volcanoes and jungle beasts

It’s hard to remember everything that’s happened since I last wrote. . . Rob and I went to the banana plantation with Wenceslao, one of the students of rob’s English class. We weren’t really sure what to expect, but the experience was an eye opening one. Wence, as we call him, is a supervisor there, and his crew is concerned solely with the health of the leaves of the banana plants. The plantation is a massive operation, even though the one we visited is Del Monte’s smallest in Costa Rica. We spent the morning zipping around the cable tracks they use to get around the plantation laughing our asses off and learning a ton. Wence is really proud of the job he does and is happy to spread the knowledge. Trino and George are both on his crew, and as we walked around the plantation we saw them working, as well as many other people that work under him. I had no idea what an elaborate operation banana plantations are, and I certainly didn’t think the workers on the plantation would be happy with their lives. The truth is that ten years ago they wouldn’t have been, but in some places that’s changed. Del Monte sells to the European continent, the regulations of which exceed those of north America. What this means is that the workers get their housing paid for, work steady hours instead of sunrise to sunset some days. The pesticide administration is timed so that workers aren’t in the fields as it’s being applied, as it used to be. Extracurricular things are sponsored by the company, such as the soccer leagues (one of which rob plays on). It was pretty cool to see standards like ISO 14001 and EuroGAP (good agriculture practice) actually trickle down and be applied at the worker level and have an effect. These people have so much less than so many you and I know, but they are so much happier. They’re not rich, but ends do meet for them, so my opinion of this company and how plantations run has definitely turned around. The soccer game rob played in was the
night before the plantation visit. We were invited into the home of one of the families for beans and rice, which I happily scarfed down (one of my favourite dishes). Paola, the woman who cooked it, was happy to see what a lunch box I was. I think the trend caught on because then Margarita, Wence’s wife, invited us for breakfast the next morning before our visit to the plantation. I’d have to say that breakfast included my first full cup of coffee, and I was happy that it was Costa Rican. The day after our plantation visit rob and I took off for the Volcano Arenal. There isn’t much choice if you want to see Arenal other to stay in the town of La Fortuna, which is somewhat infested with Gringos. Yeah, I know we’re white too, but it isn’t the same. Rob speaks fluent Costa Rican Spanish, and it’s infuriating to watch him get treated like a tourist in a town like that, vs the interested people of the plantation whose last plan is to make a dollar from you. We did have a blast though. We ended up renting some horses and taking them several k up the mountain side. We hitched them at a stable in the hills and continued on foot. With the massive crater of arenal looming in the sky, we hiked the steep hillside, taking breaks every few minutes in the humidity, working our way up the side of a small cone called Cerro Chato which resides in the shadow of the massive Arenal. Cerro Chato is an extinct cone which has a lagoon in the centre of it. We hiked up into the rainforest and down into the crater. After a quick swim it was time to head back up the rim and down the mountainside. The sky opened up on us (it’s not called a rainforest for nothing) which was completely welcome, and we hiked down, jelly legged. My horse (Artex, yeah I named him that) was a welcome sight. We rode out enjoying the scenery. The next day we got on a bus and rode to Guanacaste, the northernmost province of Costa Rica. Guanacaste is famously desert like, and is home to the Costa Rican cowboy. That’s right: dark skinned, tight jeaned, big beltbuckled Spanish cowboys. We bussed for the whole day and ended up in the city of Liberia, from where we were picked up by the owners of the lodge we were heading to. We took a dirt road out of the city out into the scrubby hills, with our goal, Volcan Rincon De La Vieja, dominating the skyline all the way. The road was white powder lined with grey rock. Surprisingly, this is a national road in costa Rica, though it looked like an abandoned mining road you might find in the Dakotas somewhere. Costa Rica apparently has the worst roads in central America, despite it’s developed status, because the country shunts more money into priorities such as healthcare, etc. The air was much cooler as we were partway up a mountain. Things were so much quieter at this northern dwelling. The owners were cool, and the other gringos there could have been worse, as this was a very out of the way place, so to end up there (in the words of rob) “they must’ve had some semblance of a brain”. Agreed.
The next day was epic. We rode over 20 k on horse and hiked about 22 altogether. We hiked up up up, up a steep mountainside, out of the jungle up to the summit of an extinct volcano with a somewhat active crater. The last eruption of Rincon de la vieja was in the 80’s, which released a dust acid cloud that wiped out the whole side of the mountain, and it has still not recovered. The smell of sulphur filled our noses as we walked along the socked in knife edge of the rim. We couldn’t see the lagoon that was supposed to be boiling down there, but we could smell it. The weather picked up and the rain started to feel like needles. I stopped to take a look on the way out and quietly noted that it was raining straight up past me. That’s right: raining up. The guide we were with said it was the worst weather he’s ever seen. We had a good laugh. Our legs barely worked as we scrambled down, again in the pouring rain, slipping as the muddy gulch that was our path turned into the creek that formed it. Downclimbing some of the ropes was touch and go, but eventually we made it back to the ranger station, where the most hilarious thing happened. Rob and I were starving, so we headed to a little shop there to grab some snacks. When we came back we saw our guide and another couple that climbed with us playing with a strange jungle creature I have yet to name. This creature is a cross between a sloth, raccoon, and monkey. It is totally tame, they all are apparently. This thing stands up, climbs your leg, etc for food handouts. When we weren’t looking it jumped up onto the picnic table and stole my m&m’s. This thing knew it was stealing, because as soon as he had them he hightailed it the hell outta there, right into the jungle. He fucked with the wrong lunchbox. He saw me running after him as he looked over his shoulder guiltily and he picked up the pace. Once in the woods I picked up a beam of heavy jungle wood, and I guess he got the message as I threw it at him, desperate for my chocolate. He dropped the package and ran a few steps. I picked up the log and made a dash for the treat, and so did he. As we charged at each other I threw the wood again, which made him stop. I grabbed the package and got the hell out of there, as whatever this thing was looked pissed. Rob couldn’t stop laughing when he saw me stumble out of the woods, grinning victoriously, eating my m&m’s. Stupid jungle creature.

We stayed another night and hightailed it the next morning. A long day of riding the bus got us into Siquirres, where we are now. I had to laugh. When we got to San Jose, the capital, we took a cab to the bus station that had busses to Siquirres. The cab driver told us we stunk. He wouldn’t let it go, he kept asking rob if we’d gone swimming even once on our little excursion. I wanted to ask him what he normally smells like. When a guy that spends every day inside a hot shitbox driving around central America tells you you stink: you fucking stink. Don’t worry, I showered. I think the problem was our wet jungle shoes that wouldn’t dry. . . The plantation folks just can’t seem to get enough of us. We’ve been invited to a salsa party they’re having in a couple of night. Alcohol will play a big role, as neither of us salsa. Hopefully I can appease them with some singing in English, they love that shit. “Una otra cantada?”
Anyway – my flight to Switzerland is booked, it leaves less than 24 hours after I land in toronto. Yikes. I hope I don’t forget anything. I’ll be in Anzere, Switzerland from the 4th till the 18th of may, then in the Ardeche in France from the 18th till the 10th of June. I can’t wait. PS, Graeme, gonna need a ride to the airport. . . pleeeeze?

the natives are getting restless. . .

Sweet lord where to begin? The highlights alone could fill a friggin book. . . But I’m not writing a book. I stepped off the plane into a humid San Jose. I made my way through the airport, and there was Yank, in all his glory, middle finger raised already looking at me through the window from outside, in the orange-lit parking garage. After a quick drive through San Jose, reminding me nicely why it is that Costa Rica has the highest accident rate in the world, hit the mountain passes. We laughed as we watched drivers take their lives into their own hands, playing chicken with oncoming trucks. Cars would pass three wide, so that all three lanes would be taken up by cars going in the same direction. Drivers would pass drivers as they were passing. We got out in a backwater of Siquirres, at the place of a guy called simply “Chito Loco”. Chito is loco, alright. That’s him with Pocho, a crocodile which he rescued from the wild and nursed to health. The crocodile is trained, so Chito swims with it, sticks his head in its mouth, etc. We stayed at Chito’s place, and the next day Chito took us ocean fishing. We drank beers, hooked huge fish that put up long fights (I didn’t even like fishing until I caught a tuna which we ate for lunch). . . We laughed all afternoon as Chito cracked jokes about the Columbian drug lords zipping by us in their high powered “Ganja Boats” As Chito called them. We felt sorry for the park ranger that came zipping in tow with his 30hp outboard asking which way they went. He didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of catching a powerboat with 500hp pushing it. We fished away off of the remote coast of Tortuguero National park, battling the heat and fish well into the glorious sunset. Then Chito drove us back up the mouth of the jungle river to the dirt road we parked on. It was amazing, and a little unsettling, to haul ass around the river bends in pitch dark, only the stars lighting the jungle sky, guided by Chito’s memory of where the deadheads and the shallow parts were. The next day we relaxed at the resort where Rob’s visitng parents were staying. It was a nice break from the squalor rob and I are becoming accustomed to living in. We rented some gear and did some reef snorkeling in the crystal clear water off of the point there in Puerta Viejo. Yesterday Rob’s`parents dropped us off here, at rob’s humble abode, where we now reside. Rob calls it the microwave. There is very little breeze here in this valley. Only a set of railway tracks lined with the small dwellings and shacks that the people here call home, like the one which rob calls home, and I guess I do too, for the time being. The people here are so friendly, as they usually are in this part of the world. Yesterday I went to the Del monte Banana plantation where rob teaches English. The workers were really excited to meet me it seemed, and I got along really well with them. There are women, men and children all in this class. It was a great environment for me to learn some Spanish, as the workers are as eager to learn English. English is the path to a career outside the banana plantation. Trino and George, two of the keener students, took rob and I to a little place outside of town called El Aguilar (the eagle). We ate a wicked traditional dinner of fried fish, beans, rice, potato, and fried plantains. The beer flowed like water as we spoke in broken english (them) and even more broken Spanish (me), but we couldn’t stop laughing. It was so enlightening to see two men with such different lives from my own have so much in common with us. Such a simple experience can teach so much about human nature and tolerance. That and karaoke. Yeah – Karaoke is HUGE here. They give you the binder and you can pick any shitty synthesized version of a song you like. George and Trino REALLY wanted to hear me sing in English, so I obliged. Anne Grimwood, you’re probably not reading this, but I ripped a mean rendition of Desperado by The Eagles, just for you. I got applause because they are amazed down here when someone speaks or can sing good English.. . . lucky for me. So the night wore on as Tico and Tica alike picked up the mic and sang away, however drunk and off key, it didn’t matter. George wailed a heart wrenching interpretation of a song called “Puerto Limon” About a town with the same name here. We laughed so hard, but applauded him genuinely. Then the guys gave rob and I high fives, something we had taught them about an hour before. Rob is really a missionary down here, except he’s teaching the locals how to shotgun beers and how you can bring the head of a beer down with the oil from your face.. . . In the words of rob : “I may be a missionary, but at least I’m teaching ‘em something useful.” He has a point. George and Trino invited us down to the plantation to watch them work some time, so we might do that. I’d like to see it. Right now rob and I are working off a mean hang over in the costa Rican heat, every light breeze welcome in this little jungle-bound dustbowl we live in. Rob puked behind the bus station, out on the street in siquirres today. He doesn’t tolerate heat+hangover so well. . . good thing they have open gutters in the street here. So some inf about the pics: Above is part of the Del Monte Plantation. The staircase is the one up to rob's dwelling, and below is us with Trino and George. Later today I will call mastercard and see if I can get some god damned colones down here. My bank card won’t work here.

Pura Vida

Game On?

It would appear so. My HD with all the pictures on it is down, so this text entry will have to suffice. . . it's short anyway.

So tomorrow around 1:50 my plane for miami leave. I connect through miami (great, no nalgene of water for me. . .) and fly to San Jose from there. I am stoked. Yank is going to pick me up from the airport, so what more could i ask? Thanks Yank. I appreciate you.

So I have to do a quick pack job, and then life will be fast forward (the way I like it) until August 27.

Rose at Village Camps got back to me over night. They do in fact have room for me in the Ardeche this year! I signed up for the late WRT course (interferes with tripper training by a few hours, but means 2 more weeks in france for me). So tomorrow she gets back to me with whether or not they can keep me on staff till june 12. I'm optimistic. If they were willing to hire me on for 20 days they should take me for 20 more right? Aaaaanyway, if she says yes I will have to find an internet cafe in Costa Rica and book a flight to france. My guess is I will be back for a total of, umm, 24-36 hours before I hop on a plane to Switzerland. From there it will be the old 1,2,3. Get off the plane in switzerland half dead from a red-eye flight, take the subway to the train station, buy my TGV/SNCF ticket to Montelimar for the next day, find a coop, buy some groceries, hop on the E bus to Point a la Bise (strange how one remembers all this) ask the nice lady if I can pitch my tent there for one night, get up early, run up the hill, catch the 6:45 to the train station, hop on the TGV, fall asleep, wake up in the south of france, get off, hop on the next bus to Vallon Pont D'Arc, and that's all she wrote!

After that the plan is to fly home in time for the WRT (june 15), do that, when it ends drive right to the Madawaska, join tripper training, and then go through the usual summer of river adventure. . . still don't know about the river/month of the explorer, but who cares about that anyway?

Also somewhere in the gap after I come back from CR I have to move out of here in case the boys find a subletter. . . shit. Better get on that!

Okay time to pack mofos! Peace out and much love. I will blog at my earliest convenience.

Adios.



At the request of Gabbo, here's some porchclimber footage. It's worth it.

The Red Queen Effect

So these days I'm running to stand still, but isn't that what makes life exciting? Yes. The answer is yes. I am behind on my blog, I am aware, and I am sorry. Much has happened since we had our last discourse. Let's see. . . . I wanted to write a lot about the boxed wine party. It was pretty crazy. I think that's the blurriest things have ever been. A good piece of evidence in favour of this that on the way home britton walked me through the drive thru at Mickey D's. I haven't had McDonald's in literally 6 years. I broke the streak with a Big Mac and fries. Here's to another 6 motherfuckers! Britt's brother Tye showed up which was a welcome surprise. He taught us all a tradition shown him by the great Blake Anderson. It's called shakeface. The premise is pretty simple: When someone takes your picture with a flash - you shake your face. See Tye's demonstration. Yeah he has a black eye. That's from a giant beam of wood hitting him in the face, in a completely unrelated incident. Try shakeface today!

In the interim much has occurred, but let's fast forward to 2 nights ago. Porch climbers part II. The night was envigorating. We spend over $500 on alcohol. Jeez. We would've broken even too, but for some reason there were a number of no-shows. For future reference: When you say you are coming to a porchclimber, that is a promise that you are going to give us $10 for the alcohol we are buying you. . . Anyway, we did some damage control by taking back $100 worth of liquor, so we were only $22 in the hole each. Peanuts for a night of hard drinking. We also had food and prizes, and most importantly every one had a blast. Odin just ran by my window, he looks like a little rocket zipping around just above the lawn out there.

A lawn which up until a couple of days ago was dusted with stupid stupid snow.

Fuck that.

In lieu of the warm weather I will abscond with a few pairs of shorts and a camera. In two days I fly to Costa Rica. I haven't had contact with Yank for a week or so. . . his parents should be town there right now, so I imagine he doesn't have much time for internet related things. Understandable! I will email him anyway. I would like a ride to wherever they're hanging out from San Jose. I am very stoked for my trip, but I'm in the common headspace now where I'm not sure I believe I'm going. I'm just going through the motions of getting ready, and it's not till I see the jungle slipping by under the wing that I will understand where I am. I kind of like it that way though.

In other news: I sat down with my biomed supervisor the other day and was told (somewhat to my temporary chagrin) that I would not be able to continue with this program I'm switching into until the fall! I think he was about to offer me a job, but I could see the wheels turning in his head with regard to my lack of interest in being trapped inside in the summer, just before he opened his mouth and said "but you probaby want to go canoeing or something like that right?". He had me figured out. . . it was a few tense days of waiting, but I called Dave at camp and managed to score an explorer trip. So that's 25 days on some northern river somewhere in some month of the summer. Don't know the details, except here I am going back to camp. No worries though. Called Kilmer, found out he's going back too. We couldnt' stop laughing. This is a strange thing to do at this point in life for both of us. I've spent the year coping with the idea of not going back!

Bill, who I led the Attawapiskat with last year, also made it down for the porchclimber, which made my weekend. It was great to catch up. Bill will also be back, and we toyed with the idea of another trip together. We do have an understanding after all. Bill suggested we just take the names from last year's kids and apply them to the new kids, just to make things easier. I think that's a great idea. Unfortunately that means a couple of kids will get the short end of the stick, as they won't be too popular with us from the get go, regardless of their real names. . . but life isn't fair right? :)

So now I am looking into getting my WRT (whitewater rescue technician) but the course is full and offered at a bad time, but there's a chance it's required for this summer . Arg. Why a bad time? Well Now that spring is free, I am thinking of calling village camps in the Ardeche and seeing if there's any space. . . I wouldn't mind another stint in France for the spring, but that could be quite a long shot. I was looking at flights and they start at around $738. . . after taxes. That's quite reasonable! Very temping you know?

So that's what happens when I take big breaks from blogging. Instead of the idle observational comedy that you've come to know and love, you get a real life update which is probably horribly boring. I apologize for this.

How about this? One of my students who is an absolute DOUCHEBAG didn't like the mark he got on his paper. He sent it back to the prof (my supervisor) full of angry comments, berating my skill as a marker. It was actually full of insults. We've all read it over in this house (It's already been marked and submitted, that's allowed now) and we had such a great laugh over it. He frequently tries to tell me he DIDN'T misspell or misuse a word, and that he should get 5/5 on grammar and spelling. He went so far as to suggest that I didn't have a dictionary present when I marked his paper. The best part is that I did. I did and I made sure I used it, which means he looks like an absolute fool, standing there staunch and stalwart behind his bad desicions. He looks so silly defending his confused definitions of words. I have to say there's nothing more annoying to me either than people who use a word just to use it, not because it's actually appropriate. The epitome of this annoyance for me lies with those who do it with words they don't actually know. This guy is fantastic. In the words of Deb "If this guy spent half as much time writing his paper as he did these comments, he'd have gotten an A." So true Deb, so true.

So the dildo ended his little tirade with a little sob story about how busy he is. We KNOW, undergrad, we know. We all went through it. The supervisor you're crying to has a BSc, MSc, DVM, and a PhD. I too have finished my undergrad and am working on a second degree, where the fuck exactly do you think the sympathy will come from? We have all been as busy as you. He went so far as to write that he didn't have time for this "re-re-evaluation." By the end I was so steaming mad that I couldnt' mark it objectively, so I passed it back to my supervisor. I don't think he deserves a single mark, but that could be rage talking, so I sent it back. I was considering just taking one mark off and sending it back, just to hit him in the proverbial scrotum. Anyway, I think his plan was to turn my supervisor against me - he didn't really believe I'd ever see the comments. Funny thing is I did, and he's shot himself in the foot. So that's a little idle observational comedy for you. . . even though it wasn't idle. Or observational (maybe a bit). Or comedy.

It's time to sort my life the hell out. I have to take out some travel insurance among other critical things. . . I have to say this beats slicing rat brains!

Also, I turned 26 this morning. . .yyyyyyyikes.