life right now

It's hard to believe that just two months ago I was enjoying this view and a great novel. (Or that it has already been two months ago?) These past two months have been a whirlwind. Zan and I finally found a tenant for his condo, and within the week, we also found a place of our own. I'm busying myself (in those rare moments I find a chance to do something other than homework) with decorating, a thing that is brand new to me but feels right and like it's time because I'm so happy that this apartment is our home.

Zan and I are heading to Georgia in mid-August to spend time with my family and pick up Sir Theodore from my mom. I can't wait to bring him home. I'm having increasingly elaborate daydreams of us being reunited - slow motion running towards each other and all.

The first season of the Rangel Fellowship is coming to a close, and I'm still wrapping my head around how fast this summer has gone. I'm more excited and ready for my career as a Foreign Service Officer than ever before. Having to wait two more years - and surviving grad school - to get there is a tough pill to swallow, but I'm finding all the reasons in the world to get excited about it. I love learning, and I know as soon as classes start, I'll be happier to be where I am than I can imagine right now.

And in two short (too, too short) weeks, I'll be on a flight heading to Vancouver. Callie and I are meeting there and heading to Victoria for our friends' Tiffany and Alex's wedding. We all taught together in Japan. I've been back from JET for five years, and I love these friends more fiercely than ever. Zan couldn't make this trip - and all the love in the world to him, but I can't wait to travel with Callie again. She and I have traveled to five (six?) countries together, and it's time to add another to the list. It's going to be so much fun and a needed mental break before school starts.

Is anyone else watching Orphan Black? I'm hooked. 

And that's about all my frazzled brain knows right now.

Happy Friday!

rediscovering great falls

We wanted to hike Billy Goat A at Great Falls - accessible only on the Maryland side, but we were so engaged in conversation that I didn't even notice when my phone's map sent us to the Virginia side.

Growing up in Georgia, I was relatively far from other state borders. We had to work to get to somewhere else. My mom would honk the horn when we would cross the border into Alabama or Florida, Tennessee or South Carolina. We'd holler our hoorays. I always felt this bubbling excitement of the unknown. Like crossing that state border would show me something so special I couldn't even imagine it yet. It always filled me with that mix of excitement laced with a tinge of fear of the unknown. To this day, it's the feeling I crave most.

It still isn't ordinary to me that I cross from DC into Maryland or Virginia with such ease and frequency. They're all right there, practically on top of each other. At Great Falls, you can literally wade from one state to another. You can accidentally end up in Virginia when you meant to go to Maryland. And if you want to fix your mistake? It's less than 20 minutes.

Maybe that's a reason why I feel so at home in DC - it's a place that isn't a state, it's neither here nor there, neither Virginia nor Maryland, Yankee nor Southern, but in so many ways, it's the epicenter of America - at least in my nerdy, political, international affairs world. It's a place where there's always something new to discover.

(I'm not sure where that tangent came from, but it felt good to write. Do you ever just feel good writing? It doesn't even matter what comes out, it just feels right to say it all.)

I love Great Falls, and this hike with Jess rejuvenated my soul. That sounds so crunchy, but damn if it isn't true. I haven't been hiking in far too long. Zan and I did some good walking in Costa Rica, but it wasn't the same. I need that nerves on edge, heart pounding, lick my lips and all I taste is sweat, kind of hiking. And I need a view that makes me want to sit and stare and think and be grateful for everything. In the past few years, I've overlooked Great Falls for mountains and bigger peaks and more expansive views. But sometimes the best view is what's in my own backyard that I've left untouched for too long. This was one of those days and one of those hikes.

I'd never seen the Great Falls themselves - in nearly four years of living in this beloved city. Isn't that crazy?

I'm so glad we went to the wrong state. It was the right hike. Standing up there on those rocks, looking over the cliff to the river below, I was excited with just a tinge of fear. The best way to be.

If you're interested, we started near the Falls and made a loop that combines the Patowmack Canal, Matildaville, and River Trails.

costa rica day 6 | the caribbean coast

Today, Zan and I had one of the best experiences yet on this trip. There were caves and coral, reefs and waves, jungle and ocean. And all it cost us was the price of bus ticket.

"All this fun for $2," I joked to Zan while we slid through mud and carefully stepped over tree roots in bare feet. "I feel like I won Costa Rica!"

I have been obsessed with how expensive Costa Rica is so it really did feel like a victory...

We slept until 7:30, the latest of the entire trip. We had a lazy morning reading in bed (ahem, looking at our phones), before an equally lazy buffet breakfast at the hotel. There were homemade banana pancakes that were divine. We decided to take the 9:45am public bus out to Manzanillo, a small fishing village and beach town with a large wildlife refuge about 10 miles from Puerto Viejo. The bus showed up at 10:15 -- everything really does run on Caribbean time!

Zan had been unsure if he wanted to go to Manzanillo, but one of the very friendly hotel convinced him, more so than I could. I had read about an 8km hike along the coast to Punta Mona nad wondered aloud to her if it was safe (I also read about a robbery on the trail), if we could do it alone, and if we needed to hike the entire way. Excitedly, she pointed to a spot on our map of the area, saying it's only a 2-3km hike to reach a stunning lookout point and to see a giant rock that has become the iconic image of Manzanillo and this portion of Costa Rica's Caribbean coast. I had read about caves along the hike and hoped to find a few of those, too.

Finding the trail was easy; the path that ran through town essentially ran into it. A Dutch couple introduced themselves, and the four of us hiked together. It had rained the night before, and the trail was slick with mud. We all had to use our hands - and lend hands to the others - for leverage at the steepest, most slippery parts. The trail ran along the coast, with the sound of the waves on one side and verdant, overgrown jungle on the other.

We reached the lookout quickly, and it was every bit as beautiful - and even more - than we'd hoped. The giant rock emerged from the ocean floor after an earthquake in 1991, and now it stands about 20 feet tall in the ocean, waves lapping at its base and spray shooting several feet in the air. We gingerly stepped on the spiky coral rocks at the lookout point to see the view from every direction.

The trail led us to several more beautiful areas, most of them deserted beach coves. The last one we went to had an enticing alcove of coral and heavy rock, and I climbed up to explore. The Dutch guy joined me and saw a nearly hidden entrance to a cave, only accessible by leaping over a foot gap in the rocks, jagged rocks and ocean below. The cave was wide and high, easy to walk in and around. Looking up, there was a natural skylight, but the beams were so bright I couldn't glance up for long. The view from inside looking out - at the waves bouncing off the geometrical rock formations, was extraordinary.

After exploring a while longer, we hiked back to town and found a simple stretch of beach to enjoy for an hour or so before lunch.

The woman at the hotel had recommended a reggae restaurant named Cool and Calm Cafe. Walking around town to find it, we heard it before we saw it. Andy, the owner, is a Manzanillo native, Caribbean to his core. The outdoors cafe is funky and as cool and calm as the name suggests, with a menu featuring fresh fish caught locally and Caribbean chicken. Zan had fish tacos, and they out with fried fish piled so high he had to eat his way down to the tortillas. The Caribbean chicken was flavorful, and I finally experienced rice cooked in coconut milk, a local favorite. It was our most expensive lunch yet, at $30 for the two meals and some guacamole and chips to start. (The guac and chips were $7, and literally there were 13 chips. Counting chips is a sign of mental instability, I'm sure, but seriously, were we in Costa Rica or San Francisco?!)

Stuffed to the gills, we spent a few more hours on the beach before catching the 4:00pm bus back to town.

That night, the rains we were told would drench our entire trip, came. I don't know how we lucked out with such fantastic weather, but that night the rain came down so hard it was as though the sky had been holding it in all week and couldn't any longer. It was deafening, and I lay in bed listening to it for hours, or for at least as long as I could keep my eyes open.

For dinner, we went to Marco's Pizzeria at the far end of Puerto Viejo. Marco has a wood-burning oven sitting outside and standing right there, amidst a handful of tables and the sound of crashing waves, he rolls the crust and delicately applies toppings. His pizza isn't just good for Puerto Viejo or Costa Rica, it's comparable to - or better than - the best I've ever had. And I'm a certifiable pizza snob. We raved about that pizza all night and for days after.

After dinner, we wandered a few hundred feet up the dark road to The Point, a sports bar Zan has wanted to check out since we were in DC researching this trip. We chatted with expats, including a woman from California who came to Puerto Viejo to teach yoga for four months after being laid off from her job. I'm drawn to people like her - ones that choose the unexpected paths and take the risks and live big. The "ones who are mad to live," as Jack Kerouac so perfectly said.

Puerto Viejo is a lot of things - expensive, surfer's paradise, a party town - but mostly it's a haven for people looking for a new life, a healthier life, a life filled with more reggae music than buzzing phones. There was the expat who told us he and his family moved down here to have more time to put family first. And the one who turned her back on a cushy corporate job to find herself. And the couple who heeded the irresistible call of the jungle and now dedicate themselves to protecting native wildlife.

It's a hippie town, full of vegan, raw, and vegetarian restaurants, yoga studios, and weed. I have complicated feelings on Costa Rica from this trip, but I understand wholly, in my soul, how a traveler planning to pass through Puerto Viejo ends up calling this beautiful place home. 

costa rica day 5 | jungle love, puerto viejo

Well. After being initiated into Puerto Viejo with shots of Guaro, I woke up in the starring role of the unfortunate movie, Guaro's Revenge. I was a little hungover. Okay, that's an understatement.

Zan woke up early to go fishing, and I slept in. Around 10am, I plopped into the hammock on our porch to plan the rest of my day. Next thing I knew, it was two hours later, and I hadn't moved an inch. By noon, Zan wasn't back yet and I knew it was then or never to get myself moving. I tossed on my bathing suit, packed a beach bag, and before I could leave Zan a note, he walked through the door. He was dejected from not catching anything, but "it was a nice boat ride." He always sees the bright side. Speaking of bright side, his arms were lobster red ("he's my lobster!").

We biked into Puerto Viejo for lunch at Soda Mirna, our first taste of Tico food in the south. It was a basic meal of braised chicken, rice, beans, and plantains. It was a hearty, good meal... but even at a restaurant as local as it gets, lunch was $20. I can't get over how expensive this country is!

We biked to a beach in Playa Cocles, a small town before Playa Chiquita, really close to the Jaguar Rescue Center. It wasn't as beautiful as the beaches yesterday, but in paradise, the beaches are all just shades of gorgeous. It's a locals beach, evidenced by the handful of guys we saw wading out to their thighs before throwing fishing line into the surf. A few had buckets of fish they'd already caught.

We left with enough time to check out Alice's Ice Cream Bar, a place we'd passed (and somehow resisted) the day before. An American expat couple owns it. The wife, Alice, makes all of the ice cream with hand run machines, and her husband runs the business side of things. The husband is from DC so we had plenty to talk about over the rich, creamy coffee and dark chocolate ice cream we devoured.

For dinner, we took a taxi ($8) to Jungle Love, a raved about restaurant in the quiet town of Playa Chiquita. We got lucky that a couple had canceled their reservation, and we nabbed one of the 5 tables right away. All of the tables are outside in the open air, a simple roof overhead, and the jungle encroaching from all sides.

The owners are an expat couple. Zamu is a character. He's a big guy - very muscular - from Oakland, California. He has a penchant for pithy, philosophical phrases and an ability to talk to anyone. He told us right away that it was our night, and the entire, beautiful meal made us feel that way. Most of the ingredients are either grown on their property (lemongrass and herbs) or locally sourced.

I had Zamu's sausage pasta ("I know the guy who makes the sausage"), and Zan had sea bass, the fish of the day. Zan had a religious experience with his fish and the basil-ginger sauce on it; I found the ragu a little sweet for my tastes but the dish as a whole hearty, warm, and crave-worthy. Zamu's wife (a charismatic, expert traveler with a contagious laugh) sold us on a cinnamon brownie with homemade coffee ice cream from a local farm. That ice cream was so rich and creamy, and I want more even thinking about it.

With a bottle of wine, two entrees, two apps, and a dessert, our bill came to about $65 with tip. It was probably the most reasonably priced meal out here, and we weren't even charged for incredible conversations with Zamu and his wife.

Zamu is an Army man and trained in hand-to-hand combat. I joked, "Remind me never to make you angry," and he smoothly replied, "It doesn't have to be like that. I just tell people, 'use your words.'" He's teaching his 9-year-old son martial arts and self-defense to carry on the family legacy.

I'd use my words around his son, too.

to mike

While I was in Costa Rica, my colleague Mike passed away. He found out he had lymphoma just about a year ago. To be honest, I didn't know Mike outside of the office very well. We were both on the communications team at the Alliance for Excellent Education - the organization I loved and just recently left to pursue graduate school. Being on the same team meant that we interacted much more than I did with many of the other staff members my first year at the Alliance. He handled webinars and the website, video editing, and adeptly wrote code.

Mike was meticulous - organized in a way that always impressed me and made me take note (and brought to light how unorganized I was, in comparison). He kept an oversize desk calendar with a handwritten schedule of all of our webinars and events and other key dates. He used pencil for all tentative dates and inked them in once confirmed. I always smiled when he lugged his huge calendar into our weekly communications staff meeting. I, too, like everything right in front of me - visible with ink on paper. Within a few months, I had my very own oversize desk calendar keeping me company in my office space, too.

At some point in the year we worked together, I googled Mike, because I had a hunch that this man who was fairly private but whose love of baseball was as public as it gets, had stories. Had interesting experiences. Of course, I could've just asked him about it all, but I was the new kid in the office, and the Internet just makes everything so easy. He came up as one of the first search results for his name, and I learned right away that he has an Emmy - two, in fact. I emailed him asking a work question as a ruse and slipping in there that one day I've love to hear his story of winning an Emmy. He got right back to me with a friendly response, answering the work question in detail, but he didn't mention the Emmy. I don't know why - humility? But I never brought it up again.

I'm not sure what Mike's beliefs were, but I don't need to know. Whatever he believed, I hope with all my heart that he was at peace and unafraid. That the time he had with his family gave them a chance to say the things they wanted to say, the things he wanted them to carry in their hearts, and the things they needed him to know. That he felt loved and comforted and pain free. And I hope now that all the love in the world is showered on his family, giving them hope and a sense that it's going to be okay.

RIP, Mike. Everyone who knew you misses you.

costa rica day 4 | exploring puerto viejo

When Zander and I were planning our trip to Costa Rica we debated for a few weeks whether to stay in calm and peaceful Cahuita or lively and trendy Puerto Viejo. I had all but booked a charming Airbnb apartment in Cahuita, situated just a stone's throw from the beach and the Cahuita National Park. Zan was hesitant, though, and leaning towards Puerto Viejo. I went with his opinion on this one, and I'm glad we did.

I had pre-judged Puerto Viejo as being a backpacker party town. I was right - Puerto Viejo is a party town, but that's not a bad thing. While the town itself is an enclave of backpackers and tanned surfers drinking and dancing through the night, there are a handful of other small towns and villages that line the coast - each with their own personality. From hippie vegan cafes to fishing villages with Rasatafarian vibes to all natural healing centers, Costa Rica's southern Caribbean coast has all things granola. Puerto Viejo is in the perfect location to explore all the tiny neighboring beach towns and beaches. And that's what we did today - explore.

We rented bikes through our hotel. I found an incredible guide to Puerto Viejo on This American Girl's blog, and I jotted down all of her recommended beaches. We biked out to the furthest beach on the far end of Punta Uva. We biked down a dirt and grave beach access path by Arecife hostel and restaurant. After a short ride, the jungle on either side of us gave way to sand and palm trees, through which the picture-perfect Caribbean turquoise water lapped the shore.

We spent an hour and a half alternating between swimming and sunning before we packed up to find lunch. All of the restaurants I'd jotted down to try were closed, the owners taking a break at the beginning of the rainy season. We met an expat named Laurel who knows everything there is to know about the area; she named each of the restaurant owners by name, telling us about their families - who just had a baby, whose restaurant isn't doing so well, and so on. Eventually, she directed us to La Botanica Organica Cafe, asking us to give the owners a warm hello while we were there.

It's a popular cafe - a vegetarian and wellness restaurant with a small shop that sells essential oils, all natural sunscreen, and the cutest cloth eco-diapers I've ever seen. Zan and I both had a hummus sandwich. I didn't love the food, to be honest (give me meat or give me death), but I loved the atmosphere and downright swooned over the pureed mango drink I had.

After, we biked to a beach nearby in Playa Chiquita. This access path felt like a mini-jungle exploration hike, so buried in vegetation it was. It opened up to an even more beautiful beach, if that's possible. Large swaths of coral dotted the sea closest to the shore. An old, hallowed log provided a place to climb and take pictures. We stayed until we could feel ourselves burning, even through layers of sunscreen.

We got back to the hotel around 5:00 and wasted no time finding ways to relax. By 7:00, we were at Tasty Waves Cantina, "the biggest party in town on Tuesdays." We had tacos and margaritas (2x1!), all delicious and homemade. Our server, an American expat, initiated us into Puerto Viejo with a shot of Guaro, Costa Rica's grain alcohol. It tastes like rubbing alcohol but goes down surprisingly smooth. Between that and two strong margaritas, I was ready to hit the dance floor at 10:00pm when a DJ cranked up the music.

Women drink for free on Tuesdays from 9:30-10:30, and at 9:30 on the dot, women came out of the crevices, swarming the formerly quiet bar. We stayed until nearly midnight. I lost track of Zan as I danced; I can't remember the last time I danced until I'd be sore the next day.

I danced with two women - backpackers, I presumed, and in that sweaty, tipsy, drunk on the music moment, I envied them and the hippie backpacker lifestyle. That feeling lasted only as long as my inebriation, though. I woke up with a headache and extra gratitude for a career that will allow me to travel while having stability. I'll take the excitement and new experiences every day all day, but doing it broke and uncertain of where my next paycheck will come from has never been for me. But there was something sweet about envying that lifestyle, letting my hair down and cutting loose for a few minutes, pretending that I, too, was carefree and deeply tanned, each tattered layer of thin clothing a story of where I'd been.

The women I danced with were incredible, even if our only communication was through hand gestures of fanning ourselves, sharing the misery of a stifling hot Caribbean night. One was my dancing hero. She wore a white tank and cut off jean shorts and had this natural rhythm that was a mix of dancing in reggae clubs as often as hip hop ones. She was so confident and unaware of anyone around her. I loved her energy. Her friend, a lanky brunette, didn't have those dancing skills, but she had a smile that took over her entire face. They were a great pair, and it was fun to join them for a little while, loving and living life to the fullest.

Zan hailed a cab as I paid a street vendor for a meat kabob and a cheese empanada. The next morning I'd blame Guaro's Revenge for my raging headache, but in the moment, it was exhilarating to be young and wild and free.

jaguar rescue center | puerto viejo, costa rica

Before Zander and I got burned on the beaches of Puerto Viejo, we got a little pink walking through the Jaguar Rescue Center.

Two European biologists came to Costa Rica's less-touched Caribbean coast to claim a slide of paradise for themselves after visiting multiple times. Their new found quiet, relaxing lifestyle was short lived; it wasn't long before local farmers, fishers, and people learned of their former careers and began bringing them sick and injured animals. The couple found they couldn't say no to lending a helping hand, and it wasn't long before they founded the Jaguar Rescue Center (JRC) in Puerto Viejo.

The first and foremost goal of the Rescue Center was to nurse sick and injured animals back to health until they could be released back into the wild. But these expats saw a greater need to educate the locals on handling native wildlife - dispelling folklore that often led people to kill endangered animals, and providing a framework for understanding the Costa Rican jungles as habitats for these important creatures.

I was nervous to visit the JRC when I first read about it. I cynically suspected it was more of a petting zoo than a rehabilitation center, and I was wrong. I wholeheartedly agree with and support the JRC's mission. It was evident the second Zander and I stepped into the open-air Center that their priorities are the animals and educating the public. We learned so much while we were there. I would be writing forever if I shared everything, but here are just a few of the highlights of our incredible visit.

We saw and learned about 3 different species of Toucans - each one more colorful than the next. They hopped on branches and awnings of the building all around us, curiously gazing and cocking their long beaks but never venturing closer.

A true highlight of this trip (and of my life!) was getting to interact with baby howler monkeys. These little fellas lost their mothers early on and are dependent on affection and hands-on-care to reproduce the natural socializing aspects they would encounter in the wild. To mimic that interaction, humans do play with them, and we got the opportunity to tickle, pet, and feed them -- if they wanted to come up to us. Monkeys are such social creatures! None of them jumped on our shoulders or came close enough to cuddle, but they curiously eyed up and creeped up close enough for us to pet.

We spent a while talking about snakes and seeing a variety of the ones native to the area. Costa Rica has two types of venomous snakes - corals and vipers. But there are 139 species of snakes total in the country. There are about 600 snake bites each year - a low number when you think of the sheer number of snake there are. A huge number when you think of hiking through the jungle.

Learning more about snakes actually, shockingly (or not so shockingly?) helped make me less fearful of them. Sort of. I mean, I'm still me and paranoid about those terrifying things. Our guide stressed that almost all snakes are defensive and will move when they feel the vibrations of anything larger than it could eat coming near. We saw a boa constrictor (shudder), a viper, and a coral snake.

The Center has multiple owls, two of which - a male and a female - are 'residents,' meaning they are too injured to return to the wild and will spend their lives in the Center. Owls mate for life, our guide noted, and the Center is hoping that these two will mate and have babies that can be released into the wild. Apparently, they've been sitting closer together in recent months. The owl love story was a 'hoot.' (Groan!)

The anteaters and sloths were adorable, as expected. They're in the same family, which I did not know. The sloths were sleeping, but the anteaters were licking ants out of a cup held by a volunteer - using their super sticky tongues to slurp them up.

The Center didn't have any jaguars when we visited, but they were taking care of a young Margay. They're the smallest of Costa Rica's four wild cats. The Center also has an old Osolot who is a resident. Our guide emphasized that not even the volunteers interact with the cats; these animals are not meant to socialize or become accustomed to humans, so they stay away. Volunteers do clean the cages, buy they do it from a distance, never nearing the animals.

Our guide was an expat from Holland. She was beautiful - a very long torso (is that a weird thing to notice/comment on?). Everyone there is a volunteer. She was knowledgable and passionate about her work there, even though it's unpaid.

I've found that I'm drawn to volunteer-led animal rehabilitation and rescue centers when I travel. I fell in love with the Moholoholo Rehabilitation Center outside of Kruger National Park in South Africa. I wanted to move to Thailand to do long-term volunteer work at the Elephant Nature Reserve in Chiang Mai. And I would certainly relish the opportunity to practice my Spanish while protecting Costa Rica's native wildlife at the Jaguar Rescue Center.

costa rica day 3 | canals of tortuguero

Hi! I unintentionally took a few weeks off from blogging, but I'm back. I hope this next portion of our trip to Costa Rica helps inspire you, even in some small way, to explore - your passions, your interests, this world of ours, your own back yard, your kitchen - whatever or wherever it may be. 

I keep nodding off in the boat from Tortuguero to Moin, the port at Limon. We woke up at 5:00am, before the roosters or even the alarm, to take a morning boat tour through the canals.

We set off in a boat powered by a silent engine, the first of its kind in Tortuguero. It was slow-moving and silent - except for the occasional chatter among those of us in the boat. Ricardo, the captain and guide, could make just about any animal sound I've ever heard - and many more I never knew existed. From the screeches of Howler monkeys to the guttural call of a "Tiger" bird to the gurgles of a caiman mother calling to its offspring, Ricardo could imitate it. Often he received calls back from the wild - sing-song, playful conversations between man and nature.

We saw spider monkeys - with their prehensile tails acting like a 5th limb, allowing them to swing through the jungle on vines and branches without any effort at all. We watched Howler monkeys leap through the air and land with a thud on a nearby tree, sending the sounds of cracking branches and scattering leaves through the jungle.

We saw four caiman; we were lucky, Ricardo said, to see so many. The last two were sunbathing on a log together. They're solitary creatures, Ricardo noted, but we were there during mating season. They didn't look like they were hot for each other, to me, but what do I know about reptilian attraction?

And we saw two kaleidoscopic toucans - total "Fruit Loops" birds, Ricardo joked.

Back to our current situation, me writing to stay awake on our powerboat that was minutes ago cruising through the canals, a breeze blowing through my air. Now we are stuck in the low, low waters of the river. What was swiftly flowing water minutes ago is too low, and the vegetation has nearly beached us in the swampland. Several canoes have passed by, the oarsmen standing in the water to get better traction on the muddy, slimy swamp floor. Millis, our Captain, hopped out of the boat and is standing erect in the river, and the water comes only up to his knees. Zan offered to hop out and help push us to higher waters - but Willis has it under control.

After getting us over the shallowest area, we're off again, the spray back on my arms and face - a nice reprieve from the sweltering heat and humidity of the last few days.

Soon we'll dock at Limon and share a cab with new friends we met at our hotel to Puerto Viejo. We'll spend three days exploring the beaches of Costa Rica's Caribbean coast. Tortuguero is peaceful, a jungle swamp in the middle of a lush, green country, a respite and habitat for creatures large and small, and now it's small, indistinct in our wake.

costa rica day 2: tortuguero

We didn't do all that much today. It was perfect, in that way. We woke when our bodies said it was time, sleeping off the wear and tear of the past few months. We lingered over breakfast - bananas and pancakes with a hint of cinnamon - reading and looking out over the water long after we'd finished. I don't spend nearly enough time finding beautiful spots just to sit, think, journal, and read. It's rejuvenating to have nothing else in life matter except beauty and the book in my hand or thoughts in my head. When we get back, I'd like to make time for more of this -- and find a spot that inspires me to do nothing at all.

After breakfast we inquired with our b&b about hiking to the top of Tortuguero Hill (Cerro Tortuguero). Our hotel said we could hire a guide and told us he comes into town around 1:30pm, and we could talk to him then. We checked in at the Guide Association (a small, simple building by the main dock in town) and asked the same question about hiking Tortuguero Hill. An English-speaking guide explained that the Hill is closed due to erosion from overuse.

I was disappointed - I'd wanted to see the canals from above, but we decided to talk to the guide at the hotel that afternoon and spend our morning exploring the only part of the national park accessible by foot.

We donned (free) rubber boots at the hotel - a requirement to hike in Tortuguero National Park. The entrance is at the end of the main street in town, which is nice - it's impossible to get lost, even for me. We paid $10 each for a day park pass and set off on the 5km roundtrip trail.

I started the hike ramped up about potentially seeing monkeys, sloths, and even a pit viper (ah!). Zan broke out his air guitar and sang "Welcome to the Jungle," while standing in 3 inch deep mud. As much as it pained me (seriously - he's the best when he's being silly), I shhh'd him. This was a serious rainforest wildlife spotting trek! We schlepped through mud (fun) and then through forests (also pretty fun).

My excitement waned after 30 minutes. We saw grass cutter ants (really cool the first 3 times) so much that we began to step out of their way. Ants run the jungle. We also saw lizards... a lot of lizards. And a squirrel! And, that was it.

I was lost in my own thoughts about the book I was reading - A House in the Sky - Canadian journalist Amanda Lindhout's story of being held captive for ransom for 460 days in Somalia. I couldn't stop thinking about it - how would she escape? Where are her captors now? Did they get away with it? I started speed-hiking, thinking if I got far enough ahead of Zan, I might be able grab the book from my bag and read a few pages before he caught up.

I don't remember the last time I was so engrossed in a book. It's partially the book (incredible) and partly having time to think of nothing else. Except for the leaf cutter ants, of course.

After a sub-par lunch at Fresh Foods (not so fresh?), we strolled back to our hotel, laughing and casually chatting, not a single care in the world (how incredible and rare a feeling is that?). And then everything came crashing down.

The woman who runs the hotel came running out to meet us, saying the guide for Tortuguero Hill was waiting and we should hurry. Stressed and confused, we followed her to the dock, where an Australian expat with long hairy pulled into a ponytail, dressed in ratty clothes, was impatiently waiting on a small water taxi, the boat captain sitting at the helm. Before we had a chance to speak, he hopped off the boat and was standing a foot in front of us.

"Those are nowhere near good enough," he angrily croaked, pointing at my sandals.

We quickly realized he believed the tour was scheduled. We explained that we'd been told we would have a chance to talk to a guide and get details on what we could and could not do at the Hill. He flippantly - and still angrily - went on to say that miscommunications happen, but in the same breath he criticized us for being "late and unprepared." He decided for us that we weren't going (we hadn't made a decision because he wasn't rational enough to discuss the hike with us) and demanded 2,000 colones (about $4) to pay the boat captain for the unnecessary trip. I explained we wouldn't be paying as we hadn't scheduled anything or hired anyone.

By the time he stalked off (with no payment), we were unnerved and even felt unsafe. The hotel woman shrugged it off, back at the front desk, saying, "Who knows what got into him."

Still, when we rounded the corner to our room and saw him sitting on the deck smoking, we took the back way around the hotel to avoid any further contact. We ended up seeing him later that night, drunk and stumbling about town. So there's that.

We shook the whole negative interaction off and took the hotel's canoe out on the river. The peacefulness and calm of the water and surroundings quickly worked the tension out of us. I was actually really nervous because the waters have so many crocodile and caimans, isn't that ridiculous? It was pretty comical, for Zan, at least.

Eventually, I calmed down - trusting Zan and his Boy Scout canoeing badge to guide us to safety (and to do the rowing, let's be honest here). It was beautiful and an afternoon well spent. We didn't get to see the canals from above, but being there on the water? Well, that was just as nice.

Zan bought a bottle of wine ($12) and a few beers ($2 each) from a supermarket, and we spent our second and final night in Tortuguero sipping drinks on the deck, swatting mosquitos, and watching the sun fade beneath the jungle.

I finished A House in the Sky there on the dock, tears freely rolling down my cheeks.