Agosto 28- Septembre 5

I apologize for the extended absence of my stories. My apology is sincere, but only by a small dose because this technological absence was the cause of more adventures and wayfare. I wish I could tell you that I was working very hard on my homework, and in a sense, I was. However, in a classical "homework" way, I have neglected my necessary obligations. My homework was fulfilled in the fashion of: I was talking in Spanish (to the best of my limited ability) thus gaining a better vocabulary and phrase library. The obligated homework gave me a lack of motivation. Though I finished in time to turn in to the lovely, professor Lilia, I only put in the minimal amount of work. Do not fret, my grades will stand powerful. Let me assure you. The assurance will come from the intense amount of enjoyment Lilia gets from my sassy statements in class.

My abstract version of homework has been fulfilled by hanging out with the local Ticos. I have indulged in back to back study sessions with Molly, Richard, and Kenny, which happened to last a very small amount of time. Our study sessions usually evolved into poker parties using kidney beans for currency, junk food overdosing, and pirated movies (actually from the "hastings" of Costa Rica) dubbed in Spanish. Lets just say that Harrison Ford sounds much better with a Latino flare.

To add to my studying, I decided to take a field trip. A quick shout out to all my teachers from my past, koodos to you for successfully planning trips in which we were not forced to hitchhike, loose a member, or miss our mode of transportation. I have no idea how you do it.

September 1: My field trip involved my three amigos: Molly, Spencer West, and Natalie Crisafi. We wanted to venture to the land of Tortugas to see them nesting or hatching. This has been on my Bucket List for years, and I finally had the resources and country to fulfill my life quest. To be honest, because we all know that I am, our trip most definitely started earlier than expected. Let me elaborate. We intended to go to San Jose to purchase our tickets in advance like advised. Our mistake was asking Richard to take us. I need to explain to you who have not traveled to Costa Rica or to other countries out of the United States. Americans are very greedy with our time. We are early, on time, or no later than 15 minutes late. Here, there is such thing as "Tico Time." Tico Time is whenever the heck they feel like showing up. Because of the unavoidable culture, we did not get our tickets at noon. So, we went to San Jose at night. Number one on the "not to do in the USAC gringo guide" that we disobeyed. Number two was employing a pirate taxi to get to the third bus station that was not ours. Number three was walking around San Jose at night to find our hidden destination. The list will continue later in the adventure.

Ticket Update: Closed. Yes, closed. In our cluster cuss of a journey to the bus stop we missed the open ticket window by 12 minutes. So we were forced to leave early from our class on Friday to hustle buns down to get our noon o'clock tickets.

September 2: Ticket Update: Full. Yes, Full. We resorted to the next bus two hours away. We ate yummy, unidentifiable food at a restaurant called SNAX. Following was our six hour bus ride. Can I rant for two seconds of your time and say that I have extreme motion sickness that was severely intensified for the duration of the six hour bus ride. The intensity was climaxed when the bus hustled at a good 50-60 mph through construction and the typhoon that struck. There was enough water to supply us Idahoans for a year in a matter of an hour. The sky was restless as continuous thunder and lightning never ceased. We hydroplaned for a significant amount of seconds to be beyond concerning and passed anywhere from one to five cars/trucks at at time! Motion Sickness Extravaganza.

We arrive in Nicoya three hours passed the last bus to Nosara. So we employ a taxi with two Canadian lovers. We fit the lovers, the four of us, Spencer's two cousins (David and Elizabeth), plus the driver, in our 7 passenger vehicle. The taxi dropped us off in a little town Samara where we were able to find a $10 hostel to lay our heads in questionable sanitation for the night. The night ended with Violation number four: leaving our belongingsalone in a tree so that we could streak down the deserted beach. Don't worry, mom, it was only girls and the boys were not present. Regardless, Spencer's flip-flops were stolen. We collected the rest of our belongings that the dumb dumb didn't take (like our clothes, wallets, keys, and cameras). Emphasis on the dumb dumb. We made our way back to the hostel watching the lightning illuminate the night sky across the oceans horizon. Beautiful.

September 3: The morning came bright and early. We swam in the ocean and played on the beach. We luckily checked the bus schedule just in time to hose down, pack our things and cram into yet again, another taxi. Tico Time brought out bus an hour late. We hopped on with the other million other travelers. We were forced to stand/ spoon with each other due to the beyond maximum occupancy held within the barely functional bus.

We got off the bus at "cinco puntos", walked down the cute little gravel path, and found our glorious hostel by the name of "Almost Paradise." Perfect! I had bargained ahead of time to get a discount room for us. How a hostel works is by head. You pay for yourself to have one bed in a dorm with as many other travelers join you in the bunks surrounding yours. Want to hear the best news? We were the only travelers checked into Almost Paradise! We had our own room, balcony, and hotel to ourselves; for the price of uncomfortable, squishy admission. The Hostel was on the top of the hill above the beach, blessing us with a fantastic view for hundreds of miles of ocean. We had not a care in the world as we walked, swam, and rock climbed on the beach. We found enough sea shells to use as currency for hours of poker.

Back to reality. We needed tickets in advance to get back on the only bus leaving Nosara on Sundays. So we asked Stephan, the German man from Berlin who hosted Almost Paradise, how to get to Nosara since we were about three KM away. This is the best part. We took his advice, headed down the mountain, and stuck out our Virgin little thumbs. You are correct, we hitch-hiked our butts all over Nosara the entire weekend. Before you freakout, mom, this is a cultural thing. Everyone does it. The only people who can get across the flooded roads are big ATVs and Land Rovers. Since we didn't have possession of either, we had to fall into the cultural experience. We got out tickets hitch-hiking with a cute little couple who escaped the normalicy of the U.S. and a farmer on the way home. Then we hitch-hiked to dinner with a regae jewelry maker who promised to take us to see the turtles nesting. We enjoyed delicious fish, margaritas, and free bats at the local restaurant called Tico Ranchero. Yes, I said bats. They fly in and out and around you as you shovel the fantastically fresh "from this morning" fish in your watering mouth. Delicious.

Following dinner, was a untranslatable conversation in Spanglish with the waitress in hopes of getting directions to the turtles. Come to find out, the turtles lay behind the flooded river that ceased my dream about to come true. Hurt and frustrated, Molly summoned me over to the bar to find a sack of ..... eggs? Eggs! Turtle eggs, in fact. The locals were taking shots of alcohol, Tabasco, and turtle eggs! I freaked! Not only were they eating them, but they really existed! I asked the man who brought them where he found them and if he could get us there. All in my limited Spanish. I was frustrated because I couldn't communicate properly and because the entire bar was laughing uncontrollably because of my lack of Spanish talent. The best part was that the man spoke English. All that effort for nada. I slammed my head on the bar both in frustration and humiliation. Humiliation that I didn't know Spanish and that I was the only one who didn't know that he spoke it. Leon was his name. He told us to meet him outside out Hostel at 5 am tomorrow morning so he could take us. Sadly, Leon probably had too much to drink that night and forgot because he broke my heart and stood me up. No turtles.

I fell asleep in my broken hammock to the sound of Howler Monkeys and lightning in the distance across the ocean horizon. Happiness.

September 4: No turtles. However, we were content with our:
Great German breakfast.
Great beach photography.
Great mangos the size of my head.
Not so great motion sickness.

Home safely.