The Day's Question

*Play song for full effect

The horizon brightens to the east,
How will the day unfold?

Are the worries of my past going to chase me?
Will the shadows of the future cling to my legs?
Or can I break free? Open the day to any experience?
Those who may try and drag me down, will they slip off?
Or will their grasp take hold, their influence stronger than mine?
Can I control the air around me, or will my masts have no direction?

Are the problems going to start, or will the opportunities rise?
Will the ups and downs be taken with the same awareness?
Or can only one side of life be learned from?
Those who think like me, would I like to be around them?
Or will I stray to what others would like me to think?
Can I build my own day, or will my masts have no direction?

The sun dims to the west,
How did my day unfold?

Keep Looking Up

The most important image ever taken, the Hubble Ultra Deep Field

For the time being, we are the only ones out there.
There is no life that we will be able to reach, or even talk to, in our lifetimes.
Our solar system gives hints of what was or will be,
Giving life a chance for the day we can no longer stay here.
For throughout the history of man we have fought,
argued, and bashed heads with little times of peace.
We have spilled blood on every continent and every country,
taking lives prematurely due to our hatred for one another.
Yet what is this for?
Resources, power and glory one might say,
but taking a closer look at the cosmic ocean our precious Earth floats in,
we must see that we are nothing more than a speck on the shore.
There is no way we can fully comprehend the size of space,
the trillions of stars that span nearly fifty billion light years across the universe.
Or the number of galaxies that exists, twirling and spinning in the vast seas between one another.
No, I certainly can't comprehend the beauty and the elegance that is contained with out universe,
the beautiful and diverse tapestry that exists even in the largest of scales,
and the smallest of molecules, living in our blood and our tears.
It is a dreamers dream to see the universe, the nebula's and shining stars,
but that too will never be possible with our futile technology.
Yet there is something we can do,
we can stare into the night sky,
see the faces of our ancestors,
the great age we imagine our planet to be,
and see just how small we are,
imagine a expanding valley of stars that stretches farther than we can possibly take in,
and we may touch the edge of the life that is around us.
This feeling; being in the fish eye of the cosmos,
brings me joy and peace no vacation, television show or product ever could.
It makes me wonder why we fight, hate and discriminate
For if we could see the lines of the universe stretched across the sky,
and our minuscule existence played out in less than a flash in the universes grand storm,
our jaws would be dropped, and our minds opened.
We would see the grandest ideas of any human to ever live,
is not beyond a fraction of a blink in the time of the cosmic sea,
not the slightest splash in its waves is found for our ideologies and utopias we force on one another.
Yet we are often too caught up in our everyday problems,
to feel the size we are,
and be humbled in our morality.
Instead we fret and tumble over our problems and griefs,
become frustrated with the days endless hassles,
forgetting how to breathe, how to see life with simple clarity.
What would happen,
if everyone looked up and had these thoughts,
saw their faces in the abyss,
and looked back to those around them?
Would there be more love and understanding,
or would we continue to destroy,
all that has made us be?

Update: Montezuma/Santa Teresa (Nicoya Peninsula)

Pops at Playa Grande


     200 feet away some local guys about my age give me the surfers’ wave (thumb and pinky), I look around, back to the friends I made from Portland, and I hear “happiness is out there, just jump and find it!” I look down at the waterfall and take a plunge. Falls always seem longer from the top, but this was a pretty good one with at least a few seconds of free fall, good thing my “day trip” friends got it on video. Coming from Manuel Antonio, the Disney Land of Costa Rica, this small, cultural beach town is just what the doctor ordered.

     During the green season this part of Costa Rica is only reachable by the brave souls in 4x4’s, atv’s, and boats. Being directly across the peninsula, I find myself in a water taxi on a beautiful Pacific morning. The boat stops in front of a floating brown bob in the water. At first I think it is another log, stranded in the sea but at a closer inspection I see it is a sea turtle relaxing on the surface! “Can I go in?” I ask immediately, not letting a chance to swim with a beauty like this slip through my finger. “You can try, amigo, but before you even jump, she will be gone” the driver says, shortly followed by her bubbles on the surface and an empty sea once more. We pass by several more of these majestic creatures soaking up the rays as well as some other delights: a bright spotted marlin that seems to appear from nowhere and leave just as quickly, a family of jumping fish with a manta ray on their tail, and a pod of dolphins that left me pinching myself. If that wasn’t enough the approaching peninsula looked like a scene from Jurassic Park, and before I knew it we were beaching in Montezuma, located on the end of the Nicoya Peninsula.

     After lugging my stuff to the top of the hill, I find myself, along with a couple of Welsh friends I made on the boat, in somewhat of a jungle and at the hostel we’ll be staying at, Luz en el cielo or light in the sky. After dropping our bags and having a beer, we decide to hit the white beaches and go for a walk. “Is it cool to walk around town barefoot?” I ask one of the employees, “Of course!” he laughs “No shirt, no shoes, no problem man.” I get the feeling I am going to like this place. Before we can dip our feet in the sand, we walk through the quaint town of Montezuma. Although it only encompasses a couple of square blocks, there is more culture here than in the sizable towns of Quepos and Manuel Antonio combined. A true Costa Rican beach town, Montezuma gives of chill vibes and good times from every building and business. Open walled stores with the occasional tour center flank both sides of the slightly paved road. Restaurants advertise live music while merchants roll out their towels of handmade tourist delights. Around the corner I see a brightly colored building with a mural of a waterfall, the ocean and tropical birds across the side. “Escuela central” it reads, the main school for Montezuma no bigger than the average fast food joint, I wonder how many kids go here.

     Then the pavement ends and the beach present itself to us. Blue-torquise water is only plagued by the dirt that is present this time of the year, crashing over rocks on either side of the road. We are passed by several local surfers and the smell of charcoal drifts over from a Tico barbeque. There are no entrance fees to this beach, all are welcome to walk the shore, watch the surfers and explore the coast. About a mile further we are confronted with a slice of paradise. I literally stop every three steps to pick up rocks and shells of a smorgasbord of colors and textures, while a small inlet holds a surprise up ahead. A swimming hole of three light blue colors leaks into the ocean from the falling rocks and little waterfalls carried from the river it once was. On the other side is a Zen rock garden; dozens of stacked rocks, flaunting the colors that struck me just a minute ago. Where did this place come from? I couldn’t have thought of a better place to relax if I tried. Half an hour of swimming, climbing around and taking pictures and I am about ready to leave when I meet a new friend. A black lab with no collar but a full belly runs up to me and places his head on my knee, can I take him home? For the next hour we walk the beaches, he, who I named pops after his age and seemly rule over the area, scouts ahead for any food and glances back to make sure I am keeping up. When we have to take our separate ways I let him know if I ever had a black lab I will name him/her Zuma after such a fine fellow and the town he resides.

     The next morning I head to the waterfalls that I keep hearing about, hoping I will not be disappointed as I was in Manuel Antonio. I walk past an old Tico hanging in a hammock and can hear the crashing water in the distance. Around him is a tiny house, the electric cable hanging off a branch and leading haphazardly through a window. Grandkids run around him as he reads the paper and the smell of a freshly made meal makes it way to my nose. I can’t help but notice how happy this simple family looks.
     There have been several times this trip that I have felt sick, only one being about my physical health. The others have come from a sense of cultural genocide; tourism slaughtering little communities with posters, shuttles and advertisements in bold, English words.  I found myself thinking about the lack of culture in these towns like La Fortuna, Manuel Antonion and Jaco. Why did I come to Costa Rica to read menus in English, get asked ‘whats up?’ and feel bad for the locals who have lost some of their culture? Tourism here has been a double bladed sword for Tico’s, as it gives them a steady and at times heavy income as well as publicity for their country and beauty, but also takes over towns, making English an almost universal language and draining the local color from a once vivid landscape.  As someone studying the life of the people here, this disturbs me. Furthermore, coming from a small town, it makes me sick, and being one of these tourists makes me feel guilty and a little dirty. I try and stay away from the real touristy towns but there is no total escape yet. It is here, while I take in this little shack on the way to the waterfalls, I take a deep breath, sit and smile; instead of taking a negative attitude towards these towns, I started to think back and appreciate what there was and expand on it. In Manuel Antonio the curvy hills are stacked with attractions and tours but walk on the dirt road and find where the culture has run off to. Small grass fields fill with a fifty year old age range looking to play the national sport with their feet while little houses spread their clothes for the beaming sun to dry out. Dogs prowl with their noses searching for scraps and children play on their tails. Here mothers have been making handmade meals for longer than the tourism has been around, and their mothers before them. These people appreciate the beauty around them and live simply, not looking for a Nordstrom sale or trip to the big city.

I take another deep breath and think back to a time of desks and whiteboards.

     About a year and a half ago I took a Buddhism class taught by a small, soft spoken Japanese woman. That class opened my eyes to a religion which resonated with me in ways that others had not before. I was not going to pack my bags and head to a monastery but I saw practical uses for this ancient practice. One day during lecture, we were talking about materialism and its link to the mind. In the understated way she approached everything, my professor told the story of a man who found himself in luxury and the lesson that he learned. This man was given a very nice house, with all the food, entertainment and things he could desire. But soon his mind was left wandering and he became lost, searching in the items around him for the happiness he no longer felt. Until one day he abandoned the house and everything that came with it. He traveled to the mountains, to a place where the closest water was half a mile away up a steep hill. He lived in a small cave, one ridden with fleas and not tall enough for him to stand. But with him were others who believed the same as he did, and he was in bliss. He found himself through meditation, spirituality and journeys into the mountains. He didn’t need those material items, for that only fulfilled the physical needs, but in the cave he was mentally happy, creating a feeling no item could match.

     What do these people need? From what I can see, family, food, and friends are enough. They cannot afford a Ferrari but they can get themselves where they need to go, which is never too far away. Instead they are rich with social activities, common beliefs, and simple needs. These needs are easy to meet, making them happy with little effort. It was at this point that I remembered another reading, something from the book The Peaceful Warrior. Simply, it was; Happiness= satisfaction/desires, meaning if we can create simple needs to be met, happiness will never be far away. I couldn’t help but be in awe of how many Tico’s have fully realized this equation and use it most likely with little knowledge of the wisdom it holds.

The ideas of creating simple needs to enjoy the resulting simple happiness and being aware of mental wellbeing instead of focusing on material desires creates a paradox. The message is to live simply, but the thinking it takes to fully understand is deeper than the idea. Without growing up in a culture like the one cultivated in many areas of Costa Rica, appreciating a simple lifestyle may seem counter intuitive. Indeed, the advertisements and messages sent in the US many times preach the opposite. On television many commercials represent wealthy and successful people enjoying the finer things, news websites post articles about the highest paying degrees and ways to make more money, and possibly the worst is public education teaching on a format to execute not create, and finish in front of understand. This puts us in a situation where we often must create our own simplicity, we must think deeper. If happiness is something we desire, then simple happiness is the easiest route to achieve it. But to access this simplicity often takes effort to sort through the pressures put on by the media and culture. Thus the paradox is required; to be simply happy, thinking deeply is the route to reveal it. While others may stress about their jobs, paychecks or any other current situation, must you have to as well? If your peers are dropping everything to be successful, do you? Thinking on the surface, the answer is yes, of course you must do the same since that is the trend all around. But looking a little deeper, we are the ones in control of our stress and degrees of appreciation. Your friend may not enjoy the misty field as you walk, their eyes fixed on their smart phone or complaining about the work to come, but you certainly can. What is stopping simple appreciation? The awareness to appreciate, the insight that comes from thinking a step deeper.
     The first wall of rocks I encounter has a wide face of water splashing off of it and into several small pools at the bottom. I trek across its slippery ridge and up a small river before heading into the thicket and arrive at the bigger falls. About half an hour more of respectable hiking takes me to a thunderous sanctuary that is lightly inhabited for the time being. About 60-80 feet above me is the first of three waterfalls, and at the bottom I swim in a large pool that could hold a few hundred people. The rock walls hug the edge, and with a little precaution I make my way under the falls themself before taking a deep breath and jumping into the current, turning my back to the water and enjoying the warm day. I hear of a swing at the next waterfall and make my way back up and around a steep path that requires some semi rock climbing to a small but more secluded second and third fall. Here I meet the locals about my age that seem to be pro’s at being stupidly dangerous and laughing about it. “Here, every day is adventure” one guy tells me “we can swim, surf, climb around and jump off waterfalls, life is always fun.” I also meet a couple from Portland, Ore who have just quit their jobs to travel Central America for an indefinite amount of time. “We’ve done this before, seems like we can’t work every day for too long before getting the jitters and traveling.” David, a professional waiter tells me, “sounds like you have a pretty sweet gig here dude, and everyone seems friendly, just wish it wasn’t so expensive.” But this is free, a full day of adventure and a little danger just outside of town, and as I climb back up the waterfall and grab my bag, I feel for once I didn’t need to ask a Tico what they do to get away, because here they already are.

     “This is a small community (Montezuma), everyone knows each other and there are few problems. Growing up about twenty of us were good friends that always knew where to go and see each other, we didn’t even have to say anything, we just knew.” This is Luis, the captain on the boat that I am today. It has been four weeks and I am on my first tour guided activity. We are on Tortuga Island, just off the shore about an hour boat ride from Montezuma surrounded by landscape that once again makes me think dinosaurs must live there. I have just chased down the boat which was trying to leave without me, as I was the last one to come back from snorkeling. Two little rocks just off the island in the big blue held over fifty types of fish that I drooled into my snorkel over as well as eels, crabs and in general sea life galore. “Life here is very Tranquilo” Luis continues. Tranquilo, I keep hearing that word from happy Ticos; in the north near Arenal and Monteverde with their spirituality and connection with nature, on the coast near Judy’s house in Potrero, Flamingo and the laid back cowboy lifestyles and now in the rugged Nicoya Peninsula, where adventure and beauty are omnipresent. Every place seems to have its own stamp but this chilled out, worry free attitude that seems to come straight out of a Bob Marley song permeates through all of these happy places… Are these the roots of Tico happiness?

Santa Teresa from afar

     “Surf, eat, surf, sleep” Reads a t-shirt thrown on the back of a longboard, here in Santa Teresa where surfing is tourism, the local past time and a world destination. The Quicksilver international tour was here just last week, but even without the big names there are huge groups that put their backs against the sun and stomachs on wax in hopes of catching the next wave. But that seems to be the biggest problem here at a surf mecca in a hard to reach spot on the Nicoya, finding your own spot to surf the pristine waves. Little shops and restaurants scatter the dirt roads while the presence of the ocean is never more than a look around the corner away. Eventually a few Europeans I befriended rented a couple of surfboards from the hostel and convinced me (it took a lot…) to give this surfing thing a shot. Fortunately I wasn’t the only newbie at the water riding sport and was given a brief overview before jumping on the board. After a few pitiful paddles I was standing on the board, for at least 5 seconds! With my mission accomplished and sinuses copiously cleaned, I sat back for the sunset.

     I hear a Jack Johnson song playing and I find it quite appropriate. He must have come to a town like this to write songs telling us to slow down and relax, sleep in, and of course, surf. The one road that shoots across a few small towns starts at the tip of the peninsula and ends at a natural spot; where a river heads towards the ocean and bears no bridge to cross, leaving travel only to the dry season and forcing me to either take private transit for 4 hours or public for about a day and a half (with lay overs). But that is something Tico’s just aren’t worried about, the road may be winding and out of the way, but if you get there, what else matters?     

Update: Manuel Antonio

Manuel Antonio "reserve", and their pay phone

     Imagine a ski resort that needs money due to the lack of snow on their slopes. They decide to invest in some dynamite to break a couple of hillsides on top of the mountain. But before they know it they have caused an avalanche, covering all the way to the top of their pristine resort. That’s what I feel has happened here in Manuel Antonio.

     5:00am, Jenny, Judith’s neighbor, is sweet enough to drop me off at the bus stop a few miles away, I tell her she is crazy and drop a few dollars on her seat without her noticing. Manuel Antonio is 130 miles (as the crow flies) from the house in Potrero, so it couldn’t take that long to get there, right? Well my first bus ride of the day takes me in the completely opposite direction, heading north to Liberia. The roads here go in all directions except in straight, causing me to go out of the way to go anywhere. What is said to take a hour and a hour usually takes a little over two hours, but this time it took four and a half.. The first delay came as the bus driver stopped at what I have to assume was his house, for about 25 minutes he is in and out, picking up some groceries and some other stuff I couldn’t make out, so I lean back and close my eyes. I get shaken by the bus coming to a stop. Everyone stands up and the bus driver says some really fast Spanish that I take as, “everyone off the bus!”

     So there I am at 6:45am, almost two hours down already, standing in who knows where, Costa Rica, with a bakery behind me and about fifty Ticos under a bus shelter waiting for the next one to come for Liberia. Half an hour goes by and everyone stands for the incoming bus, crowding onto the road itself. My eyes widen, but not as much as the bus drivers as I see the bus is almost overflowing with people. About twenty get off and the line to get on is a pushing, flowing mess. About ¾ of us get on and I am not one, as I was not going to cut a family to get a place to stand. So obviously I head to the bakery and get a treat. I have to say there is no place I have been with more bakeries than Costa Rica, making my sweet tooth very satisfied with the selections in nearly every town. But soon my pastry is gone and so is another half an hour. The next bus comes nearly full but room to grab a rail. Within 5 minutes there are close to a hundred people on this bus; forcing me to take off my backpack so someone can squeeze behind me.

     I look at my watch, 9:30. I am boarding the bus for Puntarenas, three and a half hours to the south via a giant green school bus. I take a seat by the window and start doing some math. So 75km in 4 ½ hours….

After fading in and out of sleep, experiencing a bus twilight-zone, I decide to take in some of the scenery. On my trip to San Jose I saw the landscape transform from tourist spots on the coast to cow country to the urban sprawl of San Jose. On my way north I saw the land being used to its fullest; sugar, mangoes, livestock, and ungodly amounts of coffee beans. But on my way south along the Nicoya Peninsula, the land is not fertile enough for coffee or major crops. I do not see many pastures full of cows or chicken coops. I have not seen a house with insulation in over two hours as I approach Puntarenas. But the poverty has beauty; shanty town villages huddle around the brown rivers, patching their roofs with a multitude of different shades and textures of sheet metal and whatever extraneous parts that can cover a hole. Old men smile under fruit trees and peel some apples. The kids run with sliced up shirts and ragged shoes, but with smiles and joy on their faces, and of course, there are tons of friendly honks.

     Puntarenas has not been blessed by the past century. Once a booming port city and former capital of the Guanacaste area, Putarenas was crushed as barges and ships headed to new ports to the south, leaving the city to fend for itself. Its location is prime; a small inlet on the Nicoya Peninsula with water on both sides. But it has the feel of a beat down and dirty city, it is obvious to see there have been problems of late. A neon sign reads 41 degrees Celsius (105 F) as I wipe sweat off my brow. I am broiling and lost, once again no street signs can be found. So I ask a taxi driver where I can get a bus to Manuel Antonio, “It’s Saturday” he starts “the office is closed, let me call my boss, I can drive you there real cheap, a good price just for you” yeah, I’m sure it will be a steal. “Alright amigo, 90,000 colones for you , what ya say?” he says excitedly. I literally laugh “That’s almost $200! Can you see me, I may be American, but I’m a student, no tengo mucho dinero.” I respond. “Alright, alright 70,000 colones, just for you. What ya say”

     As I board the bus, I look at the time, 1:15pm. 70,000 colones, I’ve already been hustled once this trip, not happening again, I’ll pay $2 and wait a little longer. But there is no place to sit, so I sneak behind some standing people and sit on the back stairwell and pull out my book. Three hours is a breeze at this point and after some music and a snack I’m in Quepos, only a twenty minute bus ride left! But something doesn’t seem right, all I see is tourism. This place is so hard to get to, how is this possible?? To my dismay, Manuel Antonio seems worse, so I check into my hostel and try to figure out what I will do, it’s now 4:30pm, 11 ½ hour day.

     I meet a group of Americans teaching English who invited me out with them. I am reminded of the small world we inhabit as one girl is from the Tri Cities area of Eastern Washington and another is a stundent at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma and knows my “brother” Bernie who goes there as well. Unfortunately we had all been up for 18 hours so we decided to hit the sack after burritos. The next day we head out for the reason I came: Manuel Antonio national park. The town of Manuel Antonio is a long strip right on the public beach filled with Ticos and tourists alike. Every shop is filled with little toys and Imperial (national beer) shirts, every restaurant is in English and snorkels, jet skis and beach chairs read “rent me”.  We walk down a narrow dirt corridor that leads to the park entrance, again filled with shops and Tico’s saying “good day, special price for you”, I walk a little faster. At the entrance the people I am with decide to leave “It is $10 and we just want to lie on the beach, come meet us later?”, “sounds good!” I can’t pass up the beauty I have been hearing about, although $10 seems steep. The woman selling tickets tells me there are no maps of the park and the trails are easy to find. So I ask one of the employees, “where is the hardest hike you have?” “Hardest? Well they are all the pretty much the same, but go to the end of this road and head left, it’s a nice and easy path that should take about an hour to the top of a hill.” Nice and easy is the hardest, what kind of national park is this?

     A half an hour later I am on top of the ‘hill’, which is mostly paved and barely has me in a sweat even though it is over 80 F out, hiking for Disney Land adventurers.  The view is nice so I appreciate this park for what it is and head to one of its beach. I see a small peninsula of rocks and head out for it. In and out of a couple more of the same and I am alone with a beautiful view of the surrounding hills and rocks that scatter the sea. This is what I’m talking about I think as I take in the views and crashing surf. But coming in is a familiar sight for me; rain, and lots of it. So I start to turn back and I am assaulted by a downpour, once again soaking me to the bone, good thing I brought my rain jacket.

     Walking around the town more I am just not getting the Tico vibe from this town. I feel like I am part of a sponge that is squeezing out all of the local culture that is here in this beautiful place. This does feel like Disney Land with everything being advertised as magical and overpriced food. “With all the tourism here, are the locals still happy?” I ask the hostel employee, a friendly Tico named Carlos “Oh yeah, no problem. It is something you get used to, and if you want to be with people you know, there are always places that the tourists don’t know about.” Well I certainly can understand that, if my town was run by tourism I would want some local hang out spots as well, but he is not going to tell me where that is. The rain continues to come down; I am ready to move on to the other side of the peninsula and Montezuma.

     I decide to head back into Quepos and get a good walk around to see what there is to see. But it is Sunday, and everything is closed except bars and restaurants. Seeing a light hue come over to roofs around me I head to the waterfront; a paved walkway that is full of Tico’s riding bikes, walking with their families, and enjoy the fading sun. A sand bar provides a perfect picnic spot for a few families and hopeful fishermen. The beauty is immense, and smiles are around. Maybe this is how they are happy with the tourists; appreciating what they have. On my way back to the bus stop I run into a soccer field and filled bleachers. High school age kids don bright NIKE cleats and spiked haircuts, strutting their stuff before the game starts. Once the game starts, yelling from the crowd follows shortly after as the players sprint across the dirt with scattered grass field. The goals have no net and there is only one ref trying his best to keep up. They quarrel like it’s the Premier League, yelling and arguing over nearly every play. I glance over and see the subs place an order in a Soda that is on the opposite end of the field, Costa Rican futbol.

     When I get back to the hostel I am struck by a beautiful sunset. Instead of running for my camera, I take a seat to appreciate all the nuances. There is no way my camera could catch the light mist on the valley across from me, at the foot a cliff covered by cloud and flanked by rolling hills. No way, not the array of lights scattered across the horizon by the sun, I count 8 shades of white, yellow and blue. Maybe this is how happiness is found here; the beauty can never be taken away.