This was always one of the poems that stuck with me the line, “We’ve got places to go to.” Stayed in my head enough that I had to look it up and post it. I then added how she was the best English teacher I’d ever had. I immediately recognized him and told him I was a student of his wife’s back in 1989. Her husband was a reporter for the Houston Chronicle. Many moons later, I was working the media/ elevator for the University of Texas football program, when he stepped in. I had no idea how long I was going to stay but it felt so good to be able to relax again. So far this was the best part of the trip. I spent the night talking to a very lovely young lady from upstate New York and went to bed happy. This was the first time I’d felt comfortable the whole trip. In the States you’d pay at least 45 bucks for a room here. This had bed and breakfast written all over it. The way it ate up everything around me reminded me of the Berkeley fog out in the bay area. The fog came up a couple a hours after we checked into our hostel. The mountain itself was beautiful and overlooked everything. Nice people, they’ve even hiked part of the Appalachian Trail. They are from Amherst, Massachussetts, which isn’t far at all from where I stayed out in the Berkshires. Turns out we’re bunkmates–all five of us. I follow him and his family to the a hostel and squeeze into the same place. Turns out he’s going the same place I am. I spotted a white kid and his mother and two sisters. He was polite though so I didn’t mind too much.Ĭumbia music playing on the busses. She seems DTF, which means she may have an STD.Įarlier in the ride I had a gal’s strong buttocks rested against my shoulders, and supported my back muscles. Then I had a guy’s crotch in my face for the next 40 kms. One of the nicest bus rides one can ever take (and cheapest 12 dollars for a 300km ride) Cute little thang checking me out….dark skin, nice body…maybe 18 years of age. I was starting to consider the option of teaching English in a foreign country…Japan maybe? I’d survived a couple of weird scrapes so far and my Spanish was actually fairly decent for a negro gringo. Hopefully I’d be more confident, feel more solid. In two short weeks I’d be returning to the states a completely different person. I bought myself two bags of coconut water and drank them up (Hepatitis be damned). Two Ticos jumped onto the bus selling chips, sodas, and “pipa” juice. Luckily for me, on Costa Rican buses, people are allowed to come aboard on stops and sell stuff. My throat was burning and my body felt like it was wilting from dehydration. It seemed like the more uncomfortable I got, the more I valued the experience. Made me wonder about Mazatlan and El Bolson….some day soon for both cities….and I’d definitely would be ready. Despite the craziness this was still a good choice. It was like I was actively seeking higher levels of discomfort by the day.īut I wasn’t as overwhelmed as when I first got into the country. Sleeping the night before in this (two bit) motel: arms on fire, sirens going off, Calypso music playing down the street, fireworks going off, and my throat was hurting. The nerve of this guy huh?Īt this point I knew I was heading for the hot springs in San Gerardo, from there maybe go to Domenical to get some beach time. I remembered when Paul thought I broke the laundry machine and he (jokingly?) suggested that I could stay an extra couple of weeks and work the costs off. Every time my arm itched my temper flared. Looked like I had a really bad rash, or poison oak, or elephantitis. Hypercortizone eased my discomfort for seconds at a time.