Humor Me

I wanted to do another post while I was still 54 and I am still 54 even though my Spanish classmates think I'm already 55.  On day one we had to announce our birthdays to the rest of the class in Spanish.  I was first and said Mayo cinco (May 5 with the words in the wrong order) when what I meant to say (or thought I was saying) was Mayo quince (May 15, again, the words are in the wrong order).  Everyone was so psyched that my birthday was Cinco de Mayo that I just let it go.

Looking out at the wooded hills from a sun warmed granite step outside our Vermont kitchen I say to myself "it's a good thing I like the color green".  It's hard to believe there can be so much green.  A million different shades, textures and layers.  Everyday it's greener.  This is where I decide to write just one more post where I pretend I'm in Costa Rica and be done with it.

Since I've been back I've been asked what a day in Costa Rica was like a bunch of times.....

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Jose' lives at Rainsong , the local animal sanctuary, and has one arm after trying to swing across the road using a powerline.

It's 5:30.  The rooster wakes up the monkey and the monkey wakes up me.  It's hot but not as hot as it will be by 7 so I ride out to Cabo Blanco, the first ever nature preserve in Costa Rica, and back...about an hour-ten.   The fat cold stream of water from my shower head feels good as I rinse the dust from my haphazardly tanned body.  A hardy bowl of oatmeal and almonds prepared in the communal kitchen should hold me over until I get another chance to eat.   Then 4 hours Spanish.  Because 'they' just keep moving you forward according to the amount of time you've been at the school and not according to how much you actually know, in my 4th week I ended up in Spanish Level 2.  The nightmare began when I got to class on that 4th Monday before my sole classmate, Simon, and Edgar, the professor, started talking to me in Spanish....just Spanish...just me and him.  Even after 3 weeks it still sounded like one long word and didn't take long for either of us to realize that I wasn't Spanish Level 2 material.   Instead of concentrating on the content of the questions he was asking all I could think was "Where is Simon?"  Finally Simon got there just in time to hear the last question directed at me.  I answered in broken, but only, Spanish, "Last night I studied my Spanish."  Edgar and Simon laughed which was OK because the focus then shifted to Simon.  Later I asked Simon what the question was....."Do you have children?"  I somehow made it through the week and Spanish 2 partly by making sure I never got to class before Simon again.

Then.  Back on my bike and out to Cabo Blanco again with a stop at the Cabuya Bakery on the way back where I'd sit and read a chapter in my book while sipping on a club soda with ice and no lemon.*
Getting back to the school/hotel on oatmeal fumes, I had just enough time for the fat stream of cold water rinse and an egg sandwich or guacamole and chips prepared, again, in the communal kitchen (the avocados were always perfect) before surfing.   Depending on where we were surfing that day, our surf time from strapping the boards to the top of the van or hiking to the beach was about 4 hours.  While most of the women surfed with bikinis and complained about bruises, abrasions and having to take days off or quit early, with my board shorts, rash guard, knee bands and wool socks attached to my ankles with electrical tape (it wasn't my age that set me apart from the rest of the group) without even thinking about it, I was the last one out of the water every day.** 

After another cold water rinse, different (though not clean) clothes, I was relaxed and ready for the highlight of my day....an hour Skype to Vince where we would talk about nothing really.  We would both get hungry about the same time and hang up.  He would heat some of the lasagna I'd made for him (out of love and guilt) before I left and I would go to El Sano Banano for the same thing every night, (lettuce, heart of palm, avocado, olive oil, chips, guacamole, sometimes grilled chicken, club soda with ice and no lemon*) and either eat it during the nightly movie***, while reading my book or studying my Spanish. 

And that was it...everyday except Wednesdays when we had only 2 hours of Spanish and I could go to the Montezuma Hotel for a club soda with ice and no lemon, sit, look out at the beach and write postcards that I would give to the bookstore owner that would bring them to a town with a post office.

*By the end of my stay I was really really good at ordering in Spanish at the Cabuya bakery and El Sano Banano.
**In atypical fashion I returned home after 4 weeks without a scratch.
***the nightly movies were current and shown in English with English sub-titles because of the street noise.

Lots of pictures with the free camera....


OK.  It's time to move on and while composing this post I did turn 55.

I knew if I kept looking I'd find some great roads for riding.

And more great roads.

I came down a hill on my bike, the cows were in the middle of the road drinking and didn't move.  I had to weave through them.

Remember the mangoes everywhere that I was telling you about?

The Montezuma Hotel cafe'.  High ceilings with fans.  Open air and on the beach.  I felt like I'd turn around and see Ernest Hemmingway sitting there.

A street scene.  No Starbucks.

Another street scene.

More of the street.

Last one and another place that sells mango smoothies.

The End for now.

OK I'm Ready For Winter

It's still really hot so I don't mind that the shower is only cold water but when the ceiling fan quit, I was bummed.  I pantomimed to the housekeeper that the fan wasn't spinning.  She got up on my bed, gave a blade a whack and voila.....moving air.  Easy enough. 

My humble room

Yesterday, sitting in the van in front of a new break/beach with a rock bottom, the four of us...I guess you could stretch the definition and call us 'advanced beginners'...were all pretty nervous.  Guiermo our Uraguanian surf instructor was sitting deep in thought, looking out at the water and we weren't going to move until he did.  Expecting to hear some deep wave assessment insight I asked,

"What are you thinking Guiermo ?"  

"I thinking where I going to park" he answered.

The Weekend.

There is no getting around the riding being hot and hilly (I'm saving the flat 15 miler to the bakery and national park for weekdays) although the morning rain made it cooler and less dusty for about a half hour.  I was on my bike today for a long time and not because I went a long way but because I walked some of the hills.  At the beginning of the ride, if I'd hear someone coming, I would act like I had just gotten off to let them by, stand there while they passed and then act like I was getting back on my bike until they were out of site.  After a while I decided even that was too much extra effort and would just keep walking.  As much as I was suffering, I still really really enjoyed being out.  I stopped for club soda and decided to enjoy it in the ambiance of the little store.  As the uncomfortable silence became louder I said to the clerk "Las olas grande" ("the waves big") which is what you say when you don't know the language well enough to say "How about this weather?".  She gave me a confused look and answered with something about the moon.

Later while passing a group of 4 or 5 12-ish year old kids on their bikes the front girl stood up and said "Vamos" which I happened to know meant "Let's go."  

On the same ride 2 dogs came out and chased me.  I yelled "go home" a couple of times and they didn't.  Of course not, they only speak Spanish.

Sharing the road

More sharing the road

Other News.

While my surf today was spent working on turning...on purpose, Carly from Vancouver was at the other end of the beach letting the board get between the wave and her.  Wop.  Off to Cobano to the Emergency Room with a sign above the door that says "Lifeguard Station", then across the street for an x-ray at the vet clinic.  Nothing was broken.

I was reading my book.  I don't have a bookmark but I've been having pretty good luck opening the book to where I left off each time.  Today I opened it to where I thought I left off and read the first line "The bullet that killed Laurie..."  Shit.  Wrong place.  Last I knew Laurie was on a raft trip.

To be here you have to not mind being dirty.

I've never enjoyed icing my knee as much as I've enjoyed icing it here.

There has to be an easy way to get out of this hammock.

Sorry about the photo quality but it's what you get with a digital camera you get free with a hundred dollar HP printer.

 Presentation is everything

Breakfast and more sharing

TRIPS WITHIN TRIPS

Today. 

It's been a week since my salute with a surfboard and the day the doc said I could get my eye dressing wet so I feel like I'm ready to talk about the the part of the Kauai trip I ignored in my last entry.

Where do I start?

Growing up I loved being up to bat.  I couldn't wait to swing at that softball just to see what would happen.  It was different every time.  For me, waiting for a wave is like being up to bat all over again.

Ouch.

The first trip to the emergency room was kind of funny.  The second trip was embarrassing and the third trip was stupid.

'That's right.  I do remember hearing that.'  I nodded to myself in hindsight. 

Rule #1  Never let the surfboard get between you and the wave. (no kidding!)

Rule #2  When you're underwater and separated from your board cover your head with your arms.

...so much to keep track of.

After the #1, I got right back on the board like nothing had happened.  I was a bit concerned when my left wrist started to swell but was able to get out to where I wanted to be if I  paddled mostly with my right arm.  Because the board wanted to go in circles with this one arm technique, I had to head off in the opposite direction I wanted to end up.  My new knee pain, easily tolerable in the water, made walking nearly impossible once I got out.  The good thing was I was able to forget about all of my blisters because my knee pain completely overshadowed the blister pain.  I was sure my wrist was broken (what is that lump?) but didn't mind being wrong, FOR A CHANGE, when the x-ray told me it wasn't. 

Leading up to the #2...'The instructor told me I was ready to learn to turn.  Flattered, even though I wasn't tired of going straight yet, I hoisted a board up on top of my head and staggered to the beach trying to make it look like my knees weren't about to buckle and then followed the young surf instructor/good salesman and Vince out farther than I maybe should have.  I'd been practicing my turning about 2 hours when the board snuck under water and whacked me in the face.  In typical 'Kathy' fashion I surfaced as if the board hadn't snuck under water and whacked me in the face.  I was pretty sure blood was coming from somewhere on my face since the drips on the top of my board were a watery pinky-red but I continued to paddle out with my right arm anyway while splashing my face with sea water almost continuously.  

"Is that blood all over your face?" a nosy surfer called out while sitting on his board waiting for the next wave.

I glanced around.  'Could he be talking to me?'  "Is it coming out up here? " I pointed to my eyebrow, "or here,"  I pointed to my nose. 

 He leaned toward me squinting,  "Both."   

'OK I give up.' I thought, bummed I wasn't able to pull of pretending nothing had happened.

Looking in the mirror at the emergency room I was trying to decide if my nose was broken or it had always hung a bit to the left when a 40 year old emergency room doc with sand in his hair came in and glued the gash above my eye shut* assuring me it would heal every bit as well as the one he pointed at in his eyebrow, "Coral."

We left for Vermont the next day.  Ten minutes into our flight from Honolulu the stranger next to me turned and said "You look familiar.  We're you at Hanalei Bay yesterday with a bloody towel and ice pack over your face?  

*Feeling guilty and embarrassed for me, my sweet little surf instructor, that probably had a soft-spot for his grandmother, kept telling me how easily that area above the eye splits 

Happy New Year.