjust the blade so that it is still effective.  Clang.... clang... clang... round two... round three...eventually the match ends, one rooster has no more fight in him, he can barely attack or move, the time is up and the referree walks away and the crowd is content.

The referee never really clarifies who the actual winner is, and the crowd always just seems to know who has won. For me, I was sometimes confused as to who won.  At one point, during a break, the coach walks out of the ring, after giving the referree a signal. I look to Silvio´s brother in confusion, and he simply signals with his one finger sliding accross his neck that the rooster is basically dead.  

As time goes on, I wait and wait for Silvio´s rooster to take the stage. A few beers pass, and the sun sets. Between matches, I go outside and take a break from the large crowds, the sweaty pushers and yellers, and grab some fresh air and stand by Silvio´s other friends who, once again, are shy to speak to me, and vice versa. Nevertheless, there is a sense of solidarity amongst us. At one point, Silvio´s friend tries to explain to me that I am his amigo simply because I am connected with Silvio.  I suppose Silvio was being a little over protective of me, at one point in the arena, he gets his brother to stand on one side of me, and another friend on the other side, and tells me that I have two policemen on guard for me. Haha, I think he may have been worried because of my camera, but I had no fear about it whatsoever. 

Eventually, around 7:30 or 8:00 Silvio comes into the arena and stands by us, and I see a dark black gallo in the ring... it´s Silvio´s. Prior to this, Silvio had been busy with a little piece of paper he kept in his pocket that he would pull out every now and again and he would be surrounded by gamblers. He would scribble names and bet amounts down, crumple the paper up and put it back into his pocket, only to pull it out again 3 minutes later. Some would bet 50, 100, 300 cordobas at a time.  

As the fight goes on, I watch, at this point confused and tired as to what was exactly happening. Camera away, trying to concentrate.  Next thing I know, the match is over, and Silvio signals to me to come outside. He tells me in spanish, I have no luck tonight, and only then do I conclude that his gallo had lost.  A sense of empathy comes over me. 

We, Silvio, his brother, his group of amigos, and a bunch of men I had seen throughout the day, all jump into the back of a truck with a large flatbed. We wait until departure, as the guys all discuss the day, most of which I tune out because of the language barrier.  The ride back is somewhat drunken and rowdy, and also  somewhat sad and sombre. Silvio tells me that he had a good time even though he lost, he asks how my day was, concerned that I was bored and I tell him how cool the experience truly was.  We talk in English amongst the crowd of Latinos and no one seems take notice.  The ride, about 45 minutes or longer in length, was accompanied by a lightning storm which I have written so fondly about previously. Eventually, we encounter wind and rain! Those in the front duck down behind the truck´s cab, and the rest of us all duck down onto one another for some kind of shelter. At one point I ask Silvio what is in his large white bag made of plastic twine, and he says it is his dying rooster. I was going to use it for shelter, but decided, no thanks!

We finally arrive back to San Juan del Sur, it´s been a long day it seems. Silvio jumps out and I follow, along with this guy from Costa Rica. The Costa Rican guy takes me into a cab, because Silvio is too concerned (once again) that it is not safe for me to walk home alone, and I get home in minutes.  My clothes are covered in dust and grit, I wash my hands and the sink fills with brown water. I eventually go out into the twon and grab a bite to eat before going to bed, my head still swirling from the day´s events. 

Independence Day

Sept. 14 & 15 are national holidays here in Nicaragua. For the past weeks I've heard and seen young school children practicing music for a large parade in the streets for the two days. It all comes down to today!

Since the town will be filled with outside visitors from around the country, along with drums, bells, vendors, colorful fabrics, shouts and screams, and a large array of other things I am guessing, my one on one Spanish class is going on a field trip!

Sylvio, my teacher is taking me to Rivas, a much larger town about 30 minutes away, where we will grab lunch, shop, etc. as a way for me to practice my Spanish. As well, Sylvio own roosters that he trains for cock fights. So, today he will be taking me to one of his "galleras", where he will be competing! I think I'll be the only gringo there, but in good hands. He told me not to wear my usual tank top, shorts, and flip flops. I gotta fit in. His face when I asked him if I could wear my regular clothes was a very polite, squirmish... "um.... sure". Haha, ok, ok, I'll wear shoes and an actual t-shirt!

Happy Independence Day!

The Lightning Dance (San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua)

So it is the start of rainy season here in Nicaragua. Somedays it rains for 15 minutes in the morning and sometimes for another 15 in the evening. However, the cool part thus far, is the lightning storms that occur in the darkness.

Because I am on the Pacific Coast, we often get to see lightning on the ocean's horizon far off in the distance. At times it is like a laser show, with distinct and unique bolts of electricity stinging the waters. The amount of lightning makes you feel as though you are in a dancehall, but with no steady rhythm. Interestingly enough, there is no thunder to act as an accompaniment. Perhaps there is, but it is too far off in the distance for our ears to be graced with. This gorgeous act of nature, truly lights up the crisp darkened skies and the navy like luminous clouds.

So on Saturday evening I went dancing a two storied bar, overlooking the beach, the great pacific. As we danced, we were in the presence of something strong, something fierce, something spiritual! Lightning.

Okay, no pictures of lightning, but check out this awesome sunset in San Juan del Sur. Majestic.