Down the River and Thru the Woods, by Schu

Now that Cath and I are together she can harass me about blogging. So here I am. Otherwise I might just be in a stupor, wondering what it all means and by that I mean sleeping.

I was mostly bored on the 3rd as my roommates and tourguide slept off hangovers in my room and I kept trying to get a hold of Cath who was recouperating from her trip down the mountain. I didn't have the heart to wake them after they fell asleep after lunch, watching bad movies and intermittently enjoying the beautiful vista of the city from our hotel room. Driven to it, by nothing else to do I just waited for dinner. Where our 2nd last, really last final dinner was had. I had this amazing blended coffee drink with strawberries, tipped Martin and wrote him down a Nicaraguan poem Cath gave me, which is still a fav, and as usual a pleasant time was had by all. Then we capped it off with some gambling in the casino in our hotel room. I won $4. It was pretty awesome. And then after more goodbye hugs I packed my bags and dreaded the 530am wakeupcall so I could get to Cath's hotel in time. And so kept waking up every hour.

This was the only time Tico time... as in whenever, usually really late, was experienced by me. I left a goodbye note to Agnethe and Harriette and slipped out into the dawn. Then sat with Cath and Isaac for about an hour while we waited. At one point a slightly miffed (turned out to be an emergency kayaker) told us the bus was late because people were late. So we slumped on a bench and idly chatted, listening to the chirp of the crosswalk signal and awaiting our fate.

Most everything was uneventful from the busride to the amusing raft guide who talked about what to do if someone fell overboard. Pull them up by their nose? yes... But except for 3 sets of people everything else faded dull. 1: obnoxious central californians and I say this with my english amigos in mind. Unreserved, animatedly chatting, making loud obnoxious and out of context comments about barbed wire and CalState Fullerton. But most of them were adolescent boys and boyscouts at that, so it is expected. We got stuck with them on the tractor truck ride down to the drop point and I just kept slumping my head on Cath's shoulder as I intermittently looked for wildlife, to shut them up or ways to just leap from the truck... but saw Just vultures circling overhead and my legs grated against the dust of the woodplanks I was sitting on.

2: The Borats: So named by Isaac. They were a very well built muscular pair, who wore speedos and were generally ambivilant about even the slightest morays of what might be well... weird or civilized. Besides the fact that as Cath said, they waxed their entire bodies, they also reclined their seats all the way and then put their feet up over the seats in front of them, both demonstrating their flexibility and drawing everyones attention, and threatening the head of the guide in front of them. Also they wore white ankle socks with their teva sandals and nothing else... besides the speedos. And one, definitely winked at one of the boys in my raft. And I felt slightly scandalized but the boys couldnt speak english but it was funny to watch their eyes go wide and dart back at one another.

3: The boys. They were laughing fun loving very cute spanish boys. One had the most amazing greenish sparkly eyes, whom I had to help into the raft whenever there was a swim point and he was very nice and generally having a good time along with his friend. He turned back to wave goodbye to me as we boarded the bus one last time. We smiled. I could have stared into those eyes forever. I was sorry to leave him.

At the drop point we learned some basic commands. My favorite was Oh My God, Oh My God. say in a cute spanish accent. You see, I'm not alone in my frequent evocation of Dios Mio! This command was to propel us all into the raft in a hunched together position, to keep us from falling out as we ping ponged against large rocks and down rapids. We did this often. I think it also increased the fun factor. My least favorite phrase was Pura Vida. They really like it here in San Jose and at the rafting company. I like the more literal meaning of the phrase "pure life" but it means more to them like "the good life, or good times" which may or not be pure at all... more intoxicated if anything but whatever... Pura Vida! All oars into a highfive.

The river was quite wide and the water levels had dropped, I think, a smidge too low to make it truly a wild ride. As when the river was full it took 2 1/2 hours. Where as ours took like, 4! It was more a work out with some really spectacular vistas. Just huge canopies of trees jutting up and into infinity everywhere you looked. And cascading waterfalls. It was overwhelming. And the river cold and refreshing. I declined to jump in, mainly because I didn't think anyone had the strength to get me back in, as even at the last point my arms were getting tired hauling my cute greeneyed boy in, he and I both laughing and grinning as he flopped about like a caught fish and then scrambled to help his friend. I couldn't imagine getting myself back in the raft, so I took my helmet and doused myself. Though at one point as we were at a beached point, I got out and accidentally filled my shorts with silt, which I of course regretted the rest of the time as I tried to ferret out gravel from my ass, and besides there were 2 loop points that my left leg kept chaffing against. I was a wiggle worm. It was fun to watch Cath and Isaac get moved to the front of the raft, as they had to synchronize with each other, a true team/relationship bldg exercise, though they couldnt hear the commands... and I with my, I've done this before, need to be perfect attitude, almost fell in once. I felt my guides hand reach out for me but I just barely tipped back in as we hit another rock.

I chatted with my guide a little and accidentally said Antigua was the capitol of Guatemala. I burn with shame still. He was nice to chat and young, so he talked more in spanish to the cute boys. But I liked him. Though outside of rafting with his green hat and poised attitude, he donned a diamond stud and baggy jean shorts- andI was tempted to be like, west-siiiide, thug life. As his pura vida was, had to be the great outdoors, I wished he dressed a little bit more caribbean than LA hiphop guy... And he and the assistant guide looked askance at the idea of me traveling through central america. I suppose it could be the equivalant of me saying I was going down to TJ for hookers and nose candy. Costa Rica really is quite westernized. And they have the eco-tourism thang down.

But anyway back to the river. We got stuck on some low rocks a few times. No one fell out and by the time we got back to the rest stop at 330, Isaac motion sick and Cath exhausted. I sat tired but still full of energy as I scraped up every last bit of gallo pinto and fajita chicken off my plate into my mouth and contemplated buying some pics. C and I were less enthused to help spend the $40 total it would take, so no photos for me. It's like I have no proof. I might as well have just made this all up like the ziplining.

So I passed out in the bus and a couple hours later made it back to the hotel, where I faught off sleep until 9pm and didn't wake up until 730am. I could've slept longer still...

I am now completely out of clean clothes, have seen all there is to see of San Jose and await the beach, which apparently we aren't spending enough time at. I blame interbus, though i'm sure efficient way more expensive and not as ultimately convenient as the local buses. But I digress. The beach is going to be fantastic no matter what. I suppose there's a limit to how much laying out you can do anyway. As long as I can get a hammock.

So, overall rafting was Thumbs Up fun. Not as anxiety inducing as the Royal Gorge but had more variety and the scenery, wow... epic.