Wednesday, December 29, 2010

puerto viejo de talamanca

We decided, sporadically, to venture to the Caribbean side of Costa Rica for a weekend. Despite my lack of money, I was wealthy with adventure. It took several hours of bumpy bus rides before we found ourselves face to face with the Caribbean coast. We arrived in the evening without reservations, a map, or any idea of where we were going to stay. The second we disembarked from our bus, there were several people trying to sell us various accommodations. The one I chose to pay attention to was a kid – probably 19 or 20 – shoeless, pants rolled up, leaning against a rickety beach cruiser that was supporting an empty 40 of pilsen in the front basket. His English was impeccable. He invited us to stay at crocodile surf camp, a hostel of beach bungalows right on the sand, no more than 15 feet from the water. On our walk there, he talked casually as he steered his bike. He walked calmly, without concern but with purpose. It turns out that he was Costa Rican, but he had been raised in New York until he was 14. He moved back to Puerto Viejo for awhile after graduating from photography school. At this point, every bar was boasting loud music and groups of happily intoxicated locals and tourists. The streets were flanked with many open-air thatched roofed bamboo buildings. I was greeted enthusiastically by kebab stands on every corner, live music hanging in the air, and more Rastafarians than I had ever seen in my life.

I couldn’t help but ask him a question – I’ll blame the lure of reggae and the sweet perfumed smell of roasting meat – 

I lowered my voice, “Do you know where we can get any weed?” 

He laughed. “Claro! I got you covered. We grow our own at the camp.”

I spent the next two days riding a beach cruiser through the narrow streets, picnicking on the shore, and experiencing prolonged enlightenment from the soft cradle of my swinging hammock (all of my arcane discoveries confirmed by the euphonious whisper of the waves lapping against the sand).
The most exquisite image of paradise I would have been able to conjure up a year ago was nothing in comparison to that weekend. 









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