25/09/05 7.00pm pitch black and raining
I am up in the clouds, I am up in the clouds, and I can't...I can't come down, oh the power of irony. I've never been so grateful and scared to death. I am between two flooded rivers on a mountain of death and my skepticism has landed me a room in the restaurant owners' home. Right now the wife is the only one home. I think the husband is staying at the restaurant cabins tonight. The sequence of events that has brought me to this home, with flickering electricity, is the derivation of my skepticism. I literally hope with tears of making it to Uvita tomorrow, but it looks doubtful. Right now I could cry myself to sleep. My spanish dictionary can't help me communicate the emotions... frustrated, appreciative, scared. Will it ever stop raining? Will I be safe here tonight? Why did I assume all would go as planned?
As happy as I was to land on terra firma, I soon found out that my plan was fucked. A wonderful gentleman so informed me that the rains collapsed the bridges between Quepos and Dominical. Already my worst fear (or what I at that time presumed to be my worst fear) has become unavoidable - the drive to San Isidro through cerro de la muerte. Oh, had I known. It was inevitable that my only two choices were to stay in San Jose or to travel on to Uvita directly via San Isidro. San Jose, I thought you were dreadful. Mea culpa. So, 15 bucks later I arrived at Musoc bus station. Purchased a calling card to aid in the execution of my newest master plan - to have the taxi driver Steve knows pick me up in San Isidro when I arrive on the bus. Unfortunately, he didn't have access to his car, to my understanding or misunderstanding. Okay, no big deal, I'll just use one of the 50 that wait at the station to circle their newly arrived carcasses. Departing at 1:30pm, mildly exhausted, I began this journey. Soon I was engulfed in the beauty of lush flora, waterfalls, and utterly breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains, and I nearly teared with happiness and let go of the fear almost completely. Many sharp turns and rain drops later, I recited those lyrics in my head, "I am up in the clouds, I am up in the clouds..." because I was. Literally, figuratively. This country is beautiful (Este pais es bello?), ten times more so in the winter season...
Am I going to die in a fucking flood?
Onward to San Isidro, it is raining a bit harder than I expected, I got my bags, and picked the least sketchy taxi driver. Get in, chat a bit (though he knows no English). I look up some questions in the dictionary, the obvious, about the weather. Driving along, only 52km to go. A downed tree, some potholes here and there...what else is new? Some running water across the road. Wasn't more than 4 or 5 inches deep. A bridge over a river - Elliott seems to be concerned with how high the river is. No entiendo. A short while later, I thought he suggested that we stop at this restaurant for some plaintains (and I was happy to grab a bite to eat), so I was down, no problemo. So, it looks like we've instead stopped to ask about the road ahead. No posible pasar, they say. Where am I staying? "Tucan Hotel." How convenient that it's no listed and I didn't take the telephone number (or a Lonely Planet!). Sketchy, sketchy. (Roger had called for me.) So, now it looks like my only option is back to San Isidro for the night. Where the eff am I going to stay? I've never stayed in San Isidro. So, everything at this point has pretty much fallen apart. I wearily accepted that it was time to go back to San Isidro. But, now...now it's not possible.
Is this house going to slide down the mountain?
The road is flooded both ways. Skeptical and savvy me, I see this as the taxi driver's plot to get me to rent a cabin at this place for $12. I have never felt so fucked and helpless. No internet, no friends, no one to trust but myself. Other cars are driving by, and where are they going?? It's damn cold and misty in this restaurant, torrential rains on the metal roof. I had one and only one idea to get out of this scheme, to get the number to Tucan, talk to Steve, find out that I'm being set up, and that the road is fine. I needed to call the internet. Many friends came to mind, but Johnny G you were the chosen. Reached voicemail on a two-minute calling card. Back to fucked. So, Roger did actually help me make that call. Plus one Roger, minus one Jen's paranoia. All in all, there's nothing to do, but I refused to accept the "offer" to stay in one of the two cabins. So, the taxi guy, a few of the restaurant workers, and myself are all stuck here? Ploy, ploy, ploy. I hold out for about an hour, and finally get a jacket from my bag in the taxi. I broke out a bit on Roger, the helpful, friendly one. They were all about to leave to stay up the road (his wife and kid also came). This was it. He suggested I stay at the owner's house if I wanted, no charge, and this all now seems to be the generous offerings of wonderful Ticos. I told Roger I was concerned for my safety, and the safety of my belongings, and I felt like I was being cammed. He told me to relax. So, he drove me here, and I was given a warm welcome by the wife. (I wish I knew more Spanish this first day.) I have my own room, and still I have my passport in my pillowcase.
And, before I go, at the restaurant over a hot chocolate, we all watched the live news and the devestating flooding all over the country. So this is all true.
I hope I'm alive in the morning.
It better be a better day.
With lots of sunshine and chocolate covered rainbows.
Damn, there's a mosquito flying around in my room. And the lady is fast asleep snoring across the hall. Time for sleep...
26/09/05 5.30pm
I awoke well-rested to roosters crowing, sunshine through my window, and a renewed optimism. The rain had finally subsided, thank god. I hear the rustling of the owners, and by now I assumed it was 11am or noon. I got up, the kitchen clock read 6:30am and it didn't lie. (I can only hope it's that easy every day forward). The lady offered me orange juice or coffee, and juice sounded so good. Yes, please. Minutes passed and she came back with the glass of OJ, freshly squeezed.
Roger arrived shortly thereafter with his wife and child and informed me that the road to San Isidro was still being repaired, but he would pick me up around 8 or 9 to head back after it was completed. The lady and her husband left me and I walked around to the back of this gorgeous house. What a view, and what a beautiful day. Few clouds in the bluest sky, birds chirping, children playing. I packed up and Roger arrived again. Back to San Isidro (or so I presumed). Roger and his wife had offered for me to stay at their home for a few days until the road to Uvita reopened, how generous! So, this was my tentative plan. But, not a few kilometers later, we hit some cars parked on the side of the road and a roadblock. We saw the devestation of the river, oh my. The bridge over the river was still being repaired, but it was to be fixed within an hour. A house at least 50 feet from the river had its windows broken out from the rushing water of the river the night before, and the grasses and trees were flattened all around. We got out and walked to the bridge, and I ran into an American woman who was passing from Uvita - the road was reopened already! And as fate would have it, I saw a bus parked at the soda next to the bridge that said "Uvita". Since we had some time, we decided to detour to a road that ran along the river to see the damage. People were sweeping mud off of their porches, trees and powerlines were down everywhere, and another bridge completely collapsed. Back to the roadblock, and we walked to the Uvita bus to ask which way it was headed and indeed it was Uvita. I suppose it had stopped to check out this spectacle? The bus was full, but the driver said I could board, so I got my bags from Roger's truck and got on to the bus. Many, many thanks to Roger. I got his number and he gave me and open invitation to his home in San Isidro. On the bus, I guess you could say there was standing room only. It was packed to the open door by the driver, and I mean right up to the open door there were men standing on both steps into the bus. Ah, a relief to be on my way to Uvita as I stood up front. I am convinced this is the most beautiful drive in the country.
About a half hour into the trip and after entering some clouds, we turned a corner and saw the next roadblock: A diesel tanker had jacknifed and gotten stuck, blocking both lanes precisely. There were one or two other vehicles involved in this accident, but no damage or death, just a mere inconvenience. With no police or any heavy machinery in sight, this was going to take a while. The bus turned off and everyone trickled outside. We found out that it would be two or three hours at least. I had the brilliant idea of walking to the other side of this roadblock to scope out a ride from anyone turning around. I talked to an American surfer guy, but he wanted more than $15 so I kept looking. A lady from Dominical said she would have taken me back there, but she was going to wait for the block to clear. She was headed to a mechanic in San Isidro. Back to the other side, I realized the steepness of the incline. I relaxed on the bus for a bit, a policeman finally showed up, and I decided to try for a ride again since there wasn't much else to do. The sweet lady had decided to turn around and head back home and offered me a ride free of charge. Back up the mountain at the bus, the door to the cargo wouldn't open and apparently the bus needs to be on, but the driver is nowhere to be found, sonofabitch. I walked back to decline the ride. Back up again to the bus, I sat at the busstop for awhile. All this walking passed a jackknifed diesel truck probably wasn't the safest idea.
The bus driver eventually came around, and I was able to retrieve my bags. I ended up talking to a Tico who generously offered to walk with me to the other side and help me find a ride. Freddy, 23, lives in San Isidro on the weekends with his mother and brother and works in Dominical during the week. We talked and talked, intermittently attempting to flag the few cars that passed. He eventually found a ride for me in the back of a pick up truck with some others. Moving along, again, to Uvita! A few stops, some landslides, driftwood blocking the road, and 30km later, I was here, and it was only 1,000 colones for the ride (about $2.25). Nikki greeted me at the gate, the girl I am replacing. Steve the owner was not around, he had gone to San Isidro (though he finally made it back). Jack my favorite aging-hippy chef is still here, and I met the newbie Canadian gent named Camille who will be running the office. Jamie from Gainesville came by; she now lives up the road. And it was only 1:30pm at this point. A hot shower, some chatting, movie, and food later, and here I am on a hammock, writing. It is humid and cool, and time to get online...
I am up in the clouds, I am up in the clouds, and I can't...I can't come down, oh the power of irony. I've never been so grateful and scared to death. I am between two flooded rivers on a mountain of death and my skepticism has landed me a room in the restaurant owners' home. Right now the wife is the only one home. I think the husband is staying at the restaurant cabins tonight. The sequence of events that has brought me to this home, with flickering electricity, is the derivation of my skepticism. I literally hope with tears of making it to Uvita tomorrow, but it looks doubtful. Right now I could cry myself to sleep. My spanish dictionary can't help me communicate the emotions... frustrated, appreciative, scared. Will it ever stop raining? Will I be safe here tonight? Why did I assume all would go as planned?
As happy as I was to land on terra firma, I soon found out that my plan was fucked. A wonderful gentleman so informed me that the rains collapsed the bridges between Quepos and Dominical. Already my worst fear (or what I at that time presumed to be my worst fear) has become unavoidable - the drive to San Isidro through cerro de la muerte. Oh, had I known. It was inevitable that my only two choices were to stay in San Jose or to travel on to Uvita directly via San Isidro. San Jose, I thought you were dreadful. Mea culpa. So, 15 bucks later I arrived at Musoc bus station. Purchased a calling card to aid in the execution of my newest master plan - to have the taxi driver Steve knows pick me up in San Isidro when I arrive on the bus. Unfortunately, he didn't have access to his car, to my understanding or misunderstanding. Okay, no big deal, I'll just use one of the 50 that wait at the station to circle their newly arrived carcasses. Departing at 1:30pm, mildly exhausted, I began this journey. Soon I was engulfed in the beauty of lush flora, waterfalls, and utterly breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains, and I nearly teared with happiness and let go of the fear almost completely. Many sharp turns and rain drops later, I recited those lyrics in my head, "I am up in the clouds, I am up in the clouds..." because I was. Literally, figuratively. This country is beautiful (Este pais es bello?), ten times more so in the winter season...
Am I going to die in a fucking flood?
Onward to San Isidro, it is raining a bit harder than I expected, I got my bags, and picked the least sketchy taxi driver. Get in, chat a bit (though he knows no English). I look up some questions in the dictionary, the obvious, about the weather. Driving along, only 52km to go. A downed tree, some potholes here and there...what else is new? Some running water across the road. Wasn't more than 4 or 5 inches deep. A bridge over a river - Elliott seems to be concerned with how high the river is. No entiendo. A short while later, I thought he suggested that we stop at this restaurant for some plaintains (and I was happy to grab a bite to eat), so I was down, no problemo. So, it looks like we've instead stopped to ask about the road ahead. No posible pasar, they say. Where am I staying? "Tucan Hotel." How convenient that it's no listed and I didn't take the telephone number (or a Lonely Planet!). Sketchy, sketchy. (Roger had called for me.) So, now it looks like my only option is back to San Isidro for the night. Where the eff am I going to stay? I've never stayed in San Isidro. So, everything at this point has pretty much fallen apart. I wearily accepted that it was time to go back to San Isidro. But, now...now it's not possible.
Is this house going to slide down the mountain?
The road is flooded both ways. Skeptical and savvy me, I see this as the taxi driver's plot to get me to rent a cabin at this place for $12. I have never felt so fucked and helpless. No internet, no friends, no one to trust but myself. Other cars are driving by, and where are they going?? It's damn cold and misty in this restaurant, torrential rains on the metal roof. I had one and only one idea to get out of this scheme, to get the number to Tucan, talk to Steve, find out that I'm being set up, and that the road is fine. I needed to call the internet. Many friends came to mind, but Johnny G you were the chosen. Reached voicemail on a two-minute calling card. Back to fucked. So, Roger did actually help me make that call. Plus one Roger, minus one Jen's paranoia. All in all, there's nothing to do, but I refused to accept the "offer" to stay in one of the two cabins. So, the taxi guy, a few of the restaurant workers, and myself are all stuck here? Ploy, ploy, ploy. I hold out for about an hour, and finally get a jacket from my bag in the taxi. I broke out a bit on Roger, the helpful, friendly one. They were all about to leave to stay up the road (his wife and kid also came). This was it. He suggested I stay at the owner's house if I wanted, no charge, and this all now seems to be the generous offerings of wonderful Ticos. I told Roger I was concerned for my safety, and the safety of my belongings, and I felt like I was being cammed. He told me to relax. So, he drove me here, and I was given a warm welcome by the wife. (I wish I knew more Spanish this first day.) I have my own room, and still I have my passport in my pillowcase.
And, before I go, at the restaurant over a hot chocolate, we all watched the live news and the devestating flooding all over the country. So this is all true.
I hope I'm alive in the morning.
It better be a better day.
With lots of sunshine and chocolate covered rainbows.
Damn, there's a mosquito flying around in my room. And the lady is fast asleep snoring across the hall. Time for sleep...
26/09/05 5.30pm
I awoke well-rested to roosters crowing, sunshine through my window, and a renewed optimism. The rain had finally subsided, thank god. I hear the rustling of the owners, and by now I assumed it was 11am or noon. I got up, the kitchen clock read 6:30am and it didn't lie. (I can only hope it's that easy every day forward). The lady offered me orange juice or coffee, and juice sounded so good. Yes, please. Minutes passed and she came back with the glass of OJ, freshly squeezed.
Roger arrived shortly thereafter with his wife and child and informed me that the road to San Isidro was still being repaired, but he would pick me up around 8 or 9 to head back after it was completed. The lady and her husband left me and I walked around to the back of this gorgeous house. What a view, and what a beautiful day. Few clouds in the bluest sky, birds chirping, children playing. I packed up and Roger arrived again. Back to San Isidro (or so I presumed). Roger and his wife had offered for me to stay at their home for a few days until the road to Uvita reopened, how generous! So, this was my tentative plan. But, not a few kilometers later, we hit some cars parked on the side of the road and a roadblock. We saw the devestation of the river, oh my. The bridge over the river was still being repaired, but it was to be fixed within an hour. A house at least 50 feet from the river had its windows broken out from the rushing water of the river the night before, and the grasses and trees were flattened all around. We got out and walked to the bridge, and I ran into an American woman who was passing from Uvita - the road was reopened already! And as fate would have it, I saw a bus parked at the soda next to the bridge that said "Uvita". Since we had some time, we decided to detour to a road that ran along the river to see the damage. People were sweeping mud off of their porches, trees and powerlines were down everywhere, and another bridge completely collapsed. Back to the roadblock, and we walked to the Uvita bus to ask which way it was headed and indeed it was Uvita. I suppose it had stopped to check out this spectacle? The bus was full, but the driver said I could board, so I got my bags from Roger's truck and got on to the bus. Many, many thanks to Roger. I got his number and he gave me and open invitation to his home in San Isidro. On the bus, I guess you could say there was standing room only. It was packed to the open door by the driver, and I mean right up to the open door there were men standing on both steps into the bus. Ah, a relief to be on my way to Uvita as I stood up front. I am convinced this is the most beautiful drive in the country.
About a half hour into the trip and after entering some clouds, we turned a corner and saw the next roadblock: A diesel tanker had jacknifed and gotten stuck, blocking both lanes precisely. There were one or two other vehicles involved in this accident, but no damage or death, just a mere inconvenience. With no police or any heavy machinery in sight, this was going to take a while. The bus turned off and everyone trickled outside. We found out that it would be two or three hours at least. I had the brilliant idea of walking to the other side of this roadblock to scope out a ride from anyone turning around. I talked to an American surfer guy, but he wanted more than $15 so I kept looking. A lady from Dominical said she would have taken me back there, but she was going to wait for the block to clear. She was headed to a mechanic in San Isidro. Back to the other side, I realized the steepness of the incline. I relaxed on the bus for a bit, a policeman finally showed up, and I decided to try for a ride again since there wasn't much else to do. The sweet lady had decided to turn around and head back home and offered me a ride free of charge. Back up the mountain at the bus, the door to the cargo wouldn't open and apparently the bus needs to be on, but the driver is nowhere to be found, sonofabitch. I walked back to decline the ride. Back up again to the bus, I sat at the busstop for awhile. All this walking passed a jackknifed diesel truck probably wasn't the safest idea.
The bus driver eventually came around, and I was able to retrieve my bags. I ended up talking to a Tico who generously offered to walk with me to the other side and help me find a ride. Freddy, 23, lives in San Isidro on the weekends with his mother and brother and works in Dominical during the week. We talked and talked, intermittently attempting to flag the few cars that passed. He eventually found a ride for me in the back of a pick up truck with some others. Moving along, again, to Uvita! A few stops, some landslides, driftwood blocking the road, and 30km later, I was here, and it was only 1,000 colones for the ride (about $2.25). Nikki greeted me at the gate, the girl I am replacing. Steve the owner was not around, he had gone to San Isidro (though he finally made it back). Jack my favorite aging-hippy chef is still here, and I met the newbie Canadian gent named Camille who will be running the office. Jamie from Gainesville came by; she now lives up the road. And it was only 1:30pm at this point. A hot shower, some chatting, movie, and food later, and here I am on a hammock, writing. It is humid and cool, and time to get online...
posted by Jennifer at 10:39 PM
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