Ode to a Rainforest Base

When I have to face a situation that me cuesta mucho, I try to make it funny just to ease the tension. So, on my last day here at base, I want to dedicate this poem to all of the fun and dynamic people I've met along the way here in Costa Rica. Thanks for everything, chicos. I will miss you.


It’s impossible to despedir
to you all and to this place
without a long poem of bromas about
such a crazy, dramatic base.

Enough happens here
to create a few reality shows;
bastante dynamic personalities
among all gringos y ticos.

When I make my way up,
into the office each day,
I wonder what chismas I’ll hear
en la area de café.

Maybe there’s a new pareja at CRROBS,
or the van broke down again?
Perhaps King attacked a porcupine,
or even an escaped chicken?

Funny situations and randomness
can keep us talking all week:
the broken gate, the missing dishes,
“no hay luz,” our roof with a leak,

nights of cold and barking dogs,
the secret guerras for the eggs,
lines for washing machines, no internet,
and bites all over our legs.

New fears appear and reappear
in day-to-day rainforest lives:
mice, spiders, attack dogs, steep hills,
and, of course, the impending mudslides.

There are Sylvestre’s sneaky moves,
the office’s invasion by colibris,
Bandido’s funny walk, King’s bad smell,
and Tejas’ role as the village tease.


But it’s the people who make this life
so interesting and fun;
like Joe’s and Laura’s inability
to hold back on some cheesy pun.

Like Esther’s love for animals
or Debbie’s love to save the trees.
Like Shawn’s love for the gym (and himself),
or Orlando’s love to tease.

It’s Katie’s understanding
of our ridiculous requests;
It’s Kelly’s and Mariana’s favors
because of their large chests.

It’s Carola’s, Lisa’s and Keltie's
endless ability to be silly,
but it’s their petite size, too,
that makes them the most chilly.

I’m going to miss Esteban, too,
with his dimples and big smile.
Dunia's energy and funny English
make up for email replies that take a while.

It’s also the phrases I hear around me at base,
like the affirmative “cool mon” from Jim,
or Larry’s daily “hola perros!”,
and my morning “Hola guapa!” from Carmen.

There’s Danny’s loud-ass car,
the constant compliments to Maggie’s arms;
Antonio’s startling “Ahs!”,
and Donna’s southern charms.

Stevie’s sweet and innocent nature
contrasts Emma’s tough attitude,
while Kathleen’s gift for baking
contrasted Tom’s old, moldy food.

Scott is the one to ask
if you need something made or bought,
and Greg was the one to ask
if you needed surf or Spanish taught.

In the end, it’s all a joke –
Some kind of variety show;
and I sure am gonna miss it,
but that’s just how things go.

At least my roommates can look forward
to no dirty dishes piling up,
or no baskets of laundry at the machines,
and no loud laugh to interrupt.

So in order to sum it all up finally
and say one last thing en mi voz:
I’m going to miss you all;
Buena suerte y adios.

Paradise Fights

In day-to-day life, I'm constantly reminded of Dane Cook, a very quotable comedian among the Gen Y audience. Many times I think about his situations - even if exaggerated or completely made up - and wish they'd happen in my life. You know, just to make everyday life a tad less mundane.

Well last weekend, I think I one-upped Mr. Cook.

One of his stand-up routines defines nothing fights as stupid fights he hears between couples that are clearly about the most trivial topics, such as about items on a grocery list. With this example, Dane goes on to say that he likes to involve himself in these fights in order to further exaggerate a fight that shouldn't have even begun in the first place.

Even though I declare to have "one-upped" his nothing fights, I didn't join any fights to benefit my own amusement. I did, however, delight in the fact that I was sitting on a beach enjoying a tropical paradise while others were about to explode in anger over a boyfriend's sarcastic comment.

I don't know if it was the sound of the waves hitting the shore, the rustle of the palms in the soothing Pacific coastal breeze, the sipping of frozen drinks and fresh fruit smoothies, or the exotic Costa Rican birds flying above; but something was upsetting Playa Dominical's guests.

It was hilarious enough for me to see two arguments - in English - in such a beautiful, peaceful setting within a couple hours of one another. This was more beach excitement than I had expected, and I put full attention into the activities at hand.

In one of these dramatic beach episodes, the girl yelled at her guy to chip in for a meal and stop being so cheap with the trip expenses. This was just as they were concluding their meal at the beachside restaurant, Tortilla Flats. (Which, by the way, is a hostel bar that errs on the side of cheap.)

But this one wasn't as exciting as the next one a few hours later.

This episode began with a "pop" after which I flipped my melting body around and focused on a big SUV rental car that had just hit one of the palm trees. Outside of the damaged car stood the boyfriend (or so it appeared based on the situation that ensued afterward). The girlfriend got out of the car and tried to verbally abuse him for the next twenty minutes. I say "tried to" because, with his agile, cat-like skills, he was simultaneously trying to outsmart her with zig-zags and walking in circles. After all, he had a beer in hand that was waiting for his undivided attention. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't an alligator. She was able to stay in his face yelling. Sadly the beach breeze carried away the sounds, and all I picked up from the whole fight was, "You're such an a#shole!"

After 20-25 minutes of watching him avoid eye contact from his fuming girlfriend, I finally began to lose interest.

About 10 minutes after that, I glanced down the beach to see him in the distance hand-in-hand with his... beer. Yep, looks like the dude - and his beer - won.

Ahhh... paradise....

Daily Stresses of the Rainforest Lifestyle

Eh... would we call them 'stresses?'

I guess it's more accurate to say, "discomforts in an otherwise hassle-free day."

But everything's relative. We rationally are aware how stress-free our lives are, and we make fun of ourselves - and each other - when we complain about our "discomforts." So much so, in fact, that we began keeping mental track of our "daily stresses list." I'm sure I'm going to look back on this entry and wonder why I ever left Costa Rica for something else. In any regard, I felt the need to finally document it - quite possibly to continue the mockery of our ridiculous lives. What better way to do it than in a poem?

It's the rock climb to get up our base's steep hill;
it's trying to find the Raid for a quick spider kill.
The tube under the sink detaching itself,
it's the little shops that can't break any large bill.

Taxistas get lost and decide to blame you.
The power goes out right after applying shampoo.
The static connection interrupts every call;
it's the house walls you can hear everything through.

Our base's gate gets locked, but only the boss owns a key;
working in the office, I got stung by a bee.
It's the internet dying at the most crucial moments;
it's the all-night Stray Dog Barking Symphony.

It's filing my nails on my skin from bug bites.
Blankets and layers are not enough on cold summer nights.
There's nowhere close to go when you run out of wine;
couch cushions are questionably filled with hundreds of mites.

You lose your clothes to moth holes, washing machines, mold;
you take showers in water that's ridiculously cold.
It's the fear of possible mudslides around;
It's taking time to straighten hair that will never hold.

Dogs may chase me when I go for a run.
My eyes open the moment my room fills with sun.
I may lose food to scurrying mice at night.
But all of this makes rainforest life comparable to none.

I'm going to miss it.

Who Put Ham in My Pants?

I think I get much more of a workout defending myself from the devil-possessed guard dogs that populate Costa Rica's local villages than I do from the shoot-me-now rainforest jogs around base that are meant more for rock climbing than jogging.

I'm still not sure exactly how I begin to become so winded when the attack is taking place. Regardless of how the unfortunate inception happens, I'm going to argue that the combination of

1) my stick-waving technique (for ankle protection),
2) my sissy knee-hiking stride,
3) my increased heart rate as I lock my eyes with the hungry carnivore, and
3) my high-pitched screams

make for pretty good exercise.

So here's a tip to the producers of "The Biggest Loser: Costa Rica Edition" looking for the next big weight-loss competition*: any time contestants attempt to snack, force them to stuff that forbidden food into their running shorts and let 'em loose - with a stick, of course - into a pack of angry Costa Rican village dogs.


*be sure to check their hearts before including this in the show

Blinded by the Hair Goop

After just returning from Nicaragua and Guatemala, I learned that the shiny hair was not a male Latin thing. It was clearly a male Costa Rican thing.

Yesterday, I was standing on the bus aisle keeping my balance by holding onto one of the bars attached to the top of the bus seats. Something pricked my fingers. "Ow," I thought. "What is that?" I'll tell you what it was:

Too much hair gel in some guy's hair.

Men here go through a bottle of the hair gel per week; at least, it seems like it must be that way. All of the evidence is there: you can smell the gel from about 50m away (although, that can also be attributed to the cologne baths they take); their hair does not move when strong winds hit it; the hair shine blinds you when a light hits it; and I've watched men apply it, glob after glob, on the bus in the morning on their way to work or school.

"The Tico Ken Doll" look can be overwhelming to the senses, but it is definitely appreciated company after spending most of my days around instructors and students who haven't given themselves a decent shower for weeks. No, thanks. I prefer the prickly, blinding shine.