Buen Provecho

Three months ago, as I lounged beachside in Trujillo imbibing a cold beer to commemorate one year spent in Honduras, Sarah and Ryan (sounds like a boy, spelled like a boy, but, nonetheless, female) excitedly chatted across from me about their plans for Easter break. I overheard them mention Costa Rica and Panama and inquired for more information. They were quick to ask me to rove along and I was quick to acquiesce.

My original plans were to go north to the Lone Star state but the image of dipping into the warm Caribbean waters seemed idyllic and more interesting than the banal Easter I’d spend at home. A vacation to the tropics appeared to be the perfect antidote to the weirdness that was rising in me, a slow and steady cadence, like the pace the tortoise used when he beat the hare. Therefore, I had no qualms with taking the eighteen hour bus trip to San Jose, Costa Rica.

The long drive through Nicaragua to Costa Rica is unworthy of commentary due to scenery, landscape, and people similar to that in Honduras, and, also, because there is only so much one can do on a bus other than sleep, eat, and daydream. We arrived, haggard and in need of back massages (which I still have not received; only $7.00 if anyone wants to donate to the “save Ana’s spine with one hour of deserved bliss for living in a country where commuting is done by school buses on vertiginous and often bumpy roads for hours at a time” foundation), to San Jose at midnight. We were quickly whisked away from crack head central, downtown, to La Heredia, Santo Domingo; the affluent suburb in Costa Rica’s capital. Once in the safe haven that is Adita and Miguel’s piquant Colombian influenced house we played the part of polite interlocutors for several minutes and then passed out as though we’d been engaging in wild debauchery for the past eighteen hours instead of merely fidgeting around on a bus.

Waking up to Costa Rica was like waking up to OZ after being in Kansas for so long. There is a blatant difference between the country I embarked from and the country I woke up in, even though they’re both developing and in Central America. The first thing I noticed, or noticed the lack thereof, was the trash. The sides of the streets were not the colorful array of messiness that they are in Honduras. I didn’t see anyone chunk Styrofoam plates out of bus windows and, by God, there were trash receptacles on street corners! And although we did receive several stares, being strikingly good looking, not one cat call was yelled. This was the best part of the entire vacation! We were able to roam around, block after block, without being verbally molested. Another shock was seeing people exercising on the streets, cycling and jogging. Hondurans do not jog unless they are being chased and cycling is their mode of transportation, not a hobby. At first we thought it must just be a freak coincidence, the cleanliness and politeness coinciding with Easter week, but, alas, the trend continued the week afterwards as well!

Costa Rica seems to be the paradigm of how the rest of the Central American countries should become (although there is still a large U.S influence there, as in virtually all Central American countries, which sadly means a decadence of culture and pride). How will this be achieved? With better education and a women’s rights movement. I’m doing my part now by educating women and children about sexuality and their responsibility and respect towards it and their own bodies. But it will take much more work and patience, and less influence from the Empire, specifically with such agendas such as CAFTA, which idealistically sound good but truly do take away a means of living for the poor just to erect a tacky and unhealthy Burger King in place of a meager baleada and empanada stand. I’ve heard from several Hondurans that eating in places like BKs, Popeyes, and Wendys is a sign of wealth, which is obvious in the grandiosity of these establishments in Central America and the plethora of expensive cars in the parking lot. What kind of brain washing is going on? Am I correct in my thinking that in the States eating dinner at McDonalds is a sign of poverty, laziness, and obesity, with just a splash of convenience?

Regardless of politics, our time spent in Costa Rica and Panama was fantastic. Most of it was spent lying on the silky white sand beaches of the Caribbean and floating in water so crystal clear you can see the sharks a mile away before they actually attack. We managed to visit one national park while in Costa Rica, Volcan Poas, but our sight of the volcano was blurred by the clouds and mist that decided to form that very morning. Still, the hike up was pleasant, the dewy and bright green vegetation beautiful and undeforested mountains a sight to behold and appreciate; albeit the reason for the trip was not to exert energy by hiking but rather to gain weight via beach hopping. Mission accomplished (unlike another mission…)!

We began in Guacimo, Costa Rica at Adita and Miguel’s charming tilapia farm. There we napped in humongous Colombian hammocks, took a dip in their clean pool, and ate a generous serving of golden fried tilapia, just fished from the ponds, with a side of patacones (slivers of plantains smashed into the size of coasters, slightly fried, and sprinkled with salt). We were then ushered by the delightful couple to a sleepy beach town called Cahuitas, where I ate the spiciest coconut shrimp curry this side of India. Afterwards we were taken to nearby Puerto Viejo, where we separated from the thoughtful Alvarez pair and were left to fend for ourselves. That night we strolled throughout the friendly old port town and ended up at a beachfront disco where we drank Cerveza Pilsen, listened to Reggae, and watched the dark, Amazonian, stunning locals dance the night away. The next day we walked till we found the perfect beach spot, isolated and shady. For dinner we ate a mixed plate of remarkably tasty sushi and then hit a local bar for happy hour. The following morning we took a bus to Sixaola, on the border of Panama. After having our passports stamped we were driven to Changuinola, a little town in which we boarded a small motor powered boat and sailed across the ocean to the island of Boca’s Del Toro. We could not help the feelings of giddiness that overtook us as we sped through the choppy waters and saw the gorgeous islands in the distance. We sensed that good times were in the immediate future.

During our three nights in Boca’s we slept in a humble hostel, Mondo Taitu, where we met many interesting travelers, most being wacky European backpackers who roam for months or years consecutively and float from hostel to hostel while working menial jobs to keep them from starving or doing volunteer work (like saving baby sea turtles) to keep them energized. I loved the amalgam of personalities, languages, and accents surrounding me, made even better with the tranquil atmosphere that marinates the Caribbean coast and the Reggae sounds that linger along. It’s virtually impossible to feel stressed. The most stressful issue is deciding which beach to soak in and which restaurant to eat at. We chose playa Rana Roja and playa Bluff, excellent choices, and ate a variety of food. Instead of settling for the plato tipico that we are all to familiar with we decided to splurge and ate mix seafood ceviches, bruschetta, hummus, risotto (with a bottle of Chilean cabernet), garlic and basil spaghetti, and even a spicy Indian breakfast consisting of eggs cooked in Indian spices, topped with lettuce and tomatoes, and rolled in a huge slice of Nan. At one of the food establishments we dined at I discovered the tastiest hot sauce: D’Elidas, Autentica Sazon Panamena, made with Habanero peppers. Delicious! Incidentally loyal reader, if you love me (and you do, YOU DO), you’ll write to them at delidas@cwpanama.net and order me a bottle because I’m almost out. At night, after happy hour, we would go dancing with the locals and foreigners at a popular disco featuring a sunken boat towards the back in the middle of a deck. Some of the aforementioned crazy Europeans would eventually jump in, unable to resist the aqua freshness after sweating away all their beer while dancing.

Needless to say, the trip was the perfect remedy for my creeping feelings of sadness and now that I’m back in Honduras I feel vigorous and excited to start working again. Let us hope I make it through my one year medical exam sin problemas…