I am currently, at this very moment, sitting on my favorite perch - the seat sized windowsill outside of Krysta’s bedroom window. With my feet resting upon our roof, my back against the window frame, and my eyes scanning the neighborhood and the green mountains encasing it, this sitting and staring has become a ritual.

About a week ago I packed a bag and took myself on a trip to the beach. Manuel Antonio was the place. And here are my thoughts, as recorded in my rambling journal at the end of that first day away, August 26…

Stale sheets and a sticky body. Can sheets be stale? For surely these ones are. Can a body be sticky immediately following a cold shower? I tell you the answer is yes. Stale and Sticky. These are currently my two primary physical sensations. The third being the feel of an occasional breeze that blows in my face and through these pages thanks to the fan at my feet. And fourth, fourth is a full stomach and relaxed muscles. I suppose that is five.

Today I arrived in Manuel Antonio and am currently writing this from my room at Sol y Mar Hostel. Let us start at the beginning shall we? For memories sake. I left my house around 7:30am to catch the bus. Hugging Krysta, (for she is a tactile person) waving to Cailah (for she is not) and locking the gate behind me, I said goodbye. The bus from Desamparados to San Jose was crowded during this morning’s rush hour. And it was hot. I made the fatal mistake of sitting on the sunny side of the bus – and man that ball of fire was relentless. I was dripping sweat and embarrassed as I took a glimpse at the Ticas occupying the bus: with their large earrings and painted faces, none of them even looked warm, not even a little damp. I continued to wipe my brow, neck and upper lip on repeat.

Arriving in San Jose I made my way to the Coca Cola bus station. Through the park, right, left on central, and to the end of the walking path. Many blocks later I see the anticipated McDonalds, now do I turn right before or after this McDonalds? Hmm…unclear. I decide before is the better option. I walk awhile, searching for some massive or neon sign with block letters spelling out C-o-c-a C-o-l-a. This does not appear. Just as I begin to feel I am wandering aimlessly I see some buses. Good. Head that way. And just as my hope had appeared it was immediately lost. Now I am officially done for. The bus station is more like a central market. And really I do love me some good market perusing, but not when the product I am looking for is a bus that leaves in minutes. I walk up and down the street to no avail, I then turn into the market, a labyrinth of stores, sellers and stalls, I pop out on the other side. I am lost. And once again I am sweating. As I shuffle in circles all I can hear are the calls of men as I pass and the voice in my head reciting the guidebook, “The Coca Cola bus terminal is one of the most dangerous parts of San Jose, located in the red light district.” Desperate, I ask someone (my language of choice some strange sort of spanglish) she points, I drag my feet, ask another, I turn right, and ask another…Finally. Found it. Buy my ticket, make it on the bus, and thank goodness. I am on my way.

Approximately four hours later (spent dozing, reading, enjoying the lush green passing by my open window) I am in Quepos. Taxi to Sol y Mar, and I have arrived. The owner of the hostel, a tiny Tica who immediately calls me friend, shows me my room and gets me orientated. At this point there is no electricity, which equals no fan, which equals stifling. So I take a cold shower, get on the ol' swimsuit and catch the bus to the beach.

my hostel room.

I didn’t go out to the Peninsula, didn’t go into the national park. No, no that’s saved for tomorrow. Today I just went to the public beach and sat myself down. For hours I read my book. Drank my water. Ate my apple. Enjoyed the interspersed rainfall. Played in the warm waves. And walked along the shoreline.

yes, that is a sloth.

and this is manuel antonio.

When the sun started to sink I explored the market and made my way back to the bus stop. After another cold and welcomed shower I once again headed back to the bus stop. I saw a restaurant along the ride home that looked inviting – outdoor seating overlooking the jungle of trees and the ocean. Why not treat myself? As I sat waiting for the bus, and waiting for the bus, and waiting for the bus, my confidence began to wane. Minute after minute it withered until when the bus finally did arrive most of my excitement had died. Wilted, my head hung down low as I gave into feelings of embarrassment. Feeling foolish for being alone I had the urge to turn around and hide in my room for the night. Luckily my resolve and my hunger made me push through. I went to the restaurant, called El Avion, and it was incredible. Once I got over myself and simply let my self-consciousness go, the tension melted and I began to enjoy myself. So after a glass of wine, some seared tuna steak, a cup of delicious Costa Rican coffee and three waiter friends later, I was feeling pretty great. So glad I forced myself to dine alone. To make it a dinner that counts – soaking in my surroundings and lingering over coffee. The waiters invited me to some club as I was leaving, “It’s ladies night,” “You’ll be taken care of,” “See you there!” I laughed as one tried to wave goodbye and ran (literally ran) into a table – causing an uproar from his friends.

Back to the bus stop. I read Isabel Allende while waiting. As I struggled to unlock my door back at the hostel, tiny Tica called out “Como Esta?” “Locked out” I replied. She laughed, “Oh Muchacha…” and came over to give me a tutorial on locking and unlocking doors. After inquiring about my plans for the evening I told her I was staying in, at which point she responded, “No! You should go out, it’s ladies night!” “I know,” I laughed, “But I don’t want to go alone.” “I don’t either,” she instantly replied, “we’ll go together, not to get drunk, no no I don’t do that, either do you, just for some beer.” I wish you could see how beautiful and earnest this woman was, how sincere she was in her offer. It kind of broke my heart to tell her no. Perhaps if I had a friend with me I would have gone, or perhaps if I were my carefree friend Victoria Whaley I would have said yes. But for now, I feel quite content with the shape my day has taken. Yes. A discoteca may have simply pushed me over the edge.

Goodnight.