This post is more like a journal entry, to give you a sense of my day-to-day life here.
"Oh wow, that was a hilarious day. I knew it was hilarious while it was happening but it is equally funny now, in retrospect.
It started with a nice breakfast after an even nicer evening with my friend and fellow volunteer Lily Alcock, as well as some other friends. We chose to dine (in San Jose) at the famous (at least among Peace Corps volunteers) restaurant, Train Tracks Pizza, near the San Pedro mall. It is a hidden gem of a place, reachable only by following some dark train tracks about one hundred meters into a lonely alleyway. One would never suspect the quiet neighborhood to contain a house converted into a pizza mecca with the best music in town. A few of us arrived early and then we realized it would be chivalrous to go meet the ladies who were to be joining us at the tracks' edge, so two of my gentlemanly friends did so - and I, in my infinite sympathy, finished their beers for them and chitchatted with the waiter and the owner. While they were gone (longer than I expected) I was invited to choose and album from the restaurant owner's extensive compact disc collection. After much deliberation, oohing and aahing, I chose a Joe Cocker's Greatest Hits. Forty minutes and seven Joe Cocker songs later my friends still hadn't arrived, but more casual conversation and domestic beer filled the gap until they did. Dinner was great, two pizzas, four glasses of wine, and three beers for 30,000 colones, 60 dollars, between
six people. A good deal. Afterwards we tried to go out for some nargile at the Lebanese place but apparently 9:45pm on a Monday was too late for such indulgences. We headed back to the hostel and chatted until tiredness eased us toward our beds for the night.
This morning I woke up and caught an 8:30am bus to Puriscal from San Jose. Once I arrived I waited for a 10am bus to Cerbatana, where my friend Allen lives. The bus was very, very late. Old men were coming up with all sorts of solutions to the bus problems in their exchanges of grumblings and growls.
Once united with my friend and closest PCV neighbor, Allen, we resolved to do a sprint workout to try to loosen up our stiff legs. Two days ago, we decided rather whimsically to run a 10k adventure race that was being held a few kilometers from his town. We both went into it thinking that it wouldn't be too hard, and we came out with the smiles wiped clear off our faces. The route was through very steep hill climbs and descents, rough, rocky cow pasture traverses, through riverbeds and along creeks, a 1200 meter descent and 1200 meters gained again on the way back up, and all of it in the sizzling January summer sun. But of course we will do it again next year!
The sprint workout we did today was called Snertz. it's named after a particular Ultimate Frisbee player with a knack for applied masochism. And now his "Snertz" workout has quite a cult following. Allen and I put ourselves through the nausea, aching lungs, and heavy breathing
with hopes for an easier tomorrow. After the workout we walked up the road back towards his house. While passing a fruit stand our collective spirit led us both to decide that a nice cold pipa (coconut full of water) would be a delightful prize for our efforts. These pipas were so damn delicious that we were both giggly with satisfaction after drinking them. It's a beautiful thing when your body and mind both crave the same thing, and that thing is delivered.
We then cruised back over to Allen's house where his host mother, Dona Ana Grace, had acquired two kilograms of the freshest, finest, purest organically grown coffee for me. Across the street from Allen's house lives a man who grows the coffee and produces small quantities for his neighbors and family. My excitement over the coffee and my exhaustion following the workout were forgotten when I realized that I had only fifteen minutes to shower and be ready to catch the next bus to the center of town!
Sweating (again!) after taking a shower, I scooted down the street to the bus stop. Allen's dogs followed me there. The bus stop is next to a dangerous road and for all I did, they wouldn't stay behind, especially Lola, the newest addition to Allen's family, a big German Sheperd mix that they recently rescued. I was convinced I had missed the bus (for the millionth time) when
another kid showed up at the bus stop. The bus came and we hopped on board.
Once I got to the center of town I headed to the supermarket to stock up for the new house I am moving into. My first hold up was in the toothpaste aisle - there were just too many options...I was overwhelmed. I grabbed one without reading the label to escape the pressure of the overload, it was probably the most colorful one, who knows.
Uncharacteristically, I bought everything I needed before the bus driver started the engine to signal his giddiness to get out of town right at three o'clock. There were no seats left on the bus and I started to regret the last stop I had made in the running of my errands, blaming it for my seatlessness. The I ran into a friend from my town, an older shop owner, and of course, he had an extra seat for me. We chatted and joked about Ticos and their propensity for giving people nicknames. I told him that I was a little shocked that I hadn't acquired one yet, so he started trying to pick one for me - Jason, was his choice. Not the most creative man in the world.
The next few hours were rather uneventful as we cruised through the mountains and cloud-filled valleys. When we reached the last big hill about 10km from my house, some mechanical funny business started going down and the bus puttered to a stop. Long story short - I found myself at 6pm, sun already having set, lying on my back underneath the hundred-pound alternator of the bus, shining a flashlight with my mouth, using a bike cable to connect the current between two other wires, cringing as another guy (not a bus driver) turned the ignition while the bus driver and I lay underneath, hoping the safety break was set properly. The bus never got started. There were sparks, smears of grease and oil, the sound of the motor wanting to succeed in it's effort, but no luck in the end.
So, slowly but surely all seven people that were left in the bus were picked up by familiar motorcycles, leaving me behind with a cheery bus driver, four bags full of fruit and kitchen supplies, and my recently falsified hopes of my first success as a rural bus mechanic. Luckily, I had bought a broom that I was taking to my new house! Why so happy about a broom? You ask. No, not to fly. I strapped two bags on each side of the broom, vegetables and fruit to one side, kitchen supplies to the other, threw on my backpack, and loaded the broom on my shoulders. You can't imagine how thrilled I was for my 10k hike home, I actually live for moments like that one. I often say, "I train not to suck at life." But in all honesty...after 3k uphill I was wishing I had trained harder.
I sang songs and took a break to eat a mango and squeeze out the contents of an avocado into my parched mouth. The mango was all the water I had to get me home. Then, feeling slightly lacking in spirit, realizing that dinner was still an hour away -- Providence materialized in the form of a motorcycle headlight coming from behind. It was my friend, Erick, coming back from visiting a girl in Parrita, a coastal town a few hours away. I loaded up, feeling like I had a stick with buckets of water sloshing around on each side. The trip was going well when - SNAP! The broom broke in half and I barely spared my mangoes undue physical abuse and my computer from falling. I laughed crazily, yelling suave! suave! - realizing the preposterous circumstances that constituted my life at that moment, and loving it, as always, as I got back on the motorcycle. The trip went smoothly after that and I arrived home, forearms burning and the plastic bags virtually fused to my hands. I thanked Erick and gave him as sincere a smile as I could muster, completely please by the goodness of the people around me, doing favors when no favors were due. I offered to pay him for gas but, of course, he would hear nothing of it.
My day was great, my life is great. When people are good to each other there's no need to look for meaning outside of your friends, family, and neighborhood. The meaning of life is to be good to each other even when it doesn't make sense to do so.
