T-minus 17 hrs

til lift off!
I had been studiously avoiding making any friends in Quepos (besides Loren at Aroma) because, who cares anymore? For the past 2 days, when not at the coffeeshop, I´ve reading in a hammock, keeping to myself - until this morning when I couldn´t help myself and made friends with a group of kids (everyone is SO YOUNG here). Just spent a few hours at the beach with them, which was highly preferable to the day I had previosuly planned of reading weeks-old issues of Newsweek by the hostal pool until I had to catch my bus.
Lemme say something about this hostal: I don´t know if it´s really as grimy as I think it is, or if its just 5 weeks of travel talking, but the place is a semi-dump. I picked it because it was SUPER-cheap and looked like it was trying to imitate my Santa Elena pension. I think it´s the notices about bed bugs that are up in the rooms (along the lines of "They exist and are a fact of life. Use the sheets provided to keep from infesting yourself and our beds.") or that fact that I´ve seen more floating poo in the last 2 days than I have in the last 5 weeks put together - actually, go ahead and make it my entire life. There are notices up about the temperamental nature of the plumbing system as well, but when 4 out of 6 toilets are, ahem, soiled and unuseable before noon, I think the problem is slightly bigger than your average place. No other establishment I´ve stayed at had NEARLY the poo problem that this one does. And if you will remember from my earlier, toilet-obsessed blog entries, this is actually pretty important to me. (I´d like to note that my dreamy coffee place has the best bathroom in the entire country, so I can´t blame Quepos as a city. The restroom doesn´t even have a trash can in it. It has a flush-only policy. And great potty deoderizer, nice soap, and a hand drier that could lift a hot air balloon if I turned the thingie the right way.)
I´ll stop now. I´m even grossing myself out.
I´ve been thinking about these last 5 weeks and things I´ve learned about myself, Costa Rica, people, life...
- Vendors here hate making change for large bills, which is unfortunate because when you change money the banks pay you back in the largest bills they can. I tried to pay for 1,150 colones worth of pet food for Baxter Dupree with a 10,000 colon note and the girl literally rolled her eyes and shook her head at me. This would be perhaps the 57th time that had happened to me. What I learned? Break all your bills at the grocery. They have the change. They hate to do it too, but they are fully capable. I can´t count how many times I bought a 50 cent bottle of water or popsicle with what equated to a $20 bill.
- Learning how to surf hurts. I know I´ve talked about this ad nauseum, but what I learned is when you know how to surf you don´t get hurt as much (barring catastrophes beyond your control, like Les´accident). It´s a duh statement, but those last few days of surfing, the most I got was severe water in my ear or broken skin from rock scrapes which are unavoidable. When I realized I wasn´t bruising anymore, it indicated to me that I was actually finally controlling the board instead of letting it control me. That was a pretty cool aha! moment.
- If you´re a single girl traveling, its easiest to make friends with the following: (listed in order of ease) groups of guys, other single girls, single guys, couples, and finally groups of girls. Groups of girls are catty and exclusive - I know, I´m usually one of them. In the future, I hope I remember how lonesome I felt sometimes when I was traveling and will, in turn, reach out to that solo girl if or when I see one.
- I am both cooler and not as cool as I thought. Cooler: I have more patience with insects, set-backs (the crying fit in San Jose notwithstanding), and being dirty (the cold water showers don´t encourage a thorough washing. It´s been 4 days since I washed my hair) than I anticipated. I´m also more comfortable alone than I was the last time I traveled solo, which was my jaunt through Europe 7 years ago. Not as cool: I´m more sensitive to heat than I thought. I´m from Texas for God´s sake, but there was something about the heat in Costa Rica that, unless I was in some sort of direct wind or breeze, I found absolutely unbearable. ALSO. I am FAR more Type A, not only than I´ve ever admitted to being, but than I even suspected myself to be. I don´t mind that I need to have a plan, but I´ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have to keep moving to be happy. The stop and start of bus rides makes me want to pull my hair out and scream. I walk extremely fast, and I hate, HATE slowing down to maneuver through a crowd. If I feel stuck someplace, like I felt sometimes in Barrio Jesus, I have to physically pull myself out of my pain cave and get a change of scenery.
- Costa Rican food sucks. Well, after 2 weeks of typical food, it sucks. It´s bland and heavy. I never thought I would get tired of bread, but I am TIRED of bread. I don´t want to see or smell fried chicken for the rest of this year. I absolutely don´t want to see ketchup and mayo mixed together until the next time I get pommes frites in Amsterdam. Ketchup and mayo together over salad? I really don´t ever want to see that again. Poor abused lettuce.
- Costa Rican drinks are awesome. What a genius country to blend fresh fruit, water, and ice! Its easy and amazingly refreshing!! I LOVE IT.
- Ticos are breath-takingly beautiful. I noticed it more in the central valley since it was more Tico than tourist, but riding the bus surrounded by all that gorgeous, natural, beautiful dark skin and eyes...made me feel like the pasty honky I am.
- There isn´t anything I can´t handle. From surfing to missing buses to suffering through (this is going to sound bad) a futball game by reciting the movie "Heathers" from start to finish in my head, mosquitoes, heat sickness, inadvertently stepping on insects the size of my palm, wearing clothes until they actually beg me for a day off... I can endure and succeed through anything.
I guess that´s what this trip was about, wasn´t it?
Those of you who read along, I hope it was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write. Thanks to everyone for your support and love. I gotta go shower (and MAYBE wash my hair) and catch the bus that brings me (to the airport to wait for 10 hours, to board the plane, to connect in Miami, to catch my flight...) HOME!
Pura Vida!

Couldn´t resist one last picture. Our room and boards in Dominical. Something about it says "Goodnight, John Boy" to me...it´s just me being sentimental.

Sorry Bobo...

No monkeys.
(A quick explanation: Bobo is a character Dayne created who loves monkeys. Loves. In all ways possible.)
I woke up this morning at 430am. Why? A GD rooster directly outside the dorm window cock-a-doodling. First it was every 10 minutes. Then it was every 5. Then every 2. Then I (mentally) cried uncle and got up at 530.
It rained all morning - the crazy thunderclapping, wild lightening kind. In the eye of the storm I dutifully headed to Manuel Antonio. Once I got there, the sky opened up again for another hour or so. It wasn´t the rain that cut my visit to the park short, it was the fact that my flip flops finally broke. I had unwisely left my dorm wearing only my sandles, fully aware that they were on their last legs. I hiked as far as I cold barefoot, but once I got to the rock trail I had to throw in the towel. Thankfully, I was able to kill sometime taking pictures and out of the blue, the rain let up for long enough for me to get a good fat hour of sun on the beach.
Terrified of getting burned (closer to the equator, blah, blah), I headed back to Quepos, back to my beloved movie-showing coffee shop for a few hours on caffeine and suger-fueled writing.
Last night, I made it back there (it´s called Aroma, I finally deciphered) the the evening movie which was The Fountian. The screening room was envy inspiring and the air-conditioning and white chocolate chunk brownie was beyond decadent. Tonight, it´s a Pedro Almodavar movie, so you know I have to catch that! And tomorrow? I catch the late bus (5pm) to the airport! My plan is to sleep there because my plane is so bloody early I´d have to wake up at 3am anyway. For some reason, I´m excited about sleeping in the airport. Its a really nice airport, plus its got the whole deserted mall appeal (anyone seen Night of the Comet or the newer Dawn of the Dead? I picture it like that, but not nearly as fun or exciting. It would be so cool to get to play in a deserted mall though...)

Bye-bye Baxter

It was my last sunset stroll on the beach and who should scare the hell out of me but Baxter!
(Formerly Dupree, a couple who recently checked into surf camp named him Baxter and I had to admit, the name was a much better fit for him, so Baxter it is.)
I was so happy to get to spend my last evening with him! We took a couple more pictures together and I got to feed him the biscuits I was now in the habit of keeping in my pocket. He even stayed with me as I decided to explore this random street that as far as I can tell leads to nowhere. I walked as far as I could before I reached an impossibly huge puddle and had to turn around. It was cute; he shadowed me by about 2 feet the whole way home - I think he was uncomfortable with the unlit stretch of deserted road. The last I saw of Baxter was this morning as I waited for the bus to Quepos. He was down the road about a block, and though I whistled to him he stayed away (ever the elusive stray, he actually never responded to my prior whistles or calls, so this last scene isn´t as sad or poignant as I´m painting it).
A note about the huge puddle blocking the way: Normally it wouldn´t phase me to walk through a deep puddle, but I found out the awesome surf cuts I got on my foot are infected. I had a discussion with my instructor about how dirty or clean LA surf is and he upheld the LA surf is cleaner than Costa Rica surf because of how freezing cold it is. In Costa Rica the water is so warm, all sorts of little ickies live and swim in it...hence my infection. Its gross and it really hurt for a while, but since I started cleaning it religiously and have been out of the ocean for over 24 hrs, it actually feels a little better.
I endured another 4ish hours on a hot bus to get to Quepos. There really isn´t much here, I think its basically a less expensive place to stay for tourists going to Manuel Antonio National Park than the city of Manuel Antonio. I´m back in a shared dorm room with no air-conditioning, but at least I chose a top bunk directly under a huge ceiling fan.
The place has free internet (bonus) which is where I discovered I had been exposed for the brat I am by Mike, the guy who ran the hotel in Dominical. I guess he somehow found my blog, read my snarky remarks, and responded in the comments section. I´m leaving the posts up both out of fairness to him and also as a reminder to myself that there is no such thing as privacy on the internet. I´ve come to think of this blog as personal information meant only for my close friends and family, but of course, in publishing them, technically they are available for the world to see - I just never thought anyone would give a rat´s ass so I assumed I was safe. Since I uphold my opinions as personal, I don´t feel the need to apologize. But obviously I felt the need to explain myself, so I do feel like a jerk.

Bygones.

I was walking around Quepos today and I found the loveliest coffee and sweets shop. It´s run by the sweetest man from the Dakotas. He bakes fresh cookies and brownies every day and every night he shows current movies in a small screening room. I introduced myself and told him to get used to me; although I´m only going to be in town for 2 days, I warned him he would be seeing a lot of me and to prove it I bought myself some goodies and settled in with a used book I had just bought at the neighboring shop. Since I´m literally counting colones trying to stretch them out until I go home in less than 72 hours (!!!!!!!!), I figure reading in a quaint little shop with a nice breeze is about as cheap as it can get.
Tomorrow I put in my time at Manuel Antonio. I hear from everyone I meet that it´s not to be missed, but honestly now that I´m in the home stretch, I´m a little touristed out. It´s all but an obligatory stop really, though I´ve been assured that not only will I see monkeys, I may be sick of the little guys after a day in the park. And since I have yet to see even one in the country...bring ém on!

Just Me and Dupree

So on Day 3 Leslie, Stella and I went back out to the beach in the afternoon to surf the white water. Our friends, Jennifer, Henry and Emily, came by to watch and I noticed this black dog with them. There are a ton of strays all over Costa Rica and Dominical is no different, other than the strays here at least look well fed. The dog stuck with the kids the whole time we were on the beach and even escorted us back to the hotel, 2 blocks away.
The next afternoon, the girls and I headed back to the beach to practice but because there was a lightening storm rolling in, we sat on the beach and just watched the surf for a while. With a huff and a plop, who joins us on the sand but the same black stray. He was all black with some white freckles on his front paws and face and he was disgusting. Dirty, smelly, infested with fleas. When he wasn´t walking around, he couldn´t sit still. He was either scratching, chomping a flea on his back, or licking himself. But there was something about him...he was really endearing. I named him Dupree.
From then on, everytime we would walk through town Dupree would find us and walk with us. No matter how random, Dupree was there. We never encouraged him with food or by petting him, he just loved us. Finally, the day Stella left, Leslie and I went out to catch the sunset and there was Dupree again. He was being almost overprotective as he ushered us home. Once we were back to our room, Dupree made sure we got inside before he plopped down with his now familiar huff on our front step and stayed there for hours. Leslie and I finally caved and fed him.
The next morning Leslie left Dominical, and from then on it was just me and Dupree. He kept me company that morning as I walked around solo for the first time in a week, seriously missing my girls. I went so far as to buy Dupree real pet food, but of course I now haven´t seen him in a day. I walked around last night with dog biscuits in my pocket waiting for him to show, but nada. Tonight is my last night in Dominical and I´m hoping to run into him for one last scratch.
Today I had my last ride-along with the surf camp and it was a great one. The surf was pretty hard at first, and I did something I hadn´t done in the entire week of taking lessons - I panicked. I´ve been yanked underwater more times than I can count, thrown around, hit with my board, spun out of control but I never panicked until today. It wasn´t even a big deal, but I was trying to get around a wave and it was a lot stronger than I anticipated. My board yanked my left shoulder out of socket (it felt like it anyway) and I was shoved underwater in a dead spin. I swam and swam and still couldn´t see the surface light under my eyelids and thats when I started to panic. A second later I was out and fine, but the panicking spooked me so much I walked out to the sand to catch my breath.
I went back out to join the boys and I was pleased that they were pleased to see me back out. And then? I caught a wave. And then? I caught another. And then? I caught one without even trying. (Sometimes they just need to be surfed, I guess.) When I say I caught a wave, I don´t mean to imply that I surfed a wave all the way in - I´m not Stella for God´s sake. I mean, I caught a wave from the outside, stood up, and rode it for 3 or 4 seconds - and I´M VERY HAPPY WITH THAT!! All I wanted was to get better from the outside, and since my time to beat was probably somewhere in the 1 second region, I am over the moon with what I did today!! There was a girl out surfing too, not with our group but close enough to watch, and she said as I stood on my board I was blowing my nose into my hand. Pretty cool, huh?
Mike, the guy who runs the hotel we were in is trying to talk to me. We have an interesting past. When I arrived a week ago, I have never hated anyone more. Ask Leslie and Stella - it was their job to keep us separated. But when Leslie had her accident, he actually came through without being a pain in the ass, condescending, or completely useless. Since then, I´ve tried to treat him with a bit more respect, along with a little flirting (as much as I can stomach without retching), and it is actually sort of civil. He lets me keep using the internet for cheap, so thats cool.
Here´s a few more pictures...

Dupree in all his testical licking glory.



He´s such a heart breaker, it makes me forget I´m a cat person.



A 2 second pause in stratching, he´s actually a pretty handsome dog.

"I´M VERY HAPPY WITH THAT!"

Surfing. Dominicalito. Day 4.
I float out in the ocean beyond the break with my surfing instructor and 2 of my best friends. I lay flat on my board and begin to baby paddle into position. Here comes one. My instructor holds on to the back of my board until she begins to instruct. "Paddle. Paddle, paddle. Paddle, paddle, paddle, paddlepaddlepaddlepaddlePADDLEPADDLEGETUP! UP!" My arms ache, I paddle as fast as I can, feel the water pick me up, try to pop onto my board like I was taught, instead of looking like Kelly Slater I think I may resemble Donkey Kong, but I´m up! And half a second to 2 seconds later I fall. And what do I shout out to my instructor?
"I´m very happy with that!"
Because I am! It´s not a mantra, though it sounds like one. I explained to Jenny, our lead instructor, that I achieved far more than I ever expected given my background. I don´t like deep water. I´m a little terrified of the ocean. Oh, and? I´m not a terribly strong swimmer. Why, oh why, did I ever even consider surf camp, then? It sounded like so much fun, I forgot I was scared.
Day 4 was the day. I had a great day -
though I did rip up my foot really early in the class on my fin.
We had so much fun, Stella, Leslie and I went back out that afternoon to surf more. There was lightening over the water and a storm was rolling in, so we didn´t stay out too long.
Day 5 was our last official lesson and more of the same. I think I got up a couple of times, but never for more than a few seconds, but- I´m very happy with that!
Stella left on Day 6 which sucked. Leslie and I missed her madly! The three of us went out and surfed one last time together at 630a that morning. Our consolation though, was our instructors let us ride along on that day´s lesson. We still had our boards, and the ride, but no instruction. Almost my entire class did the ride-along. I had an okay day, but the surf was really choppy and tough to take. Leslie, Stephanie (natural surfer so I was inclined to be jealous of her, but she was too nice and I ended up liking her and her husband Andres a lot), and I got out of the water for a while and then decided to surf the white water on the inside. Our time was almost up on the beach when Leslie called out to me. I looked back at her and...didn´t get it. Her hand was on her left cheek. She moved her hand. Bright, crazy, horror movie blood was running down her face! I could tell she was dazed and in shock. I yelled at her to take off her leash, I would get her board, she had to get out of the water. While I tried to reign in both her board and mine (um, other surfers on the beach did NOTHING to help me. BOOO.), Les ran back to the van for the towel. By the time I got back to the van, Stephanie and Andres were back from the water and helping. Leslie had seen the gash in the reflection of the van window, so we couldn´t pretend it wasn´t bad. It was bad. The gash was on her left cheekbone and extremely deep. Andres hijacked the surf van and drove us back to town. He dropped us off at what we thought was the doctor´s office. Turns out it was a block or so down, so Les and I walked. The only doctor in town had a patient already, so she and I had to wait. I was terrified. I knew Leslie was hanging on to consciousness by sheer force and all I could think to do was quiz her on different mixed drinks because she used to be a bartender. Not too much later the doctor saw us and 30 minutes later Leslie had 7 stitches on her cheekbone. She was so brave - I was the one who kept almost crying.
Know what else? We still had a full day. Steph and Andres met us at the Doctor´s office (I TOLD you they were so nice!) and after regrouping at the hotel, we had a late lunch. Then Les and I souvenir shopped and caught the most beautiful sunset! We just walked around and hung out with our new friend Dupree (more on him later) until bed.
Leslie left this morning to go back to the states. It´s awfully wierd to be alone again after such a fun week. I decided to stay in Dominical and keep surfing for another few days. I had an awful dilemma trying to figure out where the hell to spend the last 5 days of my trip. Originally I had wanted to go to Montezuma, but apparently I wasn´t really looking at a map when I had that plan. The amount of travel isn´t worth the time I would have once I got there. So Dominical it is - I´m riding along everyday until I leave and I´ve downgraded to another hotel. It´s still got air-conditioning and it´s still on the beach. A girl´s got to have her priorities.

More shopping...

Because I'm a girl and a movie geek, everything in life relates back to one romantic comedy or another. There is a scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts responds to receiving Richard Gere's credit card with a weary, "More shopping..." That is how I felt about surfing on Day 3.
On Day 2 I suffered a pretty terrible sophomore slump, with lots and lots of hits, bruises, swallowed saltwater and no getting up on the board. I have to admit the waves were breaking hard and quick and I waited too long to get past the break. Its all surf speak, but basically I psyched myself out and by the time I got over it the waves were too much for me to handle.
Day 3 came and I was weary to say the least. I wasn´t as physically sore as I thought I would be, but all of us have tons of bruises and small cuts both from the fins on our boards and the rocks on the beach. I decided to go past the break first thing, when the water would be more managable. It took me forever, fighting wave after breaking wave, swimming as hard and fast as I could until I FINALLY DID IT! All at once, I was out in the middle of the ocean! I basically sat out there for the next hour, congratulating myself until one of my instructors noticed I had yet to catch a wave. I half-way caught a little something - enough for me to be pretty pleased with myself, but apparently it was sheer luck because my form was lacking. I spent the next hour back in the inside (read: kiddie waves) with my 2 favorite instructors, where they retaught me the basics I had completely lost the day before and worked with me wave after wave until I ACTUALLY RODE A WAVE ALL THE WAY IN. I even had time to laugh and throw a hang 10 to the other students cheering me on. That´s all it took. I went out again and again, feverishly trying to catch that next wave (these are whitewater waves on "the inside", the fast, shallow waves that advance the beach after the actual Big Girl Waves crash. The big crashing waves are the ones you catch on "the outside" where you typically see surfers sitting on their boards in calm, peaceful water, looking for the next big one.)
Stella and Leslie were, of course, on the outside for most of Day 3 and did beautifully. Whores.
The three of us quickly adapted to our new routine. In bed usually by 830p - yes, really. We would joke about how our 6 year old friend Henry kept later hours than we did. Up around 7a, getting a serious night of sleep; coffee, small breakfast, outside with our surfboards by 745 or 8, fully lotioned and ready to hop in the van. Our surf instructors would drive us to either of 2 beaches: Dominicalito or Playa Hermosa. Swallow water, get new bruises, scrape something, curse, spit and blow snot for the next 2 hours. Maybe catch a wave or two (or more if you´re Stella...show-off). Back to the hotel, where the three of us would give the construction workers on-site a free show as we showered ourselves and our boards outside, and also compared new battle scars. Reapply sunscreen, devour the tropical fruit salad I would cut up every night, and then out to the pool for a few hours of reading and sun. After a while we would be starving or bored enough to go back to the room and nap, or walk around town (10 minute walk max - its a REALLY small town). OR we would grab our boards and head out to the surf in Dominical for a while to practice. By 4 or 5 we would walk to our favorite (really our only - we ate there 4 nights in a row) Thai restaurant, eat for a few hours, buy fruit for the next days fruit salad, and back home before we turned into pumpkins. No where in our routine was there time for make-up, deoderant, underware (beyond our bikinis I mean), or clocks (our joke of the trip "What time do you think it is?").
Here are a couple of pictures:


This is after Day 1 at our favorite restaurant. We all felt incredible! This is the first of many, many, many, huge, colorful bruises Stella got.


After our 2nd lesson our instructors took us to this gorgeous little waterfall, Pozo Azul. Everyone had had such a hard day fighting the surf, we LOVED the fresh cold water of the waterfall. There was also a rope swing I embarrassed myself on. Not really, but I haven´t bellyflopped like that since I was 7 or 8 years old - I crashed into the water so that afterward it felt like Rocky full on punched me in the face and I had sore ribs for days afterward.


Leslie and I in our kitchen preparing for the next morning. It´s probably 7pm and we´re both already in our pjs.


Leslie and I walking into town. My favorite part of this picture, besides the way my pretty skirt swings, are the 2 Ticos checking us out. It cracks me up.

My Favorite $200 Mistake

I left Monteverde with a heavy heart. I sighed. I stared out the bus window and listened to moody music on my iPod. I let a touch of a smile grace my lips as I remembered all the fun times, and know without a doubt that I´d be back, man...
The bus ride was a long and uneventful one, and I found myself getting anxious and excited the closer we got to San Jose. I was going to see Leslie and the next day we´d be on our way to surf camp with Stella!! That was the only thought that made it okay to leave my little cloud forest paradise, and it was a great one! I got to the airport without a hitch and of course realized I hadn´t written down Leslie's flight number but whatever. There was only one door out of the terminal and there was no way I would miss her.
Plan A: meet at the airport and take free hotel shuttle. Leslie´s flight landed at 7pm, after which she would have to go through customs which took me an hour and a half. If we for some reason didn´t find each other by 10pm, we´d move to Plan B: meeting at the Courtyard Marriot where Les had a reservation.
I stood in Departures and looked for Leslie. And looked and waited. And waited and looked. Before I knew it...that´s a lie. Time dragged. It was ages. And I felt every minute of it as I stood against the wall, waiting for Leslie with the linebacker (my big backpack) and the rest of my luggage (my little backpack.) - it was 10:30p and no Leslie. I wander like a zombie towards the taxi line and let myself be cajoled into taking a shuttle. At this point I am so tired, hungry and pissy that I don´t care, though it occurs to me that I should be in a red taxi as they are the only ones that are bonafied transporation. Everything else, including the shuttle I got into, has the possibility of being anything from a money scam to a rapist/kidnapper if its not just a driver taking jobs for money under the table.
I make it alive and unharmed to the Courtyard, and indeed the ride is SUPER expensive. I am used to paying $2.50 for a 5 hour bus ride, so $25 for a 10 minute cab ride qualifies as highway robbery. Again, I am so exhausted by this point - by now its 11pm , after a 5 hour bus ride and over 3 hours on my feet at the airport - that I only care in retrospect.
I get to the front desk. I ask for Leslie. She ísn´t in the system. She has a reservation. No, she doesn´t. Of course she does, I have the confirmation number and its...for tomorrow night.
INTERESTING.
My Costa Rican reverie had me so wrapped in misty clouds and loveliness, that I had the wrong day. I collapsed against the front desk, checked into a room, went upstairs to my air-conditioned, pillow-topped queen mattress with cable TV and high-water pressured hot shower, and cried and cried until I fell asleep.
I woke up feeling better, but still oh, so very stupid. Now I had entire day to kill before I had to do the airport pick-up all over again, since I had no way to get a hold of Leslie to let her know I was already here. So I pouted a little and lounged. The room cost more for one night than an entire week at my Pension Santa Elena, and, dammit, I was going to get my money´s worth. I took the longest, hottest shower I could stomach and then watched a few movies. The subtitling actually helped my Spanish, so you could say I was studying. When I was forced to check out, I found a cute coffee shop with a free outlet for my computer and sat down to an incredible lunch, great coffee, and yummy dessert as I wrote for a few hours. Then I walked around the "complex" where the Courtyard was housed: I cruised the Hooters, Outback Steakhouse, the Jag dealership, etc, gag me, etc, for the 10 minutes I could stand before I headed back to the hotel lobby. I found myself a super comfy couch and another free outlet where I continued to write and then read until I had to leave for the airport again. This time I was armed with Leslie´s flight number and even checked the progress of the flight, so I knew it was running an hour and a half late. I hopped in the free shuttle from the hotel, got to departures, and saw Leslie walk out immediately!
It was so great to see her, and SO SATISFYING that the plan went off without a hitch - yes, I had a day to practice, but really the wasted day i had so lamented that morning had turned out to be super productive, comfortable, and even fun!
The next morning, while Leslie and I had breakfast at my old coffee shop, some crazy blond burst in and started giving me a load of crap! Stella and the surf camp shuttle had arrived early!! Huge hugs, and then Leslie and I scampered back to the room to quickly pack up and check out.
We loaded into the van. Leslie, Stella, me, and 3 other surfers-to-be, Jennifer and her 2 amazingly cute children, Henry, 6, and Emily, 9. We had a great trip down, checked in and spent the rest of the day exploring Dominical. Dominical is this: hot, muggy, muddy, and mosquito-infested. Dominical is also this: Surfer Paradise.
We had our first lesson this afternoon and I am happy to report all three of us got up on our boards! Surfing is both easier and harder than I imagined. We are all exhausted!! Eating my way through Costa Rica via pina empanandas and ice cream cones really hasn´t done me any fitness-favors either. Surfing is TIRING. Of course Henry and Emily were naturals, getting up on the boards on their first try. Thank god they are so cute and sweet, or I might really begrudge them.