A Cris Cook Adventure: Costa Rica 1994

I look at old photos and I can tell the year, the month, and sometimes, the day and time, from the girl with me in the photo. More concisely, I know the range of years, of a particular event by the girl with me in a photo. Some of the events that I attend every year, like Jimmy Buffet concerts, chili cook-offs like Terlingua and the Texas Open and the Texas Men's State Championship, and holidays fall into this category. Looking through some old photos, I ran across some of a trip to Costa Rica with Trudi. A photo of Trudi sitting in front of our cabin, under the volcano, that started the memory flooding back to me. I cannot believe, I have not written this story. It has everything a great story needs: love, deception, passion, drugs, and an international location. If it falls flat, I have no one to blame but myself. So, here goes….

Trudi and her flight attendant sister decided to go on vacation to Costa Rica. The sister's new husband and I got to tag along. That was cool with me, because that meant we could fly for free on "buddy passes." The girls actually gave us the trip, as a Christmas gift. This vacation started like many before and like many since. Preparations were made, passports were acquired or renewed, and lodging was booked. I did very little of this, for this trip, Trudi and her sister did everything. They booked the flights, they made the itinerary, and they picked our path. I was a willing passenger on this great adventure.

Costa Rica is located north of Panama, which sits like the stem of an apple above South America. War and cocaine scarred Nicaragua lay to the north. We are going third world. Costa Rica is flanked on the left by the Pacific Ocean and on the right by the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. It is smack dab right in the middle of nowhere. It is a land of volcanoes and dense jungles and cocaine. The people are friendly and quick with a smile and to "Hola". And, best of all, the American dollar buys 300 Colons, the Costa Rican dollar equivalent. Let the adventure begin!!

Day One

The flight was direct from DFW to San Jose, Costa Rica. San Jose is the capitol city of Costa Rica and boasts a population of one million Tico's. Tico is the nickname Costa Rican's call themselves. The city of San Jose is like any large Central American city. Dirty, overcrowded, stricken with poverty. Mountains on all sides surround the city which made our decent on the airplane feel like a roller coaster. San Jose is just a flat spot in a country that is slanted or sloped to one side or the other.

The first night, we stay at a bed and breakfast that was once a theater. After the all day flight and 9PM arrival we are left with little choice but to eat a restaurant near the hotel and return immediately for sleep. A 5:00 AM wake up awaits us. The rooms are small, not air-conditioned and very plain. One louvered window opens to the center hall that is open air. It is an open-air theater and we are in a third floor "box" that has been finished out with walls. Trudi pulls back the sheets of the small bed and shrieks at the top of her lungs. A three-inch cockroach scurries off. I stomp it with my foot and toss it down the toilet. I have to break the "Welcome to Costa Rica" paper seal across the seat.

Day Two

We have to catch an early bus to the small town of La Fortuna. This town is known for the active volcano that it sits beneath. I have never witnessed, even, a dead volcano, so I try to contain my excitement. I purchased a few of the Costa Rican beers at the bus station. It's 5:30 in the AM and the bus is late. So, as we all eat our breakfast, I open a beer. This is the earliest I have ever consumed alcohol. My travel companions, Trudi, her sister Vicki and her husband Nathan, just shake their heads. I vacation harder than most people.

When the bus arrives, I am, some what, put off by the fact that it's a school bus. I am expecting a big passenger bus. We grab some seats, all the way at the back, and stash our gear in the overhead racks, and we are on our way. The city looks sleepy, as we start north, towards the mountains. The tan, pastel, stucco buildings mask a country rich with brilliant color.

The bus was like any school bus on the flat, straight highways of San Jose. I opened the window and another beer. It is still cool and refreshing in the morning air. It was just after 7:00 as we leave the highway and get on a paved road. The black mountains stand far in the distance. The bus races toward them like an arrow already released from the archers bow. Well, except the bus is not sleek or fast. And we don't have a straight line to travel. Ok, maybe that wasn't the best metaphor. The bus rambles towards the mountains like the broken down, piece of crap, it is. Probably held together with bailing wire and duct tape.

As the sun rises, so does the temperature. We leave the paved road and the breeze that speed provides. The crisp breeze has quickly turned steamy. Day takes back from night; as we ride on the continental divide.

It is about 10:00 AM as we enter the mountains. The road is narrow and made of dirt and rocks and shared by buses, bicycles, cars, trucks, motorcycles, taxis and pedestrians. This road is like a wino's walk. It winds up and around corners tighter then a Baptist girl's jeans. I have the left side window seat and at times I can see straight down the cliff for two hundred feet. If a car came around the corner to fast, it would have to hit the bus or go off the edge. On the steep side of the mountain the Tico's do not waste any space. This is a small country and land is expensive. The Tico's cut terraces into the mountains to grow coffee or fruit or whatever. Most amazingly, they would graze cattle on the side of the mountain. It looked odd to see cows perched on the side of a mountain. It is said in Costa Rica that the cows grow with the legs on one side longer than the other to accommodate for the slope. With that to go on, it would seem logical that the cows west of the divide would have longer left legs and the cows to the east would have longer right legs. That is pure speculation on my part. Their political lean was not a subject of this survey.

I digress, as I so often do. Where was I, oh yeah, so it about 100 degrees and humid. The bus is bouncing us everywhere. Dangling off this so-called road. We are working on about four hours sleep. I am the only one who can sleep on the bus. Why? Three beers. It is about 200 kilometers to Arenal from San Jose. It took three hours to cover the first 150 kilometers. Not great time but acceptable, considering we have to stop to pick up other passengers in every little village in Costa Rica. It will take three hours to cover the last 50 steep kilometers. For this is not a direct route by any stretch of the imagination. Now, as we have entered the mountains, we have staled to a crawl. We have to stop every five miles to pick up an old woman and her live chicken or a family of eight. We witnessed several tearful goodbyes, as young men were sent out to make a life for themselves. It was quite a sight. The bus fare was about 8.00 American dollars each, to go 200 kilometers in six hours. I was just waiting for someone to push a goat onto the bus.



Before we get to our first destination, I must introduce our characters. Trudi is my girlfriend, of four years. She has the small frame and body of a former ballerina and the smile of an angel. Her brown curly hair hangs to her shoulder. She and I meet when worked for the same law firm. I was dating one of her friends. When the other girl dumped me, Trudi and I started dating. We fell in love and have fought through her breast cancer and my immaturity. We have grown, since we have been together but unfortunately, of late, we are growing apart. We have established a difference of opinion about children that has blunted our growth as a couple. I want them and she doesn't. She wants to buy a house and I don't want to build a nest if we aren't going to have kids. We are at a crossroad in our relationship. We don't realize it; as we smile and play at the beginning of the trip, but a grand voyage usually bring issues to the surface.

Our travel mates are at a larger crossroad. As I stated, Nathan and I were given this trip for Christmas. That was five months ago and much has happened since. Nathan had just started a new job in the previous October. At Val Pac, a company that solicits companies to use direct mail coupons to advertise other business's. Nathan had done well in the Dallas office, so well, in fact that the company decided to send him to the national training center in Miami, Florida.

Well, Nathan went to this training seminar and he met this woman that he said, was "all over him" in spite of his wedding ring. At this point the details are unclear to me. I heard my info from Trudi, who was hearing it from Vicki, who was getting the best version Nathan could come up with.

Apparently, on the second night Nathan and the sales people from all over the country meet at the bar in the hotel. Nathan asked the girls roommates where she was and was informed that she was passed out drunk up in the room. The roommates drifted to the dance floor with the rest of the crowd. Nathan, being a self-starter, lifted the key from the table and made his way upstairs to her room.



There are only two people who know what happened next. Maybe even less, depending on the girl's alcohol consumption. The roommates eventually return and upon seeing their friends state, accuse Nathan of rape. A very strong word. They scream at him, "Get out. Get out." Nathan leaves the room, goes to sleep in his own room, and the next morning he takes his scheduled flight home and leaves Miami.

Things got back to normal in Dallas, until a sheriff from Miami called Nathan at home and informed him that he had a warrant for Nathan's arrest on rape charges. He had to come clean and tell his wife what had happened. Needless to say, Nathan was now, out of the Costa Rica trip. After a few weeks went by, Nathan, who made his living before Val Pac, as car salesmen, talked his way back into the trip. Might have been his hardest sale ever.

His wife, Trudi's sister is a vegetarian flight attendant, blond hair and blue eyes, and has a cute body on a small frame. Vicki was not the sharpest tool in the shed. She always dated over good-looking men that were either in love with every skirt that walked by them or themselves. She dumped good guys for assholes. She broke a few hearts but had hers broken also.

Then, there's me, Chris, your storyteller. I am not the happiest person in the world, as I leave on this vacation. My home life is at a crossroads, as I described above. My job is a perfect example of frustration. I have gotten into a horrible business situation. I can't blame anyone except myself for getting between the proverbial rock and the proverbial hard place. I won't go into too much detail. I was learning a valuable lesson. Let's just say the best partner you can have in business is no partner at all. I took this frustrating out on my relationship with Trudi. I can be a quite a sarcastic ass when I want to be. I don't have it all together.

We all put everything to the side, as we leave on our adventure of a lifetime.

La Fortuna

We arrived at the bus station in La Fortuna and unloaded our gear from the bus. We step into a town so small I don't know if I can call it a town. A white dirt roads lead in four directions. The rain muffles the dirt we see all around the bus station. It's really just a gas station, the only station in town, as far as we could tell, and used as a drop point for the bus line.

It is now 2:30 in the hot, sticky afternoon. We hail a cab to take us to our hotel. We get some crazy-ass cross-eyed, character from a Hunter S. Thompson novel. This dude has a lazy left eye and is driving 90 miles an hour on wet, steep, curved road. We are passing other cars on curves. This is the closest I have ever been to death. I have jumped out of airplanes, rode live bulls, fought Spaniards in Pamplona just trying to run with the bulls, flew down mountains on a mountain bike and this is the quintessence of my brushes with death.

"Did we have to fly half way down the globe, to die in a cab, at the start of our trip?" I say out loud. Hoping to conjure up a reverse jinks. Trudi laughs unconvincingly.

"Slow down" I scream at the driver. He pays no attention to me. He is busy talking to, I am not sure whom. Possibly the drivers of the taxi's that we narrowly missing. I am sure we have all each used every "I swear, if you get me through this, I'll never," we have left.

Somehow, by the grace of God, we get to our hotel. I get out of the taxi and ask the driver his name.

"Jamie," He grins at me.

"Well, Jamie you are the worst fucking driver I have ever seen in my life. If I was in not on vacation I would kick your fucking ass. You stupid son a bitch…"

Nathan pushes me away from the driver and pays him. Jamie screeches off to endanger other people.

"I hope you didn't tip that son of a bitch, He tried to kill us." I scream.

La Montana Hotel sat directly below Volcano Arenal. The girls booked a room with a major fireplace.

The rooms are separate bungalow's that are made from the dark brown local trees. The floors are concrete. They have little, glassed sitting areas to view the volcano. I can't understand why anyone would want to look at the volcano from the room when one can go outside to the to the courtyard and sit in the lounge chairs provided by the hotel. We quickly toss our bags in the room and begin to explore the grounds of La Montana. The complex is 1600 meters from the base of the volcano.

The girls are hungry and tired, so Nathan and I are assigned to KP duty. They saw a pizza place right by the bus station. I didn't see it, but the girl insisted they noticed it, at the start of the taxi ride. I was to busy talking to Ja. (Why are my travel companions so nonchalant about the fact that the taxi driver tried to kill us)?

We ask for a cab at the front desk.

"Not that crazy bastard that brought us here," I yell.

The manager grins, "Oh, Jamie."

"You know him."

"Yes, he has driven a cab here a long time," He replies.

"He is going to kill someone."

The manager just nodded. I could not tell if he did not care, or did not understand.

He got a taxi that didn't contain the lazy-eyed driver; I will look for every time we take a cab on this trip. I will avoid him like the grim reaper. If I can…

We enjoyed a smooth, slow ride back into the downtown area. The taxi driver dropped us off right in front of the pizza place. He has nothing to do so he will wait for us to get our pizza. We ordered two big pizzas and now have thirty minutes to kill. Not much to do at 6:00 PM on a Friday night in the small village of Central America. I spotted a cigar shop and we went in for something that you can't get just anywhere in the States. Cuban cigars!! Twenty American dollars per cigar is not a bad deal for Cubans.

"How many can I have for one hundred dollars? American." I ask with a grin.

"Five," the man says, without a smile.

I didn't have the energy to barter. Don't get me wrong, I love to barter but the only thing we have done for two days is travel. The planes, buses and cab rides have taken their toll. I will enjoy these cigars.

"I will take them." I say in English.

The sun was beginning to drop to the horizon and our pizzas were probably ready, so we made the short walk back to the restaurant. I bought two six packs of beer at the place next to pizza hut. We pick up the pies and catch take cab back to the hotel.



Nathan and I arrive, as the knights did, long before us, at the end of the day, with food for our women. Sitting outside we watch a sunset that began with breathtaking and got better. We gorged ourselves on pie and peach, and drank to anything. We laughed and toasted to the sunset, like we owned the place.

Night begins to creep in, around us, as we dined. The sun has set behind the volcano. We don't know it yet, but the show is only about to begin. The volcano is warming up, with low rumbles that shake our chairs. Smoke almost always steams out of this volcano, Arenal. As we were watching the sunset, to the left of the volcano, we had not noticed the smoke that was blowing to the north. It is getting thicker.

I light a cigar and open another beer, after a really great pizza, considering the locale. Suddenly the sky explodes with red and orange fireballs. The ground shakes like it's about to open up. We all jump up, as molten rock is hurled into the sky. Quickly, we exchange nervous glances. The housekeepers strolling the grounds don't even look at the volcano. I'm thinking, "This thing is going to blow." and they don't care to look. That calms me down, somehow, and I sit down to enjoy the show. The next thing we notice, something resembling snow, is falling all around us. I have a good buzz going, so it seems surreal. It is not snow. It is volcanic ash. We are being ashed. Ash, so thick we have to take the food inside and cover our beer cans with our hands. It is coming down heavy. The volcano continues to spew and rumble. Lava runs down the side and twists and turns its way in crimson. It starts and stops on its way down the mountain. Gravity was the only rule. We can hear the large rocks tumble in the distance. The feeling that anything could happen is giving me a heightened sense of danger that fires up my adrenaline. The cover of night gives you the allure of the unknown. Everything was too perfect. The colors flying from the top of the volcano reminded me of fireworks at uneven intervals. We all sat there, afraid to blink, for fear we will miss something spectacular.

For hours we sit hypnotized. One by one, everyone peels off, into the cabins. I can not tear myself away. How many opportunities am I going to have to gaze on an active volcano? I'll answer that question, not f-ing many.

I fall asleep in my hard wooden chair, shivering against the cold of the night. I don't care. I'm not going to bed. I can open my eyes and see the most magnificent show of nature. Trudi comes out to get me about 4AM, and drags me inside. The ash has accumulated on me as I slept. I walk the dusty walk of zombies. We dust me off as we go inside. I'm not sure if I'm dreaming or not. I just didn't want the moment to end.

Day Three

I wake the next morning to more magic. The girls went to the office where they put out a continental breakfast of pastries, juice and coffee for the guests. They are chatting in our little glass sitting area, looking at the volcano. I rub the dust out of me eyes. Grab a cup of coffee and try to clear the Cuban cigar from my throat and lungs. The view from behind the glass is of the groundskeepers and the maid staff washing the ash from everything. They used the water hose to chase the ash back to the soil from which it arose.

I shower to chase the last of the cobwebs away. I get out of the shower and I hear the girls shrieking.

A hummingbird has flown into our cabin. Confused by the glass it can't get out. So, as cool as bird trainer, Trudi goes to the bird and scoops it up on her extended index finger. The frightened bird alternates between her finger and the glass a few times. Then latches to her finger and sits there like she is Dr. Doolittle. The rest of as dive for our cameras and manage to catch this moment on film. No one will believe this. Another moment that we don't want to end. Trudi releases the bird outside and it zips from our sight.



After the hummingbird incident, we soaked up the warm early morning sun. The sweltering heat of late afternoon is still hours away. The hummingbirds are like as thick as flies at a barbecue cook-off. Giant macaws drift on the morning breeze and stop to rest on man-made perches behind our cabins. Parrots zoom overhead in large groups. Cockatoo's and cockatiels and every bird you would see in an exotic bird store, flies overhead.

The girl's got a Frommer's tip on a cool place to eat lunch, near town. The place was over a small river. It had a stucco and tile patio with little tables.

We chose a table with a view of the river. It babbles below, as we lunch on fish tacos and crab salad. It was all very tasty. The waiter tells us about a waterfall just upstream from the restaurant. He promises us it is well worth the tough, mile and a half hike.

We decide to take his advice and we are very happy that we did. The waterfall is bore out of the black volcanic rock, in a small opening in the dense jungle. The water cascades into an azure pool. Young Tico's are diving into the pool as we arrive. They scale the left side of the waterfall and there were three or four different levels you can use to jump or dive into the blue green water.

It looks easy enough that Nathan and I decide to try it. First, we all strip to our shorts and jump in the cool, pool of waterfall water. Trudi and Vicki have their swimsuits on under their shorts and tank tops. To the girl's dismay, we attempted the clime. The rocks are slippery near the waters edge but surprisingly easy to clime, above the slime. We climb higher and higher on the side of the waterfall. I keep enough distance to be safe. We climb past the first jump point. Nathan, climbing above me, arrives at the second of the four platforms. He pauses briefly, to examine the landing area. We watched the Tico children jump, again and again, safely, but the first jump is still intimidating. The girls are swimming in the pool, checking the landing area. Everything is fine, so, he jumps off the fifteen-foot cliff. Nathan splashes in the pool. I follow quickly. We are diving and flipping off the cliffs. Before long, the girls are grading us for style and difficulty. We just play in that pool for hours. It looked like a movie set. It just doesn't seem real.

It was a moment that we do not want to end. This is becoming the theme to our vacation. The girls were ready to leave. We had to get in one more dive. Nathan starts to climb the path we have climbed, now twenty or twenty-five time each. As he reaches the first perch, the rock gave way and he starts sliding down the side of the waterfall. The rocks crop out at the bottom of the waterfall. Unfortunately, he lands right on these rocks with his left foot. We have been avoiding these rocks as we jumped, out, from up above. His left foot twists as it hits the rocks. Nathan tries to roll into the water to absorb some of the impact. He came up from the water yelling, in obvious pain. I was just below the first landing on the side of the falls. I climb to the first platform and jump in to try and help. Nathan is on the shore, with the girl's, when I swim up. His ankle is already swollen. It is bleeding a little, but it looked like more of a scrape, then a bone pushing out from the inside.

There is still a mile and a half hike, back to the rode. Everyone is quiet, as we dress. Nathan laces his hiking boot as tight as he can stand. No one thought much of the trail as we walked down to the waterfall. It was tricky in some places where the stream crossed the trail. That meant a steep slope down one side and a steep uphill climb up the other side. It was fun, on the way in, just another part of the adventure.

Now, it was a scene from Deliverance. Nathan is Burt Renolds and we have to get him out of here before the natives smell blood. I help him limp out, by helping him around the boulders, and over the river, and through the jungle. At about the half way mark to the road, two Tico's kind of pop out of the jungle and were both carrying machetes. I have been exposed to people carrying machetes in Jamaica, some years before. Hell, my caddie at the Wyndom Rose Hall Golf Club had one to try, unsuccessfully, to retrieve my golf ball from deep in the jungle, where I had strategically, shanked it. To get around in the jungle, the machete is a means of travel. Even heavily used trails overgrow so rapidly that they constantly have to be hacked back. Still, it is a bit unnerving when you are unarmed and isolated from your normal, safe, American, environment.

The two men approach us and as they get close they smile and greet us.

"Hola."

"Hola," we return.

"Are you O.K?" The first man asks Nathan.

"Yes, thank you." He returns.

"How far is the road?" Vickie asks in Spanish

"Just over that hill," the man answers in English and points out in the distance.

I feel guilty as we walk away for doubting the heart of the Tico's. They are truly genuine. They are short people as people go, with thick legs, from all the climbing. Their skin is as brown as potter's clay and their eyes and hair are as black as coal. Flush red cheeked from the altitude and the exercise. The main mode of transportation for the Tico was the foot. That is, the feet. You know what I mean, they walked everywhere.

Other than the taxis, the only other vehicle the locals use is the motorcycle. Dirt bikes with the high whine that cuts threw the silence, like a knife. We knew we were getting close to the trailhead when we hear the sound of the dirt bike.

There was a cab right in front of the restaurant that we had lunch at earlier. We pile in and escape back to our cabin below the volcano. Nathan ices his ankle to bring the swelling down. He was lucky; it was not broken, just sprained. He will limp slightly, but it could have been a lot worse. Hospital care in a third world country is a nightmare.

That night, because Nathan needed to take it easy, we ate the left over pizza and fruit the girls had picked up in town. I had plenty of beer, even though it was warm. They don't have ice machines in Costa Rica. They don't sell bags of ice. How do they do it? To get the ice for Nathan's foot the manager went to his own refrigerator.

The only thing we have for entertainment is an exploding volcano. It was very romantic. Trudi and I made love that night to the rumble of the volcano. It was the only time we made love on the whole trip. The giant cockroach had ruined the mood on the first night. We got hammered the second night and watched the volcano till dawn. And, well, the rest of the trip, I guess you will hear about.

Day Four

We get started the next morning with the free continental breakfast. Coffee in Costa Rice is delicious; the rich, dark volcanic soil and the constant moisture and temperature are ideal for its cultivation. The four of us went to the office where the breakfast is served. Served as a continental breakfast is served. It's more dropped in a neutral location, than served. The pastries are fruit topped Danish, cream filled éclairs and the ever-popular doughnut. Nathan and I stood at the buffet table until we felt everyone was looking at us. Two German couples occupy the three-table office. We fill our coffee and leave.

We have explored very little of this town, and we leave tomorrow morning for the cloud forest of Montoverde. Nathan's ankle injury might slow us down a bit, but we set off, on the course for adventure.

This town, like many towns everywhere, was built around a church. Centuries ago, the Catholics missionaries would build a church and a town would grow around it. It is the same throughout the Americas, and in Europe. A large, white, stucco church with a giant cross on its peaked roof is at the center of the plaza. The goods of the small shops overflow into the street. Dress shops and shoe shops and fruit stands line the avenue, and stop our girls in their tracks. I buy a cold soda and wait, impatiently, in some shade.

Nathan and I survey the scene. There are some children playing soccer in the churchyard. They run and smile with wild exuberance. Most of them are barefoot. Right in front of us, a little girl eats a huge piece of, what looks like, orange watermelon. She stares at Nathan and I, grinning like a little girl eating a huge piece of, what looks like, orange watermelon. What must it be like to be a child raised under that volcano? What are their dreams, or goals? How big can they dream? Can they dream themselves out of this little town? Her smile, behind those dark eyes, assures me, she will be okay. My big city American dreams may be more than she can handle. Perhaps, the little girl is the one with the grasp of reality and I am the fool.

On the north side of the plaza, I notice, the ever welcome, neon beer sign, hanging behind the bar of a restaurant. I make a mental note, to retrieve, when, and if the women ever finish shopping. The town dances around us. The men are dressed in the uniform of white and khaki. The ladies wear bright colorful dresses. We are happily ignored. Choosing, instead, to soak up, the local flavor.

The girls have shopped themselves into an appetite. I point out the restaurant I have been checking out. They approve, without confrontation.

We are seated at a table with a grass umbrella, even though the table sits under the roof of the restaurant. The menu is filled with delicious delicacy. We order beer and a bowl of guacamole to get started. At 2:00 in the afternoon, we are the only people in the place. In this part of the world the "siesta" is still part of the daily routine.

No one can decide what to order because everything is so new and exciting. So the "pass the plate act" was brought to a vote. It passed unanimously, without any ballot stuffing.

The waiter returns to a barrage of questions. I have forgotten that eating with Trudi's sister is like ordering with Meg Ryan in that movie with Billy Cristal.

I order the Lemon Chicken. Trudy and Nathan decide to split the whole Sea Bass. And Vicki's order was so long, and confusing, I don't recall what she ordered. I am sure the waiter didn't either.

We ordered more beer and talk and laugh. As a foursome we are very capable, as we one up each other. The two couples are struggling in their own way, but as a foursome we work as one. Nathan is the muscle, I am the brain, Trudi is the soul, and Vicki is the heart.

Nathan is 6'2 and 220 pounds and lifts weights most every day. Traveling in a foreign country it is good to have a big dude with you. It makes the bad guy's think twice. Don't think that you are not a target every minute you are in any foreign country. Nathan is not dumb, but he spends much of his mental energy keeping all his stories straight.

I am the leader and brain, only because I get frustrated when people can't make up their mind. Everyone in this particular group is nice and doesn't want to step on anyone's toes. So no one will make a decision. I get "tired head" when everyone in a group says, "I don't care, what do you want to do." I will take the initiative and focus the ideas of the group and pick a direction for us.

Trudi holds this group together. Making her the soul. She keeps her "whip ass" sister around and guides her. She is the connection with me. This trip would not have happened with out Trudi. Her sister, her boyfriend, she is the glue. When tempers flair, Trudi is the person to say, "Come on now, it's hot and were all tired." The peacekeeper.

Vicki is the over-emotional heart. A crushed butterfly in the road, or the fact she forgot to pack her favorite hair clip is the end of the world. Everything brought out that fat lower lip. That "look" that works, for cute blond women, when they want their way.



The food arrives

The waiters, two of them, begin to bring the food to our table. Remember, we only ordered three meals, because Trudi and Nathan are sharing a whole sea bass. What ever that means. They start loading our table with the most wonderful dishes. The colorful bouquet of sights and smells brings us all to drool. In front of Vicki they placed a huge plate of camoroon y arroz, shrimp and rice. The shrimp are not properly named. Then, the waiter placed a chicken breast in front of me that is four inches thick. It is served over rice with plantain, which is somewhere between a potato and a root. Boiled and served with brown sugar and butter. It is much better than it sounds. Everyone stopped when the waiters dropped off Trudi and Nathan's fish. It was the biggest bass I have ever seen, and I'm from Texas. Pan fried, whole, head, tail, and eyes. It stretches past the platter, on which it is served. We bless the food and attack the table.

I want to accurately describe the flavors in and around in my mouth area. But, I know the limits of my writing skills and it not possible. I am bound to fail. My taste buds can't control themselves. The chicken was tender and juicy. We ate as if we just ended a hunger strike. After we stuffed ourselves with what we ordered, we shared with each other the new and interesting dishes we had enjoyed. The portions are so large we could never finish one alone. The sea bass is light and flaky. The shrimp is succulent. Everything is larger than life. The carrots and vegetables in the salad are twenty percent larger then in the states. The beers are served in large goblets. The "after-dinner" mints are huge.

We lean back in our chairs and belch quietly. "Mas, Cevasa, por favor, quattro mas Pilsor's" we holler. Many Costa Rican beers are ordered and things start to get fuzzy. We laugh and joke and drink and drift the afternoon away. I love this slow life. These people just don't get excited. The waiters just shake their heads, as we drink and get loud in the middle of the "quite time" for the area. Our drunken jokes in English barely raise a smile from them.

The time has come for us to leave. The staff has been stacking chairs, and sweeping around us, for half an hour. We can take a hint, when you beat us up against the head.

All we have to do is make the drunken stumble, back to the cabstand, which is back at the bus station. Of course, I will avoid the devil in the shape of a cab driver called "Jamie".

A late afternoon rain shower arrived as we were dining. We didn't notice. It helped to cool the heat off the sun, by hiding it rays behind their shield of moisture. With the windows open on the taxi it was refreshing. I could not wipe the smile from my face. I can't say the same for my travel mates. Why do girls, on vacation, always try to drink as much as the men? It usually ends with chicks puking. I don't understand why women think they can drink more on vacation then when they are at home. Men, "practice drink", before they go on vacation, to build up their tolerance for alcohol. I have known a few women that could drink you under the table, but these two that we are with are lightweights.

We have arranged to tour the volcano on a night tour this evening. It is five thirty and I give this troop less than a fifty percent chance of making our eight thirty reservation.

I am proven wrong as everyone rallies for our next great excursion. The van is waiting for us in front of the hotel lobby. Five or six people are in the van as we walk up. It is a large van so we fit comfortably. The van pulls out of the hotel drive and takes a right. The driver travel less then half a mile when he takes a left into drive with a gate. He gets out and unlocks the gate, gets back in the van and pulls into the field.

"We are here," he shouts.

"We could have walked here," I declare. "I can see the lights of our hotel from here."

This is the starting point for the night clime, up the volcano. The guide leads us, up a path that is rocky and jagged, but roughly, a path. It twists us up the mountain, at about a twenty percent grade. I stop, and re-tie my boot to prevent twisting my ankle in the dark. Nathan and I both have flashlight that we have brought from home. But, we try to shine it where girls are climbing. Nathan is taking the lead and I am behind the girls, shining my light at their feet.

I am getting a weird feeling in my gut. I have always listened to my intuition. I don't like the vibe I am getting. I take a defensive position in relation to everyone else. I have the notion that we are being watched. I expect an ambush that never happens. The moment has taken me, and I wait for the preverbal "bad guys" to jump out and rob us and rape our women. I am now just off the trail, behind the trees, with my flashlight, in my hand, as a weapon, not a light. My inter-sense has never been so "off."

We arrive at the volcanic rock quarry. It is a quarry, in the fact, that there are rocks everywhere. Men and equipment have not mined these rocks. The volcano, at a high rate of speed, has dropped them. The guide has brought us to a rock landing area. That is like buying a ticket to catch javelins, at a track meet. We paid money for this!!

The volcano bursts above us and we can hear rocks bouncing down the side of the mountain toward us.

"They usually stop before they get here," the guide repeats, with little conviction.

We signed up for a rock hunt. Rocks are approaching at us from all angles but we, twelve of us, in all, dodge fate for one more moment.

"This is far enough," the guide says in English.

"This is too far," I reason.

The guide tells us about how Costa Rica was born. How, the Pacific plate and the Atlantic plate collided and the present affect is Costa Rica. Violent in climate and geography, Costa Rica has been a chemistry lab for the last one million years. The rocks that we know hold in our hands, represent one million years of evolution. It is a strange idea for me to think of a rock as having different stages in its existence. It is giving me a new appreciation for rock. It has been kneaded, like bread, pressed and expanded again and again. If marble is the top end of the spectrum, where does volcanic rock fall, in the rock pecking order? I know they are falling around us.

I find a volcanic rock that looks like a potato. It is funny, to me, so I pocket it. We are encouraged to do this by the guide. The volcano makes more every day. Do not think, that it is encouraged, to pick up rocks at ruins in Europe. It is stealing artifacts in Rome and Athens. FYI

I had the bright idea, back in the room, to bring my backpack. Now, everyone is handing me their rocks. I am quickly gaining weight. How will we identify one rock from the other when we pull them all out? The girls say they will be able to tell them apart later. I roll my eyes in the dark.

If you looked closely enough, you can find a rock that is still smoking and warm to the touch. A new rock or a reincarnated rock birthed by mother earth. Perhaps, they shouldn't call it the mouth of the volcano.

The volcano explodes above us. It is the largest, loudest explosion during the tour. The ground shakes beneath our feet. From where we are standing we can see the lava flowing down the side. We are standing about 1000 feet up a 4300-foot high volcano. The flow looks much closer even though we are on the flat side of the mountain. This last blast has rocks falling as near to us they have during the journey. The guide suggests we leave at once. No one argues and we make our way down the mountain.

The tour van quickly drops us back at our cabañas. We retire to our lawn chairs to watch the Earth turn itself inside out, again.

Day Five

Monteverde



The fourth morning of our trip we must pack our bags and said good-bye to our gracious hosts at La Montana Hotel. Then, we stuffed ourselves into a taxi, not driven by that lazy eyed bastard, Jamie.

There are two ways to travel in Costa Rica. We took the first option, in getting to the city of La Fortuna, public transportation. The bus system here is cheap and it runs on time. Those are the only good things you can say about it. The negatives; it is slow, overcrowded, and not air-conditioned.

The second means of travel in any third world countries is by private charter. I will explain this in, well, I will call it, "American," because the British use the metric system. Instead of the eight-dollar to bus 120 miles, we pay 80.00 dollars to travel 20 crow miles. Of course you heard the saying, "as the crow fly's?" Well, they were talking about this mountainous region. The mountain Volcano Arenal and Santa Elena's Monteverde are only 20 miles apart; unfortunately, these 20 miles, are the most undulating terrain on the planets. The long way around the mountains by bus is sixty miles and six hours, if we are lucky.



Our over-prepared girls have preplanned a better way.

The taxi dropped us off on the shore of Lake Arenal. We load our luggage in the small boat that is waiting to shuttle us across the lake. It is a 14-foot flat bottom boat piloted by a grinning man called Felix.

"Felix the cat" the taxi driver introduces us in English.

The girls squeal, "Hola, Felix el gato."

The driver and Felix push the boat off the shore and we are on our way to another adventure. I offer Felix a beer. He grins and declines. I lean back and hang my arm in the cool spray of the wake. We are the only boat on this lake. The water is as smooth as glass as far as I can see. Behind us, the Volcano emerges from the shoreline and reflects on the water, to make a dramatic image. We all scramble for our cameras. We take turns smiling for the camera and posing with Felix the Cat.

The girls have arranged for a four-wheel drive vehicle to meet us on the south side of Lake Arenal. The driver will take us on roads that buses don't dare tread.

Felix finds the drop point without a problem. He skids the boat onto the shore so we won't have to get our feet wet. The driver is a fat, fifty something, Tico, with a small boy with him. The kid it barefoot and hides behind his father. We unload our gear from the boat and stash it in the back of the SUV. Felix introduces us to our driver. The Costa Ricans sure are big on the "Introductions." For a laid-back country they are very formal at times.

Raul, our driver, brought his son, Lupe, with him. When we were introduced the girls squealed, "Lupe." Every word or name was so cute to them, that they have to repeat it simultaneously.

The girls and I will fit across the bench, so we give Nathan the passenger seat, and Lupe jumps in the far back, with the luggage.

Raul turns the key and the jeep will not start. The battery is dead. We are exactly in the middle of f-ing nowhere and the Jeep won't start. Raul ask Nathan in Spanish, for help pushing the jeep. Nathan doesn't speak Spanish. Nathan used all of his Spanish at once, as we were introduced, Raul thinks Nathan is bilingual. Vicki translates and everyone get out of the jeep to help push start it.

Raul has parked the Jeep on a down hill sloop. That leads me to believe that he knew all along that his battery was dead. He put on a little show for the stupid American tourists. I said nothing to the group, but I hope he doesn't stall the engine on a steep up hill or we could tumble like a rock.

We push start the jeep on the first try. Everyone gets back in and we are on our way.

I look back, one last time, at the beautiful blue Lago Arenal, as we chug away. It looks like a mirror of the royal blue sky with a volcano in the middle. The view is breathtaking and I give thanks for my good fortune.

After the false start, everything is moving along smoothly. The girls are chatting up the small boy. He is more than happy to practice his English. They take turns asking each other words, in the others native tongue. Nathan and the driver are talking about nothing in particular. I put on my headphones and open a warm beer.

The flora and fauna begin to change as we climb. In La Fortuna, at the base of the volcano, we were at 1500 feet above sea level. The town of Santa Elena is almost at 4000 feet above sea level. As we clime the vegetation gets greener, the brown and yellow disappear. Everything is turning green. The air is so moist that nothing gets dry.

We are entering a cloud forest. Even the bark on the trees is green.

A fence line made of sticks and wire is how they make the fences that kept the clumsy cows from falling onto the road in La Fortuna. Here, they pounded sticks into the ground and tie the wire loose because the fertile Costa Rican soil and the constant moisture would sprout new life into the old sticks and they would grow. It was a living fence that would grow thicker every year and turn into a tree line.

As we finally get near our hotel, I realize we have taken a detour. I take off my headphones to learn we are going by Raul's house to drop off Lupe because it is after his dinnertime. It is past my dinnertime but I don't mention it to the group.

Raul makes us get out of the jeep to inspect his Bed and Breakfast. He asks us to stay here for a few days, at half the price of the expensive place he was hired to take us. We graciously decline. Raul looks as disappointed as he can. I am sure it's not the first time people have turned down his "bed and breakfast," disguised as his back porch.

"Cheap, only twenty dollars a night, with breakfast." Raul vouches.

Everyone, except Lupe, jumps back in the vehicle. Lupe and his mother wave us a goodbye, from the curb, as we drive away. We are only a few miles from our hotel but the last few miles are straight up. We ascend a steep hill, the road turns sharply to the right and another steep clime is in front of us. This pattern repeats several times, literally into the clouds. Clouds wisp past the open windows like we are in an airplane. It looks like a dream.

Then, we turn into the drive of the Swiss-style chalet that the girls have book for our accommodation in the cloud forest. It's an enormous ski lodge type hotel, in the tropical jungle, high in the mountains of Costa Rica. With its redwood construction, it stands out, like a hooker on Wall Street, against the dark green of the dense jungle. Out of place would be an understatement.

Raul unloads our luggage at the grand entrance. We tip him for his hospitality and honesty. He thanks us and drives off, as we wave. We ascend the staircase to the front door. This place has everything but snow. I hope they didn't think it would snow here when they built this chalet. It's only five hundred "some odd" miles from the equator. The builder thought, "If we build it, it will snow." I hope they were just trying to stand out.

We quickly get our room keys and again ascend a dramatic staircase to our rooms. Everything is the same redwood. The stairs, the walls, the ceiling, the banister, everything is the sane tongue and grove style. As we turn up the stairs the curtains are, I don't want to say covered, but inhabited by giant moths with wings bigger then my hands. Alice in Wonderland on acid, what.

Chalet Swiss is a beautiful hotel with elaborate sconces on the wall. Our rooms are charming. They are angled to give each room a large picturesque window to the sky. The jungle is under us now. I open the double wood shades hinged across the windows. I open all of them. Clouds push in our room. Have you ever inhaled a cloud?

The girls scramble for a shower, because restaurants close early, this late in the tourist season.

The dude at the front desk gave us a tip when we checked in, about a good Italian restaurant just down the hill. Nathan and I plan the attack plan for the evening, as the girls paint up.

I forgot to tell you the spark for the trip. Trudi and Vicki were watching the television, and a Nova show informed them that the Haley Comet was eight months from streaking past earth. The program said the best place to see the Haley Bop as the comet is called, with the naked eye, in the western hemisphere, would be high in the mountains of Costa Rica. These are "let do it" girls. And they started planning. Eight months and all kinds of turmoil latter, here we are.

After dinner we can watch the comet from the second story bar of the hotel. They have a pool table and a fully stocked bar. Dartboards and stuffed heads dominate this grand room.

First, we have to feed our grumbling stomachs. Nathan and I tap our feet at the door as the girls put the finishing touches of their face paint.

"Hurry up, I'm starving." I bitch.

"All right, we're ready." Trudi chirps back.

They were ready and they both looked very beautiful, if slightly overdressed. We have a mile downhill walk to the restaurant. Skimpy sandals are cute but not very functional.

When we step into the restaurant, we notice we are the only customers. We are quickly seated and served garlic bread and wine. This revives us and we all order large Italian dishes. We share our main courses with each other, guaranteeing that we eat too much. Once again the food is outstanding. I have the chicken tetrazini, Trudi has the lasagna, Nathan has spaghetti and meatballs and Vicki orders the vegetable primavera. We order a second bottle of Chilean Chianti.



The food has stuffed us beyond a safe level; luckily we have a mile uphill clime to help us digest. The moon is low in the horizon and will set soon. We have flashlights with us that are our only source of light. There are no streetlights. I shine my Mag-light on a spot in the road. I can't identify the fruit that a car has smashed in the road. The road is littered with these spots the size of softball. I shine the flashlight in the trees above scanning for the source.

Suddenly Vicki screams. It seems one of the spots is moving. It is a big ass tarantula. It isn't fuzzy fruit smashed in the road. It's big fuzzy tarantulas, dozens of them. The traffic going up this hill smashes them under their tires. How many more get threw and are staring at us in the dark with their black eyes?

The cover of darkness has brought out the insects. We quickly become aware of the motley swarm that has simultaneously attacked as from all angles. From the ground and the air we are confronted with too many insects. We slap our skin that is exposed to mosquitoes as big as crickets. Beetles the size of Small dogs crawl next to us. The noises coming from the jungle are making my skin tingle. The wine has heightened our imaginations.

We scamper into the perceived safety of our hotel only to find the invasion has hit the hotel. The rise on the staircase is lit by wall lamps. Gigantic moth have been drawn to the light and hang from the curtains. If you hold your hand together and hinge them at the pinky's to imitate moth wings. These moths are bigger then everyone's hands except the very, very large handed of us. And they are inside the hotel. The look fake they are so big.

As I stated before dinner, the plan, is to watch the comet from the balcony of the party room, on the second floor. I discover, much to my dismay, that the bar is stocked but locked. This is the first week after the tourist season. Last week this place was packed and there was probably a bartender behind the bar. This week we have to order beer from the front desk and put it on ice in the sink of the bar.

The show is about to begin. The sky begins to darken to a deep dark blue. The sky is still slightly affected by the lights of the city but already we can make out the shape of the comet high in the sky. As the lights of the city begin to tail off and the sky turns to a coal black we can clearly see the comet and its tail streaking across the universe. I can almost make out the detail of the comet, even though I know it is an optical illusion. In real time the comet is past its present position. The comet is tens of thousands of miles farther across the galaxy then it appears to us now. I didn't mean to get into the space-time continuum argument. That kind of stuff freaks me out. Although Haley's Comet is considered close by scientific standards it is still millions of miles from earth.

It is a spectacular sight. The red comet fishtailing threw the galaxy with its exhaust spewing along behind, like an old hotrod. Pulled, by gravity, around a racetrack built by Ja himself.

We strain our eyes trying to focus on the comet. We shoot pool and drink to kill time. I guess we planned on this to be like a lunar eclipse party. Everyone drinks and waits for the eclipse. The moment arrives, everyone hollers, and goes back to partying. The comet is not going anywhere fast. We can and will, watch it all night.

When our eyes can stay open, not one second longer, we retire. We have another big day tomorrow.

Day Six

The next morning I: and I am unanimous in this, have comet head. What ever that means. My travel companions and I all over-consumed last night. Now, we only have time to eat the breakfast bars the girls packed for us back in Texas.

The tour van is honking in front of the hotel at 8:30. That did not sound so early, early yesterday afternoon when we made the reservations for the canopy tour.

We load everything we will need for the whole day into two backpacks. Sunscreen, sunglasses, rain gear, snacks, and warm beer that I won't have any trouble keeping to myself.

The bus honks for the forth or fifth time, when we finally emerge from the front of the hotel. Sun glassed, and sporting frowns, we pile into, yet another van.

"This better be good" I bitter out loud.

They dump us in front of a lodge with ten or twelve other people sitting and standing around, kicking the dirt. The lodge is, seemingly, made from the jungle tightly holding a roof and floor up. The walls are cut vertically, to resemble the surrounding cloud forest. The chairs and benches are made from the same light colored wood as the walls. The seats are taken, so we stand and admire the lodge. I reach out and touch the wood to get a better feel for it. It is smooth yet irregular.

"Where the hell are the guides?" I ask my friends. I get impatient easily. A trait I will fight my whole life. When the going gets tough, I get going, but when the going stops going, I go crazy.

Just then a dude stands up from the crowd and tells everyone to go outside for instructions on how to use the harness we will be using today. He looked like one of the tourists.

We, all ten of us, all couples, well some are same sex couples, go out to the patio. There we are each handed a harness that looks like a parachute harness without the backpack and heavy work gloves. The guide demonstrates how to step into the rigging. Once you are strapped in, your package is hanging out. We have a climbers hook on a strap that hangs up from the waist to about our belly button. Everyone point and laughs at each other in our zip harnesses.

I still am not sure what the hell a canopy tour is, but I am minutes away from finding out.

The guides, there are three of them, walk us off into the deep jungle. As we hike, they describe the history and myth behind the flora and fauna. A purple butterfly flits by innocently and the guide tells us it is worth one thousand dollars to a collector. He tells us stories about the native plants and how they got their names.

As we arrive at the base of what resembles a hollow tree trunk. The guides tell us about the ficus tree. Yes, the cute little ficus that everyone has had in their house at least once in their life. In the jungle it is a killer, it's a predatory plant that is not native to the region. I know that sounds crazy but, one foreign plant brought harmlessly into a fragile and complex ecosystem can change everything. Here, in the cloud forest of Costa Rica, it is destroying some of the endangered native species of trees. Here is how it attacks. The ficus grows up along the side of a large tree. In this moist environment you can almost see the ficus grow. Just long thin limbs, like vines. They attach to the tree and take water and nutrients not only from the sun and the soil, but the big tree as well. This allows the ficus to grow at an alarming rate. Soon, the large tree is completely surrounded and is giving everything it has to the invading ficus. The large tree dies and eventually crumbles to pieces on the jungle floor where it is carried away by the ants and beetles to become fertilizer. In nature, nothing is wasted.

I tell you this story, not only because it is interesting but also because we are about to climb up the inside of this hollow ficus. The twists and turns of the once thin young ficus are now strong and sturdy. We climb a ladder made from the holes of the tree and a few pegs the tour guides have hammered in for safety. When we all arrive, safely, on top of a little crows nest looking platform, we are instructed to clip on to the safety line on the inside of the platform. As we gaze over the side, to the jungle floor some 120 feet below us, we are more that happy to comply. It didn't seem like we climbed that far. I climbed the ladder right behind Trudi, her sister, and the two cute California lesbians. I enjoyed the climb.

When we are all on the platform, the guides tell us how we are going to get to the next platform. The other platform is built in a tree 300 feet away. One of the guides shows us how to clip on to the zip line, where to hold our hands; one just below the clip and one on the line to act as a brake. He clips onto the zip line and jumps off the platform and shoots across to the next platform with the greatest of ease. He unclips and steps onto the next crow's nest. We are all clipped to the safety line on the inside of the tree. Trudi is clipped into the first position so she has to go first. She quivers slightly as she unclips from the safety line and approaches the guide. Nathan, Vicki and I scramble for our cameras to record this moment. The guide helps Trudi clip to the zip line. We were all issued thick work gloves, when we were fitted with our zip rigs. The guide tells Trudi to grab the cable behind the roller with her left hand and squeeze the cable to brake. The right hand is on the rig at your waist. The guide try's to ease Trudi nerves but her knees are shaking. Once she jumps off the edge the cable bows with the weight but she zips across the jungle canopy like Jane, of Tarzan fame. The guide on the other side grabs her and guides her to the platform. She unhooks from the cable and turns around to see us. She does a victory dance and shakes her fist at the nonbelievers in the group. I am not one of the nonbelievers. I learned years earlier that this petite girl has big heart and much guts.

I am second in line, so I am up immediately after Trudi. I grab the cable with my right hand and the rig with the left. I take a deep breath and leap out over the jungle. I yell out loud from the rush of speed and adrenalin. I am flying, with the support of a cable. It is an incredible but fleeting feeling, I am on the second platform too quickly. One by one the group makes it to the second platform. Trudi is about to lead the group to the third platform when this large howler monkey approaches our group. He howls and swings toward our tree with ease. The quickness of his advance has stunned the whole group. I feel my own uneasiness and I see it is reflected through out our group. This is a 200-pound animal that is stronger then the either of the two 250-pound men in our group. The volume and intensity of his howl echoes across the jungle. It is an intimidating display.

The guide assures us that we are safe. This monkey has been kicked out of his tribe because he could not get along within the group. He is mildly retarded, probably from a fall as a young chimp. Fall injuries are common when you live high in the jungle canopy. His head is oddly shaped, even to my untrained eye. So, he has adopted the tour groups as his tribe. He comes by everyday to interact with someone, anyone. It is actually quite sad. He is lonely. He can't understand us but that was his problem in the monkey tribe. At first I thought that was just a harsh truth of nature, but I think we humans are as cruel, if not more so.

We had to finish our tour and the howler monkey had to get back to monkey business, so we all say our goodbyes and part.

Trudi zipped to the next platform. We all followed. I don't want to down play the rest of the tour because the jungle canopy is a beautiful, exotic unusual ecosystem. Flying around the top of this Costa Rican jungle canopy is a memory that but death can take from me. We are experiencing things that very few people get to experience. We are on the top of the middle of the world. But, I was stuck thinking back to the lonely monkey.

To accentuate the tour we have to repel off the last platform straight to the jungle floor. The guides have two ropes, one above us and one below us to control our descent. It's still an eighty-foot drop to the ground. The guides have attached a figure eight looking device to us that lets us pull the brake if all the other safety features failed. Everyone returned to the earth without a scratch.

I came away from the experience thinking about my next beer. The girls have cooled my beer drinking jets with activities that even I would not take a beer. (Volcano climbing, canopy zipping, waterfall jumping.) I have taken a can of beer into the outfield of a softball game, hidden in my glove. I once drank a beer in the shower. I have used beer to brush my teeth. I have deliberately poured my own beer on my head. I have consumed more than a case (24) of beer in one day on several occasions. Not all of these things happened on vacation but most of them did. Vacations and drinking go together like Martin and Lewis. I work hard all year to blow off steam on my vacation. Without the release I would go mad.

After the tour, we searched for the first place serving cold beer in the shade. What we found was a dusty roadside snack and cervesa stand just outside the tour compound. It had a big dirty sign that we all see at the same time and shout "Beer". My well-traveled travel-mates are in a drinking mood after our brushes with death. The girls easily persuade our bus driver, to stop, on our non-stop shuttle back to the hotel.

It is not high tea at the Ritz Carlton in London. I think it is as far from the Ritz as we are to that Haley Bop that just past earth in going the wrong way on a one-way galactic highway. This (bar), and I am stretching the word from here to Timbuktu, is a washed out wooden shack. It has four wobbly bar stools, a cosmic fact I noted, representing our party of four. We ordered four beers from a man with potter's clay skin that looked both smooth and coarse. Pilsner Costa Rican Beer is great when it is ice cold. This is not one of those beer commercial moments. The beer is 300 colones the equivalent of one American dollar. The place screams for a "We were here" photo so we pull out our cameras. We take turns posing in different sets as we trade the photo taker position. The bartender can hardly pose with us so we don't ask him to take our group shot. Nathan buys a beer for our driver. A detail I have overlooked.

I prod the bartender for the "frio cervasa" and he smiles and tells me in Spanish that they are 600 colones. I will pay an extra dollar for ice-cold beer. After the morning and early afternoon we have experienced we deserve the best.

"Six frio cervasa's" I say, mixing languages. I order one for the bartender also.

The dude goes into a side room and I hear a refrigerator open and close. He emerges with six frosty cold beers not yet formed to ice. This is the perfect beer. We pose again, for now classic, "best beer ever" photos. These will be on our top-ten vacation photo lists forever.

The van driver is quite patient as long as we are buying the beer. The sun starts to hide its bright and shiny face below the green line of the dense jungle. After the last bit of victory is celebrated from our canopy zipping we request our driver to take us home.

That night we dined in our rooms. We (the girls) picked up Swiss and Gouda cheeses and French bread, with sausage and wine and purple grapes and crackers. We didn't stop at a grocery. I don't know where the hell they picked up all this food? I thought I notice everything.

I gaze out the window at a spot in the sky we think is the tail of Haley Bop still barely visible from the third floor balcony between our rooms. I try to think of the comet as far away, but at the same time I can't believe how the world is shrinking. We are eating Swiss, Dutch and local cheeses and German sausage and French bread. Well the bread is local but it's still French bread. It is all washed down with Chilean wine and Costa Rican beer, in a Swiss styled hotel high in the mountains of Cost Rica. Nathan and I have Cuban cigars for after dinner. I am feeling well traveled. I feel more alive then I have ever been. Like I am in touch with the universe. My heartbeat is part of the pulse of time. We planned and traveled to the best location on the planet to witness this grand astronomical event. I will never forget this feeling as long as I live. All of the early Central and South American cultures marked the passing of this very same comet in their hieroglyphics. So did the Egyptians and all of the African civilizations. I feel like I am part of history.

I stay on the verandah long after every one of my travel companions has retired. Trudi kissed me good night hours ago but I don't want to stop watching history unfold. The sand man is beating me to death and the wine is turning off all the light in the building. I finally relent and stumble into our room and sleep.



Day Seven

The light of a new day wakes me with a yellow and white hand of the morning. It was a nudge that dislodges me from my slumber. My eyes opened to another movie sound stage. The whole trip has been like walking through one Universal Studios sound stage after another.

This day the girls have scheduled a low impact tourist workout. The tour guide at the canopy tour told us about a cool butterfly exhibit near the suspended bridge tour we were already planning on doing. So, that is our plan. Now hold on, before you play "Gay, Not Gay" with our plan, here me out. Costa Rica is the home to thousands of species of butterflies. Money always peaks my interest and few of them are worth 10,000.00 dollars alive and 1,000.00 dollars dead, if they are in good condition. How good can your condition be, if you're dead? Plus, there are spiders, scorpions and other assorted bugs to toughen the place up.

We take the hotel shuttle van to the butterfly exhibit and a busload of gay American tourist is unloading. So much for my theory.

The butterflies are mostly dead and under glass. I was hoping that they would be alive and flitting behind screens. I make a mental note of the rare butterflies. Just in case I see any as we travel. We can catch them and take them back for collectors to over bid on them. We weave between the well-dressed gentlemen who were busy "ohing and ahing" at the sight of each and every butterfly. You would have thought they were watching fireworks.

I found the end of the exhibit long before my friends, so I chilled out under a tree, just outside of the exit. The breeze was blowing to the west, up the mountain from the ocean. The clouds raced by in cotton ball shapes. I picked out animals in the clouds and fired up a Cuban cigar. I hope Trudi and the gang take their time inside. I enjoy the moment.

Some time after I drift off to sleep, in a deep Cuban haze, Nathan slaps my foot and wakes me up. I was dreaming of being a pirate. Riding the high sea in search of gold and bootie, pillaging and looting as we pleased.



My bootie, Trudi is pissed off at me for sleeping under the tree. "What are you doing? You can't just sleep on the ground in a public place." Nathan, who sucked ass and went threw the complete exhibit with the girls, wags his index finger at me because I am being scolded.

"What" I retort. "Of course, you can sleep under a tree at two o'clock in the afternoon. Where do you think the "cesta" came from?" Trudi will not listen too any of it.

There is only one thing left on our Monteverde itinerary. One of the guides gave us a tip, (Yes, the same guide that gave us the tip about the butterfly exhibit) about a reserve that has rope suspension bridges that lead you along the jungle canopy at a different perspective.

We have to catch another taxicab. I love Central America, where the cabs are cheap and the beer is cheaper. Four of us taxi from the botanical butterfly garden to the suspension bridge reserve for 2300 clones. That is the dollar equivalent of just over seven dollars to go ten or twelve miles.

The Suspension Bridge Garden is a much easier way to view the unique canopy ecosystem without risking your neck. Built with the average tourist in mind, not the Generation X crowd but the Geritol Generation. The bridges are safe and wide. They are each just a little bit different. Some made of wood and rope. The kind you can rock and shake by jumping and pulling the side ropes. Others are longer and strung with thick cables that won't allow Nathan and I to scare the girls. All are spectacular in design and give one a great perspective of the dense jungle. Typical houseplants that grow to enormous proportion. Looking down into a deep gorge, where no man has traversed except to string this bridge, trees stretch up to grab us.

Wandering around the bridges worked up a mighty thirst. We are unanimous in our want of a cold beer. We have an early and heavy travel day tomorrow so we stop at a grocery to buy some beer and snacks.

Day Ocho

We rise early this day because we have a full travel day in front of us. The hotel van takes us back to the bus station that we arrived in three days ago. From there we must take a bus, west to the town of Puntarenas. There we catch a ferry across the lagoon, to the Costa Rican peninsula. Our ferry docks in the town of Paquera. Once there, we have to catch one more bus that will take us to our final destination, the town of Montezuma.

This ferry looks like a ferry would look like in the states. (I can't believe I just wrote that) They haul cars, trucks, busses, bicycles and people across the gulf.

We find seats near the front of the boat and pile our backpack together for safety. The sea air is 15 degrees cooler than it was crammed into that smelly bus. On the bus I tortured my travel mates with "What's that smell?" A game I like to play in which I describe elaborate scenario's of how that smell got here. Example: The Tico choked his chicken in one of the girl's seat. That could mean two things in Costa Rica. I can't decide which one is more disgusting. The fact that someone pleasured himself in the seat or that someone can bring a real chicken onto a bus. The restroom on the ferry smelled like old liver and sour eggs. Nobody else likes my game. I learned the game from an episode of M.A.S.H.

The air, here at sea level, is salty and cool. We are crossing the Sea of Costa Rica, heading toward the Costa Rican peninsula. Vicki starts up a conversation with two Tico children that are sitting near us. The five and seven year old children speak English almost as good as their native Spanish and translate to their parents the conversation. Vicki is horrible at Spanish and is our best translator. I can understand some words but lack the vocabulary. This is how it works. One of the kids would say something to Vicki. We would all shrug and crinkle our noses. I would repeat the sentence slowly. I can find the word separation. Then, we would try to decipher what the children are saying. It is quite a scene. Eventually, the children grew bored with us, and return to the bosom of their mother.

I lean my head out the window to get a better view and get a fresh spray in the face. Behind us, the mountains we explored the last several days loom large and purple in their majesty.

Ahead of us, the coast of the Costa Rican peninsula of Costa Rica. What? I know that is confusing? Ok, I will explain it. Dangling off the northwest coast of Costa Rica is a long isthmus, curving around to almost touch the Costa Rican coast, 100 Kilometers to the south. This isthmus barrier gives Costa Rica a huge lagoon that protects hundred of thousand of types of aquatic life from the raging ocean. This is why Costa Rica is a prime scuba area. It has coasts on two different oceans and two large lagoons on the west coast that create small gulfs that protect a vast array of marine life.

This has nothing to do with the story. We are not scuba people. We snorkel a bit. I am just throwing that at you for visual reasons.

We dock in Paquera and find the bus station is right next door. We didn't have to hunt all over town for our bus connection. Public transportation in third world countries is either perfectly planned or it has no plan at all. We luck out here in Paquera, in the fact that we don't have to run across a seaport town to find the bus station. Now, we have two hours to kill in a dirty seaport town full of drunken sailors.



Everyone is hungry, so we walk into what resembles a 19th century bizarre that is surrounding the dock and bus station.

The bizarre is huge, with row after row of every color, smell, and sound, one's eye, nose and ear can absorb. Fresh meat stands with whole pigs, chickens and cow sections hanging on hooks, stand next to clothing stores with the brightly woven dresses. They are next to jewelry stores with owners who beckon us to buy their wares. They all assure us that they have the finest in the entire city. All out in the open. Well, the jewelry stores were more secure then the rest of the businesses but for the most part, a breeze blows through this open-air market.

Everyone is still hungry, but the open-air food is not very appetizing, to say the least. Fried or dried is the theme for the region. I find cold beer and stash them in my backpack. They don't have six-packs in third world countries. You just grab as many singles as you want.

We assemble lunch as we wander the bizarre. The fruit selection is outstanding. We find bread and cheese. The girls get some sodas and water and we are set for more fun on a bus.

The time arrives for us to catch our bus to Montezuma. The bus is as bad as all the others with which we have temped fate. The Tico's are always the same as they board the bus. Their coal black eyes smile at you. Their skin the color of wet terra cotta, their cheeks are ever rosy from the wind. They smile with a happiness rarely seen in the states.

Montezuma

The bus drops us off right in front of our hotel. This is a tropical paradise. Palm Trees dance in the breeze. The ocean laps the sandy shore. The Hotel Pacifica is only two stories and we are on the top floor. Constructed of wood and stained dark, the hotel blends into the coastline. Our rooms are small but the beds are king-size. We have to walk sideways around the bed to get to the bathroom. The window faces the beach. Nathan and Vicki are across the hall. We quickly toss our suitcases in the rooms and change into swimsuits. When ever I arrive at any beach location for vacation I have to go immediately to the water. I don't know why, but I have to do this ritual every time I go to the ocean. It doesn't matter what time of day or night I arrive; I must go to hear the roar of the waves both near me and in the distance. If I go on a ski trip I don't have to go play in the snow right away. If I go camping near a river or lake nothing drags me upon arrival to the water. Only the open ocean has that draw on me.

We play in the water and bask in the sun. The waiter brings us drinks in coconut shells with little umbrellas and Costa Rican beer. We snorkel with the equipment provided by the hotel. The fish swimming right along the shore are a rainbow of color and variety. Like a fish store jailbreak.



There are hammocks tied between the palm trees that are large enough for two. As the sun and sea sap our strength, we rest in the shade, rocking in the breeze and listen to the ocean. "Another perfect day in Costa Rica". Vicki's little jam box is playing Jimmy Buffett's "He went to Paris". We all sing along.

The sun set over the ocean is spectacular. The colors and hues mix with the reflection shuffled by the waves into an impressionist painting. When the sun is finished, we head for the showers to get ready for dinner.

Vicki quizzed the man at the front desk earlier for tips on a good place to eat. She is a good traveler. She knows the most important lesson to be a good traveler. Ask questions. Where is a good place to eat? How do I get there? How expensive is it? As a flight attendant, I guess it is a habit for her.

Unfortunately, all we got from this question is the standard "pizza restaurant in the town square". Every town in the western hemisphere has a pizza restaurant. We didn't know what to do, so we start off toward the pizza place.

Just before we get to the main square of town is a small nondescript house with a chalkboard menu hanging next to the mailbox. It's a restaurant! It has three items on the menu; a beef dish, a fish dish and a vegetarian dish. It's just what we need.

The sign points us to back of the house where we find ten small tables. The tables and chairs are all made from the native trees. Most of the chairs are tree stumps. The tables are irregularly shaped slices of a tree with a smooth dark stain with a thick urethane finish. The whole back yard tapers off to the sea, which we can only hear in the darkness. Tiki lamps softly light the area. Miles Davis' Kind of Blue drifts from the back of the house. It's so cool we decide to try it.



The waitress seats us and quickly brings us red wine and salads. Trudi and Nathan order the beef, Vicki orders the vegi dish and I get the fish. Five minutes ago, I thought we were going to have to eat pizza again.

The restaurant looks like any backyard, well any backyard that is filled with ten tables with chairs. The food order goes into the cook through the window that is over the kitchen sink. They have widened the window two feet to accommodate the large plates of food.

Large plates do indeed arrive at our table. The steaks sizzle on iron skillet plates. I ordered broiled red fish. It is served with vegetables and rice. Vicki's veggie plate looks like a garden.

Chatting with the waitress, we discover that she is an American. She and her husband moved to Costa Rica to get out of the rat race. They cover all of their expenses by cooking dinner for people six nights a week.



I throw out the, "We can do this. We all quit our jobs, sell everything, and move to Costa Rica. We open a cool grub and pub." Everyone comes up with a name or two. I have always wanted to name a restaurant "Incognito" Vicki would be the hostess, Trudi and Nathan would be our waiters and I, of course, would cook. Because it's my last name, I have an advantage.



We eat, drink and are merry until we can't stand it. We take the third bottle of wine with us as we leave. We thank our gracious hosts and walk back to the hotel.

On the walk, we notice what looks like someone has run over Halloween candy. The jungle on each side of the road moves as we walk. Like you are being watched and, or followed. The full moon reveals the mystery. The orange, yellow and black, Halloween crabs are making their nightly journey to the ocean. Millions of crabs shift in the leaves on the ground as we walk past them. Hundreds of them are smashed on the road.

The wine takes it toll on the group. Sleep comes easily.

Day Nine

Nathan's last day

The girls can't escape the bed and sleep in. I get up to run on the beach. The morning air if fresh. I love to run on the beach. You have to run between the soft dry sand and the wet top of the waves. There is a firm strip that you have to find and stay in. The good track moves with the variations of the coastline. I run for about two miles turn around and run back to the hotel. I shower outside in the open. Nathan and the girls are having coffee on the veranda. We order breakfast. I try to get black coffee. The coffee is served con leche, with milk, in Costa Rica. "Café Negro" I plead with the Tico. They find some black coffee in the kitchen. I am most pleased.

Nathan is on the hotel phone trying to change his flight from this afternoon to tomorrow afternoon. We are all flying standby because of Vicki's buddy passes. Lady Lucky was on our side flying direct to San Jose from Dallas. That they could get all four of us on the same plane was lucky. We even got to sit together. This is the end of the tourist season in Costa Rica, late April. The rain is coming.

"There is one last direct flight to Dallas, tomorrow." Nathan yells. "One more day in paradise." Our luck holds.

The only plan for this, our last stop of our vacation is to chill on the beach for a few days. The 11:00 am twenty-minute rain shower would not clear this day so we drink beer on the veranda and play gin rummy. The rain sings a soothing background to our card games.

I have an annoying habit of beating a joke into the ground. It's quite funny to me. I have a few Spanish words that are my favorites. The Spanish word for Wednesday is "Mearcolase" You can us that word to impress people because it sounds so important and romantic. "Say it with me" I would tell people at a chili cook-off.

One of my other Spanish words is "ocho" The Spanish word for eight. Also, fun to say. Drawing the o's out, just to be funny. During the card game, I clearly announce, when I discard an eight, the word "Ocho." During the course of the game I probably say the word eight or nine times when I discard. The laugh is on Vicki when she accidentally blurts "Ocho" as she draws a card. Thus, revealing to us, her card. Trudi, Nathan and I erupt with laughter. The word became a running joke with the group. A "vacation joke." One that is never as funny to the people you try to tell it to after the vacation.

Damn, that joke killed on vacation.

It was a lazy day. We have scrambled all over the globe the last ten days. We need the rest. The sun breaks about mid-afternoon. We hit the beach for some sun and fun. We pull together four beach chairs and order umbrella drinks from the hotel. The girls grab books to read. I get my journal to catch up on some notes. I try to write down names of hotels and other details that I would not remember otherwise.

We snack on bread, cheese and salami for dinner. The girls decide they are going to call it an early night. Nathan and I try to stifle our good fortune. His last night in town is going to be without the women. I don't foresee much sleep for Nathan and I.

I shower and shave fast enough to not raise Trudi's suspicions. She is the suspicious type, from her first husband. I am down to two clean t-shirts in my suitcase, so my choices are limited. I travel light. Nathan was not as subtle. He may have packed more clothes then either of the girls. Nathan is a hustler. He put on cologne and made a big production of getting ready to go out. Vicki, as you can understand, doesn't have a lot of trust in Nathan. It's about 8:30 when Nathan and I leave. The girls give us strained smiles from the balcony as we start our walk to town.

Nathan and I celebrate as soon as we are out of the sight line of our girls. When you travel with people, any people or person, you get enough of that person. If you only knew how much we needed to get away from these women for the night. I love Trudi and Nathan loves Vicki, but I want to see the side of this town they don't want to see.

We go straight to the town square. People are milling around a plaza that is just opening for the night. Nathan and I split up, at his request. I start to work the crowd looking for weed. I doubt Nathan is searching for the same thing. Nathan acquired a taste for Costa Rica's top export back in Dallas, Texas. The car sales business is fast cash and all the cocaine you can snort. .

We are in a small town square. Three bars face each other, with the forth side open to the ocean. Each bar has four or five stools and tables inside. All the action is in the middle. People are milling around like they are waiting for something to happen. Teenagers bounce around on bikes, younger kids sprint across the plaza. Their parents are no where in site.

I am sitting at the center bar taking it all in. Nathan is meeting people at the bar to my left. He is laughing loud and flailing his arms at a Tico couple at the bar. They are smiling and laughing but at him or with him, I do not know. A cab driver looking man sits at the stool next to me. He hears me order a beer and can tell I am a tourist.

"What's happening gringo?" The man asks with a smile.

"Enjoying the town. Great place you have here."

"Tank You" He spanglishes. "What you guys looking for?" He nods toward Nathan.

"Well, you know." I pause to size this guy up.

I said cab driver earlier because you can always count on a cab driver in any city in the world to point you to the illegal drugs or the women. What ever you want in Anyplace, Anywhere just ask the cabby. It is the same in Amsterdam or Amarillo.

I lean in and ask "Where can I get the "Verde" around here?"

I get the strangest look from the man. "Que?" he stutters. I repeat the question. The man mutters something in Spanish and walks off.

A kid on a bike rides up to me and says, "Hey, mister, that was the police that you were talking to. What did you ask him?"

"I asked him, Where is the Verde?"

The kid laughs at me, "He never been asked that before."

As I was trying to figure out what the hell just happened, this tall blond walked into the square. All the locals stopped what they were doing to greet the blond goddess. She was wearing a blue bikini and a white macramé wrap around her bottom half. She was tan and slim and stunning. She speaks perfect Spanish to the locals.

"Her noveo is the man to talk to about the Verde." The kid whispers just before he rides off. Nathan walks over to where I am sitting.

"Get a load of that." He exclaims. We are gawking at this woman as she makes her way through the crowd.

"That kid told me her boyfriend is the Man" I inform Nathan.

"All right, all we have to do is wait for him to get here." Nathan surmises. "I wouldn't leave her alone for long." I nod my head and sip my beer.

Our luck is good again because the hot blond walks right up to the bar and sits down next to Nathan. He has no problem introducing himself to anyone. We offer to buy her a drink and get two more beers for ourselves. We have turned around in our stools to face the bartender. Now that the blond is sitting with us, everyone in the town square is looking at Nathan and I.

Her name is Liberty, and she is from California. She tells us she came to Costa Rica two years ago on a Tiki Tour and never went back.

"Now, I live in a big house, on a mountain." Liberty boasts. She is the queen of the town. But, we are looking for the king.

We finish our cervasas and order two more before el presidente shows up. By this time Liberty has floated off to another table. We play it cool and sip our beers. She buzzes back to her king. I watch as they chat. She nods toward Nathan and I and he turns to look at us. They walk over and Liberty handles the introductions.

"This is my boyfriend, Victor. Victor this is Nathan and Chris. They are from Texas." Handshakes are exchanged.

"Welcome to Montezuma. How are you enjoying your stay?" He sounds like a Mayor. He speaks English with a very heavy accent.

"Thank You. We are enjoying our trip." I return.

"Where are you staying? " He asks too soon, I think.

"At the Hotel Pacifica." Nathan volunteers. We know this dude runs this town. I would rather, he not know where we are staying.

"Yes, the Pacifica, very beautiful. The owner is a friend of mine."

After we get through the small talk, I notice Nathan corner Victor. Liberty is bashing American Society or something. She is use to men listening to what ever she has to say. Either, her boyfriend writes their checks or they want to get into her pants. One way or the other, this girl has center stage, here in Montezuma, Costa Rica.

Nathan is talking to Victor, not ten feet from me, but the music blaring from the bar is so loud, that I can't hear them talking. I can tell Victor is a little uncomfortable with how quickly Nathan is asking about cocaine. Nathan and Vicki almost divorced over cocaine two years ago, but Nathan swore off the stuff. Well, he swore off snorting it in front of her. I don't think he gave it up. Now, here we are in cocaine paradise and Nathan has a pocket full of Colones.

Nathan comes back to where I am sitting at the bar. "I just scored us some coke." Nathan boasts.

"Dude, we were looking for weed." I protest.

"When in Rome." Nathan quips.

Just then a young Tico without a shirt or shoes walks up to Nathan and hands him a small plastic bag and asks for 5000 colones. At 300 colones to the dollar that is less then seventeen dollars.

Nathan grins like the cat that just ate the canary. I thought his head was going to split he was smiling so big.

Let the Pachanga begin.

Nathan and I take turns going to the bathroom of the bar to snort the coke. It is nothing like the cocaine I have seen in the states. It is all soft white powder. We snort it off our room keys. It doesn't burn your nose. This is good shit.

I have tried cocaine in Texas a few times. At parties, if some one had some I might take a bump. I have never had to buy any. Nathan, on the other hand, has been using cocaine since he was eighteen. It has cost him jobs, girlfriends, thousands of dollars and many friends. He had promised Vicki hundreds of times he would never do it again. But her job as a flight attendant kept her away for days at a time and Nathan could mask his continued use. Bringing Nathan to Costa Rica is the equivalent to giving Hannibal Lector a night job at the morgue. Giving Wimpy a job at Fat Burger, or, Norm bartending at Cheer's. Sorry, I got carried away.



Beers are a dollar, which is a lot, comparatively. But, we slam them like there is no tomorrow. The salsa music is blaring from old Philco speakers. Liberty is shaking her hips and flirting with every man in the bar. There are other ladies in the bar and Liberty stops to dance with them, as well.

Nathan and I didn't know how to act. These people have shown us nothing but hospitality, and we do the American thing and leave.

Well, we wanted to walk around and see who else is partying in this town. We walked down to the beach. A group of young people is gathered around a small fire in a sand pit. I smelled the distinct odor burning of pot. They are passing a joint around the circle. I understand the international language of pot so I get in line.



The group is mostly German and British kids. The Germans love to travel. The usually speak four or five languages. They all speak English fluently. The joint is passed around to me. I take a big Texas toke. I have been chasing a good bud since we hit this country. I cough it out like a rookie. This is the worst tasting weed I have smoked since I was a teenager. It's so bad it makes you want to spit.

I take one more small hit, to make sure I didn't just get a bad paper hit, the first time. It still tastes like dirt. I am glad I have a beer in my hand.

Back in Texas, they call it Mexican Dirt Weed. I asked the kid that is rolling another joint, if he got the pot here, but he said he brought it with him from Germany. It sure tastes like Mexican Dirt Weed. I wondered to him, if he thought it came from Mexico. He said he was not sure. It may have traveled farther then any of us, to get to Costa Rica. It is too awful to be from Amsterdam, which is west of Germany. South of Germany is Spain where they grow good weed. The only way for weed this worthless, to get into Germany, is from Russia. The new Russia has very lax customs policies with any country that isn't the United States, and they love to deal with our southern neighbor Mexico.

This may have been grown in Mexico, smuggled to Russia, and probably bounced around Eastern Europe, until this dude from Germany bought it. He flew it back into the Western Hemisphere in with his toiletries.

Just then, three pick-up trucks full of Tico's pull up. A man yells in Spanish. It's Victor and some of the people from the bar. Music is blasting from one of the trucks, as some of the guy's from the circle, clime into the back of the trucks. Liberty bounces to the music between Victor and the driver of the first truck.

Victor spots us. "Chris, Nathan, come with us we are going to La Pachanga" Victor waves us toward the truck.

We jump in. We don't know where they are taking us, but we are along for the ride.

The convoy rambles up the dirt road. I look back at the other vehicles. I am glad we jumped in the first truck because the others are eating dirt. I look up at the night sky, to try and find Haley Bop. Faint but still visible she is leaving us for another 200 years. The wind in my face, I smile hard. Not even the small thought that tonight could be "Kill a Tourist Tuesday and we are the stupid tourists that jumped in the back of a truck full of strangers, can wipe the smile from my face

The convoy barrels into the parking lot of a club called La Pachanga. My Spanish is not that good. Pachanga means party. They were being literal.

La Pachanga is a cement slab, tin warehouse type of building. We triple the amount of people in the bar when we walk in. The music is loud. So loud you have to scream in to someone's ear for him or her to hear you. Everyone jumps straight to the dance floor. The DJ cranks up the volume. The heavy bass pound your body.

The drinks are cheap, so I buy two at a time. The beer is ice cold, I fight the urge to pour it on my head. This place is on fire. Half of the men on the dance floor have their shirt off all ready, including Nathan. He is dancing with Liberty. Victor stands just off the dance floor, surveying his kingdom, with a sly smile on his face. Victor is the big fish in this little pond.

I watch Nathan, as he buys another twenty-dollar bag of coke from Victor. It's 12:45 and I have absolutely, no doubt, that it's going to be a very late night. He darts into the bathroom. I am talking to Liberty, or should I say, Liberty is talking to me. She is filling my head with ex-patriotic propaganda. It all sound quite romantic, but the only way she pulled it off is because she beautiful. If she were fat, she wouldn't have it so easy. Liberty hasn't worked one single day since she has been in Costa Rica. Her hands are soft and manicured. She hooked up with this coke dealer and he pays for everything. So, I listen to her talk of extradition and capitalism, but I see the real deal.

Nathan has been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. His head is going to explode if I don't go in there. I excuse myself from Liberty during a lull in her speech.

I try to open the door and I can't. There is not a lock on the door. I knock and jiggle the handle.

"Nathan, open up, it's me, Cook." I feel Nathan remove his foot from the bottom of the door. I walk in and Nathan is walking around the bathroom. He won't look at me. He goes to the sink and washes his face.

"I saw you buy more shit from Victor, let me have some." He digs in his shirt pocket and hands me the small pink baggie.

"Dude it's empty! Nathan, you just bought it thirty minutes ago. And you ran straight to the bathroom."

"Come on man, lets fucking party!" Nathan yells.

"Well at least, get out of the bathroom. Can we go to the bar?"

Americans, for the most part, don't know how to do drugs in moderation. This is one of the reasons, I think, the rest of the free world has a better grasp of drugs then we do. They moderate. They also understand the difference between hard drugs and soft drugs. They know one has to treat them differently.

I am not calling cocaine a soft drug. I don't condone its usage beyond anything other than a very mild recreational usage. I have watched as a friend sold his refrigerator for coke, and the washer and dryer soon followed that. It's a dangerous, addictive drug that eats away at the fabric of America. It eats at the bottom of society by praying on the poor and the less educated. It eats away from the top because the government believes it can win a war against drugs. Billions of dollars are taken from education and infrastructure to fight a war we can never win.

Sorry, I sound like Liberty.

I buy two beers from the bartender and hand one of them to Nathan. He is bouncing around like a June bug at a streetlight. Liberty, Victor and the entourage have moved to the patio. Nathan takes his beer and bounces towards the dance floor. I move to join Victor on the patio.

As I get close to the group, Victor waves me to the center.

"Chris, you were looking for verde?" A big fat joint is being passed around the circle. Victor nods at the Tico with the joint and he hands it to me. My senses are fucked up from the coke but I can tell this is not the shit the German kid had on the beach. I take a big old hit and I can tell by the expressions that these folks expect me to explode cough. I hold it in until I exhale. The Tico's mutter in Spanish about me. My Spanish sucks but they smile their approval. I take another big hit and pass the joint back to the Tico and nod my approval of his weed. We shake hands.

The people in Costa Rica are great. They have treated us as one of their own. They have taken us to the top of this mountain to this great bar. I look out over the edge of the patio. It is facing the Pacific Ocean. I wish I could see the view from here during the day. I'll bet it is spectacular.

Victor walk up to me, I'm standing two steps from the back of the circle.

"Do you like my country?" Victor asks and spreads out his arms as far as they will stretch, just for effect.

"It's very beautiful. You are a very lucky man, Victor. You have a beautiful wife; you live in the idyllic setting. You have it made."

Victor did not argue. "Yes, I am. I am very lucky. You could do this, Chris. You have a good head on your shoulders. Not like your friend there. He does everything grande, Ce?"

"Ce." I agree. "Nathan has only one speed."

Victor nods at the bartender at the small patio bar. The Bartender hands him two beers, he hands one of them to me.

"Thanks." All victor has to do is nod and he gets whatever he wants. "Do you worry about the revolution in Nicaragua?"

"No, not really. Costa Rica has been independent since the 50's. Nicaragua has never been free. They have had one bad dictator after another. Tico's are peaceful people. Besides it keeps the government occupied, worrying about the war to the north."



Victor sees me watching Liberty on the dance floor. She moves like a belly dancer. Her hips snap, the opposite direction, against the beat of the music.

"Cocaine and women are alike. If you don't dominate them, they will dominate you." Victor proclaims.

Liberty dances up to us, as I watch Nathan run into the bathroom again. He looks around suspiciously before he goes in.

"Liberty, please give me, my personal stash. I want to show Chris the best Costa Rica has to offer."

Liberty removes a small baggie from her swimsuit bottoms and hand it to Victor.

I am still looking at her bathing suit bottoms, from which the drugs came.

I can't help it.

Victor dips a small spoon into the bag and offers it to me. As I have mentioned, only because it is relevant. I have only snorted cocaine a few times, but I can tell this is nothing, NOTHING, like I have ever seen in the states. Clean like first snowflakes. So much cleaner that what we bought earlier and that was better that anything we have ever seen.

Maybe, the drug had me believing, I could do this. I could get a town of my own.

I could be Victor. People granting my every nod. He seems to be recruiting me. The fantasies fly around, across and threw my imagination.

Dream sequence

Coke King Cook stands high on a mountain, surveying his domain. He is not a just ruler. He is ruthless and rules with an iron fist. Everyone either fears him or hates him. Death penalty for parking violations, What?

I quickly snap back from the dream sequence to notice Nathan running, and I mean running, back to the bathroom, again.

In Costa Rica time fly's like money in Las Vegas. It's three thirty in the A.M. and this party ain't over yet. I don't know who was driving any of the trucks that caravanned here. I figure I better talk to Victor if I want a ride back near our hotel.

The question is should I get Nathan out of the bathroom and talk to victor, or talk to Victor about a ride and then try to get Nathan out of the bathroom. He is partying like there is no tomorrow. I better, at least, check on Nathan in the bathroom.

I walk across the dance floor, and jiggle slightly, just to get threw the crowd. I get to the bathroom door and push. The top of the door bends as if someone has a foot against the bottom of the door. There are few locks in Costa Rica.

"Nathan, it's me. Open the fucking door." I yell, over the loud disco music.

Nathan releases the door. It's like a scene from Less then Zero. Nathan has cocaine all over his face. His eyes dart around, never stopping at mine.

"Dude what the hell are you doing? Nobody cares if you are snorting coke. You don't have to hold the door." I try to rationalize but paranoia has taken over Nathan's brain. "We have to get back to the Girls. It's already three-thirty."

I grab the bag from his hand. He lets it go because it's empty.

"Did you buy another bag? That's your third bag. Oh. Shit." This dude is fucked up.

"There's a great party going on out there and you can't get out of the bathroom." I continue. "Wash your face and get yourself together. We have to get out of here"

I leave the restroom and walk back to Victor and the others. The Pachanga is still kicking. I'm staring at 4:00 AM. I don't know how I'm going to explain this to Trudi. I am standing off to the side, looking pissed-off.

"Hey, man. Tomas is heading back to town, If, you know, you guys are ready to go. He will take you to your hotel. He is about to leave, so.."

Victor was watching the whole situation. This dude is on top of everything. This is his town. Nathan has rejoined the group just in time.

"Dude, we got a ride, say goodbye to everyone." I instruct Nathan. He turns on car sales guy and glad hands the crowd. I turn to thank Victor and Liberty for their hospitality and generosity.

"Victor it has been a pleasure to meet you. You and your wife are very lucky. You have found peace. Thank you for everything." Liberty hugs my neck and kisses my check.

"Good bye, Chris Cook. Good luck." Liberty looks me in the eye. Her brown eyes sparkle. "You must come back to visit us." She hugs me again. Then she turns to hug and say goodbye to Nathan.

"Yes, you must come back, Chris," Victor smiles and grabs my hand, "It is a great country. You could do very well here." He laughs from his belly. We shake hands like old friends. I have only known these people for a few hours.

"I have a good job in Dallas, but I will never forget the two of you." The truck honks.

"Thank you."

I grab Nathan and we jump in the truck, which is running and full of Tico's. It takes off before we are seated in the bed. We wave to our host's, as we speed out of sight.

The fresh Mountain air has a sobering effect on me. As the alcohol and cocaine drift off, into the early morning air, I try to regain my senses. My buzz rolls down the mountain and out to the sea. I have been babysitting Nathan for the last two hours. I have been drinking a glass of water between beers for the last two hours. We need a good lie to tell the girls. I shake my head to try and further clear the cobwebs. We can't just show up at five in the a.m. and say "good morning."

"What are we going to tell the girls?" I include Nathan in my desperate search. He sells cars. When you need a good lie, go to an expert.

The truck slows in front of our hotel, so we bail out. I wave to people that I don't know any of their names. Just friendly Tico's out on the town. "Gracias"

Nathan got some of the same sobering breeze that I felt on the ride home. His eyes are clearer and he can complete a sentence, again.

"We tell them we bought some pot and smoked it on the beach." Nathan is working his magic." We got so high, we fell asleep."

"That's not going to work. Do you think they are stupid?" Trudi is not; she won't believe I fell asleep from smoking pot. She has seen me in action. Pot doesn't effect my the same way as it effect most people. I don't get sleepy and droopy eye from weed.

We walk to the beach, in front of our hotel. "We rub some sand on, like we slept on the beach." Nathan grabs sand and begins rubbing in on the seat on his pants.

"We fell asleep." He rehearses.

I stand there watching this surreal scene. I could not think of a better plan, so I reached down and grabbed a handful of cold, wet sand and began rubbing it on my back and butt.

If you can't beat them, join them.

"What the hell. We fell asleep. We fell asleep." I begin to rehearse. This will never work.

The Lie

I slowly open the door to my room. Hoping to find a sleeping Trudi. Both girls are sitting in my room. They pounce.

"Where the hell have you been?" Trudi screams, "It's five o'clock in the morning."

"We smoked some pot and fell asleep on the beach." Nathan lies.

"Yes, we must have fallen asleep." I lie.

"We have been all over the beach looking for you two." Vicki wastes little time shooting down our "stooge like" plan.

"You went looking for us alone? That's real fucking smart." I try to turn the table.

"Where have you been?" Trudi asks again. She had a cheater for a first husband so her mind goes straight to infidelity.

"We meet some people and drank and smoked way to much. We were chilling on the beach and we passed out for a few hours. Why are you so mad? You knew we were going out on the town."

She is not buying any of this. She knows we are not telling the truth. The only reason we are lying is because of Nathan's past drug use. Vicki will leave him if she ever finds out he is doing coke again. But, she is more worried than mad. Trudi is more mad then worried.

I try to help a brother out and I'm on the hot seat. Why did you keep Nathan out so late? Why did you let Nathan do cocaine? You know he has a problem. Why am I in trouble for what Nathan does? One way or the other I'm in the doghouse. That is how my relationship with Trudi is going.

I'm the only one who sees the irony in this. Nathan can do all the coke he wants. He is a victim. I just want to taste the local flavors and they want to boil me in oil.

The confrontation ends with all of them, including Nathan, shaking their heads at me. Vicki and Nathan exit stage right to their room. I know I'm not out of the woods yet.

"Where did ya'll really go?" Trudi ask as soon as she hears their door close across the hall.

"We passed out on the beach." I try to smile to break the tension. She has her arms folded across her pajama top. I go on the offensive. "You went looking for us, dressed like that? You could have been raped, or worse. What were you thinking?"

"We were worried about you. You could have worried about us."

"You were asleep in bed when we left. What should we worry about?"

"You should have come buy to check on us." She was starting to lose the argument so she began to cry. "We never crossed your mind the whole night. Did we?"

What the hell am I suppose say to that? They didn't. I left them as they were going to bed. I didn't think they would come looking for us. Two hot chicks walking alone, on the beach, is a recipe for trouble. They are luck they didn't get jumped. I'm the only one who kept his head and I am the only one on trouble. The girls walked the city unescorted and Nathan vacuumed up an eight ball of coke. I am the bad guy?

Day Ten

The next morning my head pounds like a freight train.

"Get up! We have to have breakfast with Vicki and Nathan." Trudi yells in my face as I sleep.

In the excitement that was last night, I forgot it was Nathan's last night.

When I get down to the table on the first floor, he is saying his good byes.

"Great trip, Cook. We have to do this again." Nathan laughs as we shake hands. He gives me a big old hug, which hurts my head. He is showing his "see we didn't do anything last night" side. I can't hide my pain even though I am wearing sunglasses. I'm hurting and proud.



And with that, Nathan is gone. Vicki rides with him, in the cab, to the bus station. He has to catch a bus back to the ferry, and catch a bus to get back to San Jose. Once at the San Jose International Airport the, stand by rules, are in effect, since we are flying on these comp tickets.

Trudi, sensing my pain, wants to take a walk on the beach after breakfast. I can hardly wait.

I negotiate a twenty-minute hammock nap, just to let the breakfast digest, I insist. I didn't eat two bites of my breakfast. I fed it to the cat so Trudi wouldn't get more suspicious.

Now, I am dangling between two palm trees in a hammock, with a breeze off the ocean, and feel like a truck just hit me. And I have an angry girl friend and one long beach walk, in front of me.

If you gave me the choice between being me and being the lead in a San Francisco community theater version of DOLL'S AND DOLL'S. I swear I will gladly take either lead part.

The breeze can't ease the volcano exploding in my head. I don't know how Nathan ever acquired a taste for the cocaine. I don't know how he does it.

For all Trudi's good qualities, sympathy for me is not one of them. She is going to hold my feet to the fire for taking Nathan out last night. If it sounds like I am getting a raw deal, well welcome to my world. It only gets worse from here.

The Walk

Trudi wakes me from my brief nap. She has packed the backpack, so any hope of this being a short walk fade immediately. I strap on my sandals.

"Dead man walking." I mumble to myself.

We start up the beach to the right of the hotel. This takes us in a southwesterly direction. The Pacific Ocean laps at our feet. Between short stretches of light brown sandy beach, are black volcanic crags of rock that are difficult to cross, we make our way. I have the backpack, now. Trudi is using her hand to help her get through the rocks. It's slightly treacherous. We wade out in the ocean to avoid climbing over some of the dark volcanic rocks.

We had navigated several rock obstacles when clime down one that is larger than any of the others. It goes too far out into the ocean to go around and runs up into the jungle. It is about fifteen feet high. As we clime down the other side, I look to our right and a woman is nude sunbathing in the sand behind her house. Trudi spins her head around to see me looking at the naked woman. I'm still groggy so I am still moving slow. She of course can't wait to blow it out of proportion.

"Why don't you take her picture?" She snaps at me.

"I wasn't looking. I mean I wasn't…Oh, never mind." I see no way out of this one.

Trudi stomps down the beach. Neither one of us is enjoying the beautiful scenery. It's quite sad, actually. Jealousy and distrust has rotted this relationship to the bones. I harmlessly notice a naked woman. What am I suppose to do scratch my eyes out? I give up. I have a bit of an epiphany. I know that I can't make this relationship work; no matter how hard I try.

We walk a mile or so further and I can tell Trudi is getting tired. The beach to this side of the hotel is bland. We were hoping for a waterfall or two. All we found was a naked girl that put me further in the doghouse. Just, my luck.

We walk back to the hotel in silence. The splash of the surf tries to break the tension, to no avail. The naked chick is gone when we pass the house. I breathe a sigh of relief. Trudi glares at me anyway.

We get back to the room and I declare, "I'm going snorkeling."

I figure I am safe with my face in the water. I make my way down to the ocean with my swim goggles. The hotel has a box with fins and snorkels down by the beach shower. Vicki will be back from taking Nathan to the bus station soon. That will take the pressure off of me. Trudi will hide her anger from her sister. She will put on her happy face.

The reef just off of our beach looks like a fish tank at an Asian restaurant. Just hanging face down in the ocean, breathing with the tide, is helping my hangover. The thought of a beer doesn't make me want to barf, so that's an improvement. The fish don't seem irritated by me, which is better than how I am being treated on the shore. The colors of the fish and the reef are invigorating. I am careful not to get too close to the reef. I don't want the wave swells to toss me against the perfect environment. I bob up and down with the waves and just trip on the beauty of nature.

Not to get to deep but, as I briefly mentioned, I am at a cross road in my life. Because I am writing this journal eight years after the trip, I recognize the change I needed and was given. But, as I float in the water, I can only dream of a different life.

My dream is a downtown scene with a new girl and a new job. I can't make out any faces, but things are different in my dream. I change girlfriends faster then I change jobs.

The top of my snorkel droops into the water, as I daydream, and I get a rude saltwater awakening. I cough out the seaweed and water and make my way to shore. A beer will get the salty taste out of my mouth.

Back to the reality of my girlfriend's disgust with me, I hope her sister is back. I like her sister, even if she is untouchable. Trudi will talk to her and that takes the pressure off of me.

I get out of the ocean and rinse off at the shower at waters edge. I stumble back towards the room. I find Trudi and her sister sitting at the hotel bar. They are laughing it up, as I approach. I don't give a damn about their conversation. I politely excuse my self to "wash the sand out of my ass." The girls are not bothered to my crudeness and "what ever" me.

I jump in the shower, change and join the girls at the bar. They are trying to get a plan together for tomorrow, our last day in Montezuma and Costa Rica. Since Trudi and I explored to beach to the west, they thought we should check out the beach to the east. I didn't see an opportunity to slip off and visit Liberty and Victor, so I played along with their plan. All the while, hopeful, I will run into my new friends.

Unfortunately, the girls had a different, less exciting plan. We eat that night at the Hotel, looking over the ocean. The food is good, the beer is cold and Trudi has stopped being pissed at me, for now.

We decide to crash early, to get an early start on tomorrow.

Day Eleven

The next morning I rise at dawn to catch the sunrise. I love to run, in the mornings, but this trip has taxed me. I grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen and sit on the veranda watching the sun come up over the mountains. It is a spectacular scene that I share with myself. The girls are still asleep.

My peaceful morning is not disturbed until I here the shower running in my room. Trudi is awake. I sip my coffee and ponder our future. I love her but it is becoming more like a sister love. I would take a bullet for her but our passion is fleeting and I don't know how to recover the lust. That sparks. I have no answers and I am sure she doesn't either.

Love is a slippery fish. If you grab it, to tightly, it slips threw your fingers. If you hold it to loosely, it drops back into the water. Love is a very fine balancing act. An act, that I have yet to master. I can fall in love at the drop of a hat, but I can't make love stay. That is the key, making love stay.

The girls join me at the breakfast table. The coffee is always served con leche. The breakfast is eggs, beans, rice and bacon. Vicki won't touch the eggs, or the bacon, and I am trying to stay off the red meat. Trudi eats all of our bacon. I can stomach breakfast today, as opposed to yesterday morning, when my stomach was exploding like Arenal.

We pack a backpack with six bottles of water, a few sandwiches, and beer, for me. We head out to the east of the hotel. I get backpack duty. The weather is perfect. Clear blue skies; frame the mountains to our left. There are none of the volcanic crags that blocked our walk to the west. The beach is wide and soft. It doesn't take fifteen minutes before we come across a waterfall. It is fresh water, dropping into a pool, just short of the ocean. The water is cold so we cool off briefly before we explore further to the east.

I stand in the waterfall and let the cool water cascade over me. It is a sensation that one must experience. If you have not let a waterfall drench your body, well you are missing something. The girls cool their feet, as I restore, all of me.

There is so much more beach to explore, that we feel compelled to move on. It doesn't take five minutes to discover another waterfall, if you can discover a waterfall with people already swimming in it.

We turn a corner and there's another waterfall. It's like being in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It seems like a dream. The clear, clean, fresh water cascades from the high cliff, resembling the chocolate room. We stand under the waterfall, together and individuality. The water massages my head and shoulders. It is invigorating, simulating. Uplifting! Revitalizing! You get my drift. I am looking out, threw the waterfall, at the azure Pacific Ocean. What a feeling!

I think this is the ultimate waterfall. We can stay here all day. The girls snap me out of my dream. "Let's go." Trudi yells over the sound of the rushing water.

"Go, Are you f-ing kidding!' I shout back. The waterfall drowns my protest.

I shake the waterfall out of my eyes. Vicki is fifty feet down the beach and Trudi is right behind her. I grab the backpack from the rocks and chase after them. My sandals squish as I walk. My wet t-shirt is plastered against my chest. I pull it off and put across the backpack to dry.

We spent the next hour discovering waterfall, after waterfall. Some of them, are so powerful, we cannot stand under them. Others, we have to walk behind, to continue down the beach, because of their span.

My mind is jelly. I don't know if you have ever had a sensory overload, but I am experiencing one, now. I could travel forever, if I could put this feeling in a bottle. The sights, the sounds, the smells; It is beyond description. My skills as a writer cannot do this justice. The tide is out so we have fresh water lagoons to swim in.



I am at one with the universe. I am eight feet tall and built proof.

A group of travelers are coming up the beach. I notice one of them is carrying a machete. A deadlocked dude is whacking coconuts out of the trees as they approach our perfect waterfall. They have about ten coconuts when they arrive at our party.

Vicki makes the first acquaintance. Soon, introductions are all around. "Machete Guy" is whacking the tops off the whole coconut so everyone can drink fresh coconut milk. I don't like coconut but I try it. The milk is cool and refreshing. Vicki and Trudi love coconut! They ask "Machete Guy" to crack one open so they can eat the fresh coconut meat.

We bask on the rocks and sun like lizards. Drinking our fresh coconuts milk.

One can only take so much of a good thing. The girls have to beat me "sencefull", but, we head back toward civilization. Vicky wants to check her messages. Nathan should have called by now. Letting us know that he has made it home.

We walk back up the beach. Passing all the waterfalls we thought were the "best ever".

"Am I using quotation marks to often," All of a sudden, I can't complete a sentence with out them.

I hate when you are still on vacation, but you can sense the end of your trip. Never, ever utter the words, "I can't believe our vacation is over tomorrow." As soon as you utter those words, your trip is over. You have cut the time off the end of your trip, worrying about your trip ending. Ironic, don't you think? Don't think about the end, enjoy the moment.

The sun is still high, as we walk southwest down the beach. I have to shed my dark blue tee shirt. The girls are starting to wilt from the heat. We are out of cold water. We must have walked ten miles down the beach, this morning, without realizing it. There is one cookie left in the backpack. I eat it.

The girls are walking in front of me. I am strolling and soaking in the scene. Vicki is in a hurry to call home. Trudi is just tired and ready for a nap.

Finally, we splash around a corner, and we are back at the beach, in front of our hotel. The girls call "dibs" on the showers, so, I shower on the beach and dive in to one of the hammocks. The sun is just starting to threaten the horizon and is huge. The colors fade from red to orange to yellow to blue. I am looking at a Van Gogh sunset. All the color is applied with thick and deep brush strokes.

I should run and tell the girls about this fabulous sunset but I am frozen in time. I would miss some of my last sunset in Costa Rica. I am swaying in the cool late afternoon breeze. I wish Trudi would come down and share this with me. I think Trudi has had enough of "Vacation Cook". He is a full volume, ball of fun. Vacation Cook can be a little tough to deal with, for an extended period. I know that may be hard for the reader to see. What, with me telling the story, and all, but I can be crabby, smug, arrogant and shocking.

Back to my sunset. Wow. I am charged with emotion as I swing in my hammock. Trudi is sleeping in our room and won't come down to me and I won't go up to get her. I guess the line in the sand is drawn. This is the sunset of our relationship. Even, if I don't have a full grasp of it yet. We have one thing in common, stubbornness. Not exactly a pillar to build on.

Vacations have a way of cementing or fragmenting a relationship. I am not shucking blame one bit. I am 32 years old, and as obnoxious as any 18 year old. This is not my peak. I am not proud of this fact, I am just being honest with you and myself.

The sun touches the horizon and it becomes a fireball of red and orange. The reflection across the ocean doubles the intensity. I give thanks to my Maker, for giving me this image. I look at my watch and realize I have been in this hammock for almost two hours. We start the journey home tomorrow and we are spending our last few hours apart. Enough said.

The door to my room is locked, so I have to knock. Trudi opens the door with her "one-eyed, I'm asleep" look. It's actually entirely cute. I have a great love, for this woman. She will be a part of my life as long as I live, we just can't get married. It's me, not her.

I knock on Vicki's door. She answers the door with a crinkled forehead and a worry-eyed" look. The same look she had last night when Nathan and I got home late. Nathan is not answering their phone, at home, in Dallas.

"He should be home by now. " Vicki shrieks.

Nathan had to fly home on a buddy-pass. Vicki would go behind the counter to talk with her fellow AA employees. We got lucky flying to Costa Rica. Four people traveling together, on buddy passes, and we got seats together on the flight down. So, I figured Nathan didn't get lucky flying for free, on the way back. He had to wait for a latter flight. No big deal.

"Lets go to town and eat dinner. We can call him again, from town." I try to assure her.

Trudi is putting on her face, as I reenter the room. I strip and jump in the shower.

"Nathan's not home, yet." I tell Trudi.

"I know." She says with some in trepidation. Her lip quivers and her Laura Van Dyke imitation shine threw.

"He's flying stand by, he just got stuck somewhere." I shout from the shower.

She replies but I don't understand. I don't ask her to repeat it.

I walk down stairs as Trudi continues to get ready. Vicki is down in the lobby, still on the phone or on the phone again. I don't bother to ask.

We walk back to the restaurant that the four of us enjoyed so much earlier in the week. The American hosts remembered us and asked why Nathan was not with us.

"He had to go back early" I quickly informed and change the subject to the specials of the day. We eat our dinner in solemn silence. No one wants to think about the future but we can help it.

Vicki works the hotel lobby phone when we return from dinner. No luck, no Nathan. The girls go to bed. I sit on the veranda and finish the beers I have left in the sink. I converted the sink into an ice chest.

Day Twelve

The next morning is off with a bang. At 5:00 am we wake and pack quickly. Vicki try's to call home as we prepare to leave our hotel. I tip and thank the staff in Spanish as we gather in the lobby. We walk quickly to the bus station. Another school bus pulls up and about 15 people scrambles aboard. Man, woman and child bring fish, fowl and dog along. The bus smells like a petting zoo.

We are retracing our tracks back to the San Jose International Airport. A bus ride to Puntatares, from there a ferry across the bay to catch another bus back to San Jose. The girls have booked two rooms at a bed and breakfast in downtown San Jose. By 4:00 pm a cab driver has dropped us off, in front of a cute light green house. We climb the steep stairs with our entire collection of cumbersome luggage. The lobby is typical for tropical; desk, couch, and plants. Trudi and I get our room key and head to our room. Vicki goes straight to the phone in the lobby.

I need a shower. The locals don't seem to sweat that much, but today I have been stuck in two taxis', two crowded buses and one smelly ferryboat; all without air-conditioning. I stink!

"Where the hell is Nathan." Trudi cries, as we unpack.

I don't even bother to answer. That boy has pulled off more disappearing acts the Harry Houdini himself. He would disappear with cocaine; he would disappear with a girl. I can just see Nathan, flying standby, getting seated next to the hottest chick on the airplane, by pure dumb luck. He was a lucky guy. He is probably shacked up with the bitch right now. His wife is worrying herself sick and his f-ing the shit out of some other girl, in some hotel room, somewhere between here and Texas. That's Nathan. I don't know how he does it. Two girls are freaking out with worry, as he is laughing his ass off.

It's about that time that we hear a scream. Trudi and I have a room on the second floor on the backside of the house. Trudi recognizes her sister's agony and runs out of our room. I am still wondering what kind of animal would make such a sound.

I get down the stairs and Vicki is sobbing uncontrollably into Trudi's shoulder.

"What is it?" I ask when I get down the stairs to the hotel lobby.

"Nathan is in jail!" Trudi whispers.

Vicki sobs as though it hurts the second time you here those words, also.

Nathan left a message on their answering machine at their house. We don't know where he is. We don't know why he was arrested. All we know is he is in jail.

The trip is turning south, as we are moving north. It's 4:30 in the afternoon. We leave tomorrow morning from San Juan, Porte Rico, after a plane change in Miami, Florida we fly to Dallas, Texas. It's not going to be a fun day in San Jose. We had planned on going sightseeing this afternoon and evening.

Vicki composes herself and gets back on the phone. Trudi goes up stairs to take a shower. Vicki is calling her mother so her mother so she can try to find out more details. She might have better luck calling on American phone lines. Down here in Costa Rica it takes thirty minutes just to get a busy signal. Vicki is using a phone card and that complicates matters even further. Vicki rattles off the details to her mother.

Now, there is a dude waiting to use the phone, since it is the only phone in the place. He waits patiently. Vicki is a hot chick so he doesn't mind waiting.

"Hi, I'm Chris, sorry this is taking so long." I apologize for Vicki.

"I am Kevin. No worries, dude. It sounds serious." Kevin notices. He has a California accent.

"I think it is." I agree.

He seems like a cool dude. Typical California type, blond hair, dark tan, well dressed. He tells me that he is a location scout for a film company in L.A. That must be a great job. I could dig that job but what are there, three location scouts jobs in the world.

We walk to an Italian restaurant near the hotel that the California dude told us about. The conversation is limited. We all see the end. Trudi and Vicki and I stare at each other, our minds are full of scenarios. We fake our smiles and eat our dinner. Everyone's wondering what the future brings.





Day Thirteen

Things are getting ugly. Vicki is getting more information about Nathan. It's not good news. Because Nathan took one extra day to go home, the American Airlines flight schedule has changed. We are traveling comp, at the end of the Costa Rican travel season. So, American Airline has reduced its direct flights from San Jose to Dallas, Texas. Nathan was routed to Miami, Florida. When he got off the plane, he was arrested. The felony warrant for the rape allegation has finally caught up with him. Nathan's run of good luck has run out. Before we left, his lawyer told him to stay out of Florida, and by a twist of fate, he was sent back to the scene of his alleged crime. He is in the Dade County lock-up. It doesn't get any worse then the Dade, County lock-up. Cubans, Domicans, pirates, drug runners, gangsters, it is the most dangerous place in the states. I don't want to make light of the subject, but he has gone from paradise to hell in twenty-four hours.

Vicki and Trudi are crying. They are taking turns working the one phone in the lobby, simultaneously. I don't know what that means. They are taking turns trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. They call their mother, they call their lawyer, and they call the court.

I am just trying to be supportive. What else can I do? I have one last Cuban cigar that I must smoke. I am standing at the curb, in front of our hotel and at least six cabs slow to pick me up. I finally catch on and move to the top of the stairs. I can hear Vicki on the phone, inside. I rub my face in amazement. This trip has not been boring. My cigar gets my mind racing. Cuban cigars are better then pot. I look back at the last fortnight and it seems like a movie. This can't be happening to us. These things happen in a Sean Penn movie.

===========

We have a plane to catch, as well. Because of the trauma, we didn't unpack. So, we gather our bag in the lobby at noon. I hail a cab and we load up to head to the San Jose International Airport. Vicki has learned that Nathan in fact was arrested on the rape charge. International flights are checked routinely for warrants. Nathan got off of his plane in Miami and was promptly arrested for the alleged rape of his fellow Valpak employee six months earlier. It makes for a solemn flight to Miami. We deplane and sit in the airport where Nathan was arrested, waiting for our flight to Dallas. Vicki needs a phone and Trudi goes with her. I need a drink so I go upstairs to the airport bar. I look out over the airport lobby and I try to imagine what Nathan went through when he got off his plane. It is a scene from a movie. My life is turning to fiction. This is unreal. I slam three rum and cokes just so I can sleep on the flight to Dallas.

We got on every flight without a hitch. Every flight except the one Nathan needed direct to Dallas from San Jose. What are the odds? I sleep like a baby on the flight to Dallas. Trudi's car is at the airport so we don't have to get a cab. I drive us to Lewisville where Vicki and Nathan live, to drop her off. We are all exhausted. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I need a shower and some Mexican food. I have spent two weeks in South America and all I want is Mexican food when I get home.

Exit

Wow, what a vacation!!! How do I sum it all up? I can't write a paragraph or two that would be profound and define the trip and relate it to all my reader life. All I want to say is live your life like you are your own movie. Don't go watch that crap that Hollywood is putting out. If you read this, put it down and go celebrate life. Not mine, your own. Life is short. Make your own movie. Live your own book. Don't live in the dark, stinky movie theater. If you want entertainment, go see it live. Go to the theatre, and go support your local music scene. Don't waste your money on movies.

Everyday can be a movie; you are the writer, the director and the producer. Go live it.