The Yellow Fever Blessing

I bet there might be a lot of people with Yellow Fever that might get quite mad at the title of this blog, and perhaps I'm being insensitive, but yellow fever has actually, seemingly, blessed me.  Here's how...

I'm on my way to Colombia.  I decide to delay a three day trip down to check out a job prospect in order to spend time with Pepper on her last week in Costa Rica.  I decide to fly out on the same day she flies out, so we can hang out as much as she can stand.  

Pepper is going to move to Australia to meet up with her boyfriend, Oz.  Ozzie's mother, Lee, lives in Atenas, between Esterillos Oeste and the airport in Alejuela.  Pepper wants to spend a night at Lee's before heading out, and Pepper, Pat, and I went to Lee's last night for some wonderful food and incredible company.  Late last night, Lee mentioned Yellow Fever. 

As it turns out, Costa Rica will not let me back in if I have not received a Yellow Fever vaccine.  And I will have had to receive it ten days prior to returning to Costa.  Oops!  That sucks.

Or DOES it?  Instead of only three days in Colombia, I get to spend ten!  And Lee's mom lives in Bogota, and would love it if I stopped by!  And why the hell stop there?  There's a lot of Colombia out there, they tell me.  And Ecuador is right next door with a really cool place I can't spell.  And Peru; haven't I always wanted to go to Peru?  Well, no.  But still!  Brazil, the Guays, Argentina, Chile, and some countries up on the Northeast Coast that I either a) won't visit; or b) have never heard of really.  

Well, Pepper, Pat, Lee and Lee's boyfriend all did a damn fine job of convincing me that this is a blessing.  It's a sign.  It's an OPPORTUNITY.  And it's too good to pass up.  

Oddly, I guess I had this opportunity without yellow fever.  It just too the virus to make me realize it.  And so, with very little money (a bit more thanks to a very generous gift from Pat and Sheila helping out with my exit taxes), clothes meant for staying in a luxury house for three days, and a damn fine attitude, I'm heading to Colombia.  And I don't know how long I will  stay.  Perhaps two weeks?  Perhaps three?  In any event, it will be an adventure.  But then again, isn't it all?

Pepper.

I literally cried.  Tears welled up in my eyes as my face tensed.  A frown with a smile at the tips showed the seemingly contradictory emotions of surprising sadness and utter joy as we hugged for the last time.  I felt as though I might crash into the ground as Pepper walked off to the plane.  

Since Pepper moved to Esterillos a few short months ago, she has touched the lives of all of us with her sincere smile, her infectious laugh, and her loving and lovable spirit.  I fell head over heels in love with her almost immediately.  Working only Monday nights at the bar, I ensured I was there with her - not for support but just to have the opportunity to be around her.  Monday nights led us to a friendship that has blessed me ever since.  I had the opportunity to see her fall in love with Oz, which, as Pat puts it, is perhaps the best couple the world has known.  We experienced an overwhelming love together in roadtrips with Oz, Scott, and Jeni, first to Atenas and then to Manuel Antonio.  We've danced on the streets together, gotten high off of water vapor together, surfed, worked, laughed, cried, loved, seen Scott strip in front of Ozzie's mom, bitched, high-fived, dined, and had Cuba Libres out of a can on the sidewalk in front of a grocery store in Parrita together.  We danced to Michael Jackson after his death, and took on Oz in the first and perhaps only Boogie Days tournament in front of the Lowtide.  A lifetime of memories from only a few short months.  

The sadness comes not from a sense of loss, as neither Pepper nor any of our experiences together were mine or were permanent, but simply from a separation from a dear sweet friend who seemed to know me better than I knew myself at times.  But it fails in comparison to the joy I have for the time we have spent together, and the life-long impact she will continue to have on me.  I'll miss her, that is for sure, but it's wonderful to have had someone like Pepper in my life to miss.  

Not Waiting for the Last Dance

My mom and I had a great conversation the other night, during which I remembered a certain personality psychology course I took at Harvard.  While I was pretty well known for not attending lectures, this particular course spoke to me.  It was taught by an absolutely wonderful man named Brian Little, who was almost poetic in his lectures about "personal projects", "pseudo selves", and "having, doing, and being."  It amazes me that I haven't thought of him within the last year or so, because as I look back, he might have been a very significant influence on my life.  

Professor Little was not only fun.  He was VERY fun.  And he was also very interesting.  Much of what he taught was his material (which is common at Harvard), and his particular perspective on personality psychology was not necessarily brand new, but was humanistic in a manner that is rare at a research institution like Harvard.  Now, it has been years since I took the course, but one of the central concerns of Little is how personal projects, personal strivings, and life tasks lead us to generally take on different personality characteristics.  In other words, it is theorized that our personality is relatively stable throughout our lives, but we actually show personality traits that are significantly different than our stable personality in order to accomplish certain goals.  For example, I may be far on the introvert side of the Extroversion scale and far on the positive side of the Neurotic scale (there are five main "scales" that are commonly used in defining a personality), but I may have a life goal of being married and having children.  God KNOWS no nice girl in her right mind would want to be with me being who I really am, and so I can only help to find a girl in her wrong mind or act a little different to fool those sane girls into loving me.  Thus, I may act extroverted and less neurotic in order to attract a pretty girl who might find me interesting enough to bear my children and tie the knot.    

What Little found, of course, is that high stress is highly correlated with a large separation between the personality of our short-term "pseudo-self" (although I think he hated this word) and our "actual" self.  This shouldn't come as a surprise.  In considering "sacrifice" though, I find this particularly interesting.  I am of the opinion these days, and not even that strong of an opinion, that the only thing one can really sacrifice in this life is one's self.  At any time that I am not being true to myself, that I am not being authentically me, I am sacrificing myself.  A good friend once said that if, in any job, you are sacrificing yourself, you will find that no amount of compensation will ever make up for it.  I tend to agree.  And while I believe that changing one's personality is not necessarily out of line with being authentic, I believe it provides a nice metaphor.  Perhaps the stress that we feel when we are using a false personality is a good metaphor for the suffering (as the Buddhists would call it) we feel when we are not being our authentic selves.  Perhaps it's more than a metaphor.  Perhaps is just a smaller scale of the same problem.  

Before his final lecture at Harvard, Little had asked us to read what I remember as the 18th and final chapter of a book.  I can't quite remember the name of the book, or what genre it would fit in, but it was just a short little thing, and I believe that the 18th and final chapter was perhaps titled "Save the Last Dance."  In this chapter, the author writes in the first person, and is writing a request to himself.  In this plea, he forgives himself for not always being there, from straying away from himself from time to time.  He doesn't assign blame, but instead offers understanding, a compassion for himself for wandering away from his true self, knowing that it was in pursuit of important life goals.  But he asks himself, in a lovingly poetic way, to come back home when those tasks are done.  He asks himself, when he finally reaches his deathbed, to save that last dance for him.  

So Dr. Little, in his final minutes of his final lecture at Harvard, brought the class to tears and then a 20 minute standing ovation as he left us with something that would not be on a test.  It was not something that we would need if we went on to become psychologists or psychiatrists, but something he found important enough to share with that mass of inspired intellectuals.  As we go through life, we will frequently seperate from our true selves.  We will find ourselves acting, wearing masks, putting on shows in order to accomplish certain goals, whether life-long or short term.  But in the end, peace comes from being at home, from being ourselves.  That last dance should be for us, not for this human experience and its demands.  

I guess for me, I'm interested in dancing with myself before that final song.  Of course, when you first start dancing with someone new, it's sloppy.  Sloppy is actually quite an understatement for what I am experiencing right now.  I guess I would prefer to go through the awkwardness now, though.  Perhaps then I can enjoy whatever song life plays, regardless of whether or not I have a partner.  And when my time does come, perhaps I'll be a bit more graceful, or at least be able to just laugh with myself when I lose the beat.  

Costa Rican Driver's License

So, last week, I decided to tag along with three friends (Jeni, Eric, and Jeana), who were headed to San Jose (the City) to take on one of the most difficult feats here in Costa Rica... obtaining a legal local driver's license.  When it comes down to it, there really isn't much at all... if you have a valid driver's license from the states and a passport with an up-to-date stamp, they give you a driver's license.  It's JUST THAT EASY.  But is it?

Adam, another friend, traveled TWICE to San Jose, returning with nothing.  By the way, San Jose is a 2.5 hour drive, which isn't much, except very few of us have cars that can make it that far, and so we're generally going at someone else's leisure, or we're taking the bus.  And the bus doesn't take 2.5 hours.  If it shows, it generally takes, well, more.  So, on his third and final try, Adam finally returned with a license.  (Of course it was his final... why would he return AFTER receiving his license?) (Actually, there might be good reason.  I'll explain later.)

So, what is it about getting the license that is so difficult?  In the states, it may take 30 minutes if you have to wait at that place on Classen where nobody seems to know who's next, or even next for what.  But for the most part, it's easy... go, show ID, get a picture, pay $10, get a license.  Well, here's the skinny...

FIRST, and it's hard to know that this is first without taking a poll and going with the majority, you must go to the doctor.  And AT the doctor's office, you have to pay money.  10 THOUSAND colones (only $20, but still).  Then you go and sit next to a doctor, who asks you if you can use both your arms, and if you're an alcoholic, your sexual preference (not true), and if you can see.  He believes you for the most part, except for the vision thing, which he requires you to read line seven on the chart across the room (FTLGMZ).  If you can, you pass.  EXCEPT, he needs to know your blood type, and they DON'T just take your word for it.  You have to go to the "laboratory", right next door, where you pay 5 THOUSAND more colones, a person take some blood, puts it in a vial, right next to everyone else's blood that was there before you, and tells you to wait.  So you do.  Eventually he comes out with a very serious looking half sheet of white paper that says on one side a letter, and on the other a mathematical symbol that modifies that letter.  Only after returning this magical paper to the doctor who preformed his thorough evaluation to ensure you were safe to drive a motorized vehicle, does the doctor give you an official looking white piece of paper with his SIGNATURE on it, verifying that he, as a professional, believes you should be given a license to drive in this fair country.  

But why the blood test?  As it turns out, they put it on your license.  Right next to where they show whether or not you are an organ donor.  In case you haven't visited Costa and experienced the magnificent driving styles of locals and tourists alike, there is damn good reason to put these in bold red right next to your name, which seems unimportant, really.  (Did you know magnificent was spelled with an "e" towards the end and not an "a"?  Huh.)

So, to avoid making this blog take longer to read or write than it takes to get a driver's license here, I'll make it quick.  After you have your medical slip, you take it and your passport, your driver's license, and a COPY of your passport and of your driver's license (if you don't have the copy, I kid you not, they shoot you) to a magical fortress called Cosevi, which is right next door to many doctor's offices.  You talk to the guard, who tells you to skip the line at the door at the back of the facility, go straight to the guard at that door, tell him you need to see Dona Forget-Her-Name, who is on the second floor.  I'm really not kidding about this.  If you don't talk to that guard, you will waste a lot of time.  You must go see Dona Forget-Her-Name first.  Oh!  And she only works until noon.  Seriously.  So, you go to the second guard, and he pretends he has no idea what you are talking about.  Actually, he probably doesn't.  So you ignore him, walk through, and go the second floor, where you sit in a chair.  And wait.  You're not sure if you should be waiting.  But you do.  And you wait.  Finally, Dona FHN comes out of an office, after a couple of men have already checked to make sure you have your copies and your health certificate and what-not, and she says "Pase!"  Which means enter.  So you do.  She doesn't say anything, just looks at it, signs your copies, puts some squiggly lines, and motions for you to leave.  

You then go back to guard 2, who gives you a "ficha" (not sure what those little papers with numbers are called in the states), and then you wait.  My number was three, and they were on number 51, and it takes a long time to go from number 51 to number 3.  So, when your number comes up, you go to a guy (or girl), who asks you where you live (and he trusts you), and he enters in all your paperwork, and gives you another very small white piece of paper that you must then take all the way to the BANK where you must pay 4 THOUSAND colones, and then return, snake the line, return to the SAME guy who gave you the slip of paper, wait for him to finish with whoever he might be dealing with at the time, quickly slip in, give him the receipt that proves you paid, get your picture taken, and get your license.  Of course, that's if you're lucky.  By the time I got back from the bank, my little guy was gone.  Perhaps to lunch.  So I had to snake some other guy, who couldn't find my records, and sent me to some other girl, who also could not find my records, and so made them up (without my medical sheet), and gave me a license with no organ donor information AND no blood type.  Which brings us to the reason why you MIGHT go back even after receiving a license.  But I won't.  Cause, honestly, I'm pretty sure they don't bother with that information anyway.  

But, now I got my license.  And WHY, you may ask?  Why pay, in the end, 19 THOUSAND colones, when my Oklahoma license is perfectly valid as long as my passport stamp is up to date?  Well, I could argue that it's better when the cops pull you over (which they do, at random stops, all the time).  But that's not really why.  I could say I didn't like my OK license picture, which is true.  But not really a good enough reason.  It's because it's cool.  I have a Costa Rican driver's license.  And I think that's pretty neat.  

Maybe I need a hobby.    

Right Now - 3/8/09 4:50 PM

Feeling great.  I'm sitting at the Soda Mary (again, neither a soda nor owned by Mary), with Jake and Honey.  A few others sitting around.  Chillin.  

I've done very little in the last couple of days.  After going to the contest on Saturday, I decided to just relax for a while.  I surfed yesterday and determined I did not know how to surf (or at least had forgotten).  I went out again today and determined I should have been in the contest - I surely would have been the favorite to win.  I actually got barreled a bit today, for the first time ever.  I didn't make it out, but got to experience the inside of a wave for a split second.  And it was freaking awesome.  The sound is unlike anything I had heard.  It's kinda like the sound you hear with your ear up against a conch shell, but like it's constantly being pulled away, and surrounds you and overwhelms you as it sucks you in.  It looks like a beautiful three dimensional waterfall, and the water on the inside is glassy like black ice.  It's magical.  

I've spent a lot more time alone over the past week or so, and I'm definitely feeling better.  I've still been socializing a bit, got a good mix going on right now.  I spoke with Trevor yesterday, and I am likely going to take a trip to Colombia to check it out.  I also spoke with a friend here on Saturday night, and have a great option for work in this country.  But, for right now, I'm really enjoying just being.  Just taking time.  Reading a bit of Tao of Pooh, listening to a bit of Enigma, catching a few waves.  But mostly just chillin.  And it's nice. 

Surf Contest

So the world championship of surf (or at least one of them) is this week in Hermosa.  The parade of nations was on Friday of last week, and then the tournament started on Saturday.  For the most part, it's been freaking hot.  It hasn't been raining, which is strange for this time of year, and the heat and humidity are too much for me to want to even go watch the event.  Still, I checked it out briefly.  

The parade of nations was interesting largely in the difference among the nations.  For example, all of the South Africans were wearing green blazers with some sort of patch on their chests, green ties, and white button-downs.  Very proper.  The Irish, on the other hand, were wearing different types of Patty's Day style hats, green shirts, and generally seemed drunk, but having a blast.  By far the most lively and fun country was Jamaica, who had a guitar and were singing reggae, clearly stoned and unbelievably happy.  Especially in comparison to the Americans.  Now, don't get me wrong, the Puerto Rican team and the Hawaiian team (who clearly have no interest in identifying with our country and so have separated themselves) looked to be having a good time and happy to be there.  But the Americans, the ones under the stars and stripes, looked miserable and uncomfortable.  It was as if they had the attitude of being too good for this party and at the exact same time scared shitless to show any type of emotion, enjoyment, or character.  And there weren't very many of them.  I think some decided to not even show up for the parade of nations.  

But in a way it shows our national character well.  We still tend to believe we are better than everyone else, but on our pedestal, we are constantly too afraid to show an identity for fear others might view us as equals.  Not that each individual is this way, but I've noticed as I have met a lot of people from other countries that they don't have the conservative self-preservation that we tend to.  We're not alone, of course, but it just seems sad.  And common.  As soon as you start believing you are better than others, your ego requires you to maintain that, and you no longer have that divine spark because you are constantly worried that others might find that you are no better than they are.  Worse, you might find that you are no better than they are.  As long as we play conservatively, keeping our distance emotionally and physically, we will never find ourselves to be just another one of the masses.  And yet by doing this, we become just another one of the masses, completely without our own flavor.  

It was sad to see.  But the parade was fun to watch.  Especially those crazy Jamaicans.  

The next day, I ended up being stuck in Jaco, and so I walked at noon from Jaco to Hermosa, alongside the highway in the hot hot hot hot hot sun.  Adding to the sun was the line of cars, each spewing out exhaust, and the black highway absorbing the sun's rays.  It was only a few miles, but man it felt like a long way.  In the end, though, I beat the cars there by about 20 minutes.  Walking from Jaco to Hermosa was far quicker on Saturday afternoon than driving.  

But after making it to the beach, really I just wanted to walk around a bit, say hi to some friends, and make it back home.  The beach is black, there were thousands of people, and the sun was scorching.  It was good to see it was a success, but after a couple of hours, I decided to stay in Oeste and perhaps just do some surfing of my own.  I've definitely found I prefer to be away from the crowds, in the surf, perhaps, instead of watching it.  

SLOTH

I'm reading Life of Pi right now (or was until I left it at the surf contest the other day).  Although the first 50 pages seem to be a bit boring, and just a long defense of zoos, it did provide me with some good information about sloths, most of which I forgot and therefore couldn't provide to Scott when we came across this three toed sloth crossing the street between here and the highway.  I grabbed my iPhone and shot a few pics as he crawled to and then up a barbed wire fence lining the road (he quickly realized that the post was rather uninteresting, and then decided to descend and find another lookout).  (Quickly was not the right word to use in that last parenthetical statement).  Here are a couple pics that I thought were freaking awesome.  I've seen a few sloths down here, even one pretty close, but nothing like this.

For those of you that haven't seen one on the move, it's absolutely nothing like watching a giraffe run.  That's all I got.  It's also nothing like eating ice cream, which is delicious.