Costa Rica Unplugged: Homeward Bound

Jackie forgot to turn off her alarm the day we were scheduled to return to L.A. No surprise there. Before she moved to So Cal to attend grad school, her phone rang uninvitedly during the weekends she came to visit, torturing me in the room we shared at my parent's house while she slept through multiple alarms. Whispering to her across our twin beds didn't wake her, neither did talking. What were supposed to be serene ocean sounds emitting from her phone sounded like tsunamis to me. I screamed at her in a fury to turn her cell off at which point she proceeded by yelling back at me. She claimed it was not her fault she couldn't hear the alarms because she was asleep.

But I wasn't mad that morning in Costa Rica because I had forgotten we were headed home. I thought it was another wonderful guided day full of activities and sightseeing. I opened my eyes and saw the sunlight framing the curtained window past the fluffy comforter over my face. I was taken aback when I could not recall the itinerary for the day. My mind was blank. I could not remember what I planned on wearing either. I always left my clothes out to speed through my morning routing but no image of a pre-planned emsemble came to my head. It was obviously sunny out, a rarity in the Central American country, but welcomed nonetheless. It wouldn't have taken me long to put an outfit together but I didn't know how much time we had before meeting in the lobby. I began to worry. Why couldn't I recollect anything? It was unlike me to be unprepared. And then it hit me: We were going home!

There was no itinerary because our guided tour of Costa Rica had ended. I hadn't planned an outfit the night before because I was going to have plenty of time to do so while I reorganized my suitcase that morning. And there was no gathering time set because the tour guide was officially on vacation and very deservedly sleeping in. 

Panic set in. My heart beat fast. My temperature rose. Images of a school and teachers and kids invaded my head. I grew more anxious. I had to be at work in four days and I absolutely was not ready to return. I wanted the money and the benefits but didn't want to have to work for any of it. I remembered fighting Jackie about the number of days this vacation was planned for before booking it. I told her I didn't want anything longer than seven and there I was, on the verge of tears on day 14 because I had to fly back to reality, to my adult life as a single, thirty-something teacher living in the tiniest one bedroom apartment anyone has ever seen. 

My breathing was shallow. I felt nervous. My head was heavy. Had I not been laying down I would have had to sit. I didn't want to leave. I wasn't ready to leave the beautiful green country of Costa Rica with the edible food, rare animals, and tour guide to show me the most popular places to see. I was scared. I feared I wouldn't be able to be a functioning human being again after having experienced the celebrity treatment for the past two weeks. It cost me over two grand to be fed and be driven around but I would prefer it no other way.  

Yet I had to get up. Jackie, surprisingly, had beat me and was already packing. I told her I had just suffered a panic attack and she calmly agreed that I probably had. 

Around 8:30, we hauled our luggage one last time through the halls of our San Jose hotel to the lobby. We bumped into our guide-turned-friend (he didn't sleep in after all) and two friends from England. We had breakfast together one last time before saying our final goodbyes. 

Final traditinal Costa Rican breakfast.

Our friend's flight was about an hour before ours so Jackie and I agreed to share a taxi with them. After hugs went around for our new favorite Costa Rican local, we loaded a mini van where our journey home began.

Even at the airport, I was still in denial that I was homeward bound. The four of us lined up and paid our taxes/fees and then Jackie and I went one way to get our airline ticket while our English counterparts went another to do the same. We chose not to bid each other farewell yet because we were going to see each other one last time at the terminal. 

No surprise, we never said our formal goodbyes to our smart and awesome English friends (a doctor and a techie, come on). I blamed it on our airline who made us stand in line for over an hour for our tickets and bag check-in. Then the customer service rep also informed us that our flight had been delayed an hour. Our friends were probably in the plane by the time we were done dealing with the front desk. At least, because of the inconvenience, Jackie and I were given two food vouchers. I recalculated the amount of time we would have in Miami before our connecting flight to LAX and it wasn't much. As the eldest, I made the wise decision to have lunch even though it felt like we had just eaten. Otherwise, we'd have to survive off breakfast for another 12 hours. As I waited to place my order, I told Jackie we had enough for a meal and dessert (it's the little things that make me happy). Undecided, Jackie sat at a table, reserving a spot for us in the chaotic terminal. 

I was next in line when I heard a loud rumbling above. I didn't think anything of it. I was in an airport, after all. Planes flew above, near, and around the structure. Planes were noisy and big, thus causing roaring thundering sounds. But the vibrations didn't stop. Instead, they intensified. And kept increasing until I was sure that it was not an airplane causing the rattling but an earthquake. The cooks and cashiers stopped moving. The people in the cafeteria froze and held on to their stuff. Me, I searched for Jackie amongst the other heads sitting and standing in my line of vision. When I pinpointed her, she wasn't even looking my way. She was amused by the panicked folks. I wanted her to lock eyes with me, though, because I wanted us to be able to run to each other in case the tremor grew, otherwise, my mom would never forgive me if I lost her in Costa Rica. But the earth calmed down. The girl that was supposed to take my order was utterly terrified. Her manager or coworker comforted her by holding her in his arms while I waited eagerly for her to get my food. 

"I'm from Los Angeles," I told her when she finally composed herself, tears still visible on her cheeks. "We experience these all the time."

But she didn't want to talk earthquakes. She simply punched Margherita Pizza into the machine and took my voucher. I waited with Jackie as we discussed what had happened. Then I took her place while she waited in line for the exact same thing. 

Before we boarded our flight, we stopped to pick up a Cinnabon each with the left over value in our vouchers. We also Googled the magnitude of the quake and it turned out to be a good shake, about 4.2. 

It was funny how much safer I felt in the plane than I did on the ground. Jackie and I talked about that for a bit as we flew to Miami. If an earthquake struck Miami or L.A. at that very moment, we would be out of harm. We never would have felt any shaking or fear. But we were aware of the equally threatening situation we found ourselves in. I still did not know how airplanes worked. I had no idea how they stayed in the air with passengers and luggage to weigh them down. I only knew they could fall easily, and I hated rides that came straight down really fast.

In Miami, we took care of all the formalities that comes with international traveling. Before heading towards our connecting and final flight to Los Angeles, the Customs Agent took my passport and asked me why I was so serious.

"I am," I asked him. "Maybe I'm just tired."

Jackie clarified immediately after that he had been flirting with me. I felt cheated. I hadn't even noticed. I told her he hadn't done a very good job if I hadn't realized he wanted my attention. 

Five hours later, we landed on home turf. Our parents were on their way, my mother anxiously awaiting our return. Jackie and I, on the other hand, only wanted to return to Costa Rica. But life went on. Work had to be completed so money could be saved for future getaways such as this one. That was the cruel little joke about living. It was composed of all types of experiences and feelings. And the emotions we felt close to midnight that day were those of fleeing, as you can see in the picture below. Instead of descending the staircase to claim our luggage, Jackie turned back around. 

Pura Vida! 

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 12

I thought my last tour day in Costa Rica would be the saddest but it was not. I did not yet know that my despair would set in twenty-four hours later. Nonetheless, the trip came full circle as we rode back to San Jose where it all started. I don't remember anything about the ride except arriving to our original hotel. It felt all too familiar, like I was home, until I was asked how I was going to pay for the room that night. I had gotten accustomed to being handed keys and walking to my lodge for the day or two. Having to use my credit card again after a couple of weeks was the first sign that the end was near and reality creeping right along side it.

Our guide threw out names of restaurants and night clubs we could all enjoy as friends that evening (instead of tour guide and passengers, he made sure that was very clear) when we were still in the shuttle. Those like Jackie and myself flying out the following morning met in the lobby and took one final stroll together down the dark and empty streets of the main city on a Wednesday night. 

We settled on Peruvian and it turned out to be the best, most delicious meal we had in Costa Rica. My group took up an entire private room where I immensely enjoyed my chicken chaufa while we chatted, laughed, and picked at one of the girls' deep sea dishes where we pretended the tentacles were human fingers accidentally left behind by a crime scene. 

Last dinner. 

Since our driver was off duty and en route to his family, we hailed taxi cabs immediately after to one of San Jose's most popular clubs. The drinks were cheap and tasty in contrast to the music selection. I never figured out the theme of that club. The workers appeared to be into the rock/alternative scene yet the DJ only played hip hop. With a giant screen displaying the matching music videos, I bounced to the rhythm of Iggy and Pitbull as I watched people pour in in leather jackets. 

"Bienbebidos."

The place looked more like an art gallery than a club. There was a staircase that led to a long balcony upstairs with large canvases hanging ranging from paintings to portraits to mixed media. Jackie and I had a couple of drinks but didn't get sucked into the atmosphere. The club in Monteverde where I met Rico Suave had set the standard too high and no other similar establishment was ever able to come even close in musical selection or ambiance. When we accepted that the fun we had had would not be replicated there, Jackie and I left, sharing a cab with two others, and closed out our last night in Costa Rica. 

Dead scene at the club. Just us. 

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 11

The catamaran was the most expensive of the optional activities to choose from. It wasn't part of my original plan but Jackie convinced me because it was to be the last recreation we did together as a group. I was never worried about the boat ride; I felt I was a pro at riding through waters because of my experiences on this trip. I was actually excited for it, anxious for the ocean views and watching people splash in the water since I personally don't know how to swim. Little did I know it was going to be the least rewarding for me.

Before I got sick.

I was doing just fine at the beginning when the catamaran left the shore. But the further out it got, the more it rocked. I hadn't anticipated that at all. And that's how my sea sick journey began. 

I started taking deep breaths and focusing on certain objects to maintain a low level of sickness. I watched everyone walk to and from the bar and various viewing corners where dolphins and sea turtles were spotted from (had my camera still been functional, I would've captured the amazing shots, I'm sure). But I remained frozen to the hard plastic bench. The sweet alcoholic beverage didn't help me at all and I asked Jackie to grab me a soda or beer instead. The fizz in my drink helped a little but by the time the boat came to a complete stop, I was working hard not to throw up.

Do you see the turtle waving? My phone has terrible zoom so I didn't even bother. 

Some of the folks chose to snorkel and the crazies jumped from the second floor. I attempted to watch but the soft waves made it impossible for me. I slowly descended three steps to the bottom floor where the restrooms were hoping for some relief for my stomach and head. After struggling in the tiny compartment, I knew I was about to become a big baby by laying down. I had seen some girls sunbathing in one of the ends of the boat so I walked to the uncovered area where the mesh hammocks were. Positioning my body just feet above the water face up, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. I was alone for very few minutes before more girls decided to tan, including Jackie who annoyingly laid next to me. 

Lunch was announced soon after. I was hungry but didn't know how much my stomach could withstand. The meat reminded Jackie and me of carne asada but it was actually fish. I was worried. Sea sick + fish = no bueno. I picked at my fish kabob and pasta salad. Slowly but surely, the food consumption made me feel better. I didn't clean my plate but I at least my head felt clear again.

I still breathed deeply on our way to the dock but it wasn't as nearly as bad as riding out there. We waited for a bit for our shuttle and then Jackie and I changed for our Manuel Antonio National Park hike scheduled after we got back. 

I was excited for the hike because I was going to be inside a national park. But I was so sad that I didn't have my camera. I put on my big girl pants and did what my counselor taught me. I accepted that my baby was dead and that I had no choice but to try to make the best with what my phone was capable of. 

Park entrance.

Can you spot the little guy? No? That's because this was taken with my stupid phone.

Can you see the squirrel monkey against the sunlight? I tried, I really tried.

I was disappointed when we reached the end in less than an hour. At that point, our guide let us explore the beach on our own. Jackie and I hung around for about another hour, setting foot inside the forest just enough to make us want to go back again someday and explore the entire thing. 

Most beautiful park I've seen.

Can someone Photoshop that lady out?

Ascend...

Descend.

Jackie and I left when the sky was completely grey. It also turned out to be closing time. The rain came down as soon as we exited the park. I put on the hat I'd towed to protect me from the sun but it turned out to be waterproof too. We were soaked through when we arrived to our hotel room. Jackie and I relaxed a bit, showered, had dinner, and then headed out with the group to another local club further inland. Our Caribbean flare came out that night and we danced until the wee hours of the morning. 

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 10, Part 2-- A Bumpy Ride

I was heartbroken over my camera, so much so that I didn't want to take part in any more activities. We had horse back riding and a catamaran trip to complete still and I didn't have anything potent enough to capture those moments except my phone. But I didn't trust its grainy pictures to do my memories justice. And I didn't trust myself with my cell in my hands without a cord to secure it around my wrist. 

But the show had to go on. I now had to make sure my phone was fully charged at all times for the next three days, at least. I took a deep breath and told myself it would be okay. 

As Mexican as I am, I had never ridden a horse. I was looking forward to it since Jackie said it was a calming experience in the beaches of Mexico. But I was afraid. My horse was big and tall like me. The distance to the ground was great and I anticipated only hard falls. 

Me, on a horse! (Compliments of Jackie's new Samsung)

The ride started on a paved road. It was hard putting all my weight on the stirrups to stay upright the way the owner had instructed. Occasionally, my horse would take off after others, making me land hard on my tail bone. I started to like galloping until I felt the chafing developing on my thighs and inside calves. Trotting helped us reach the forest quick. There, we replaced the asphalt with a mud infested stream. 

Poor horses. The muck was a foot deep. A few of them ahead of us slipped and slid, looking like cheerleaders doing synchronized splits. At one point, my horse trotted too close to a rock wall and I scraped my elbow. Sometimes we didn't anticipate the mud being so much that, horse and all, we almost fell forward. I saw myself landing on my back in the mustard-colored sludge with a couple of dozen horses trampling me thereafter. 

We went on like that for an hour until we reached the promised waterfall. I was glad to leave the mud behind and see a clean stream for the horses to wash their legs and feet in. But their priority was not their limbs but to quench their thirst. The horses gulped down water as we parked and got off. Our guides also provided us with water and cookies. After a short break, we hiked through a wet rocky path towards the cascade. There, some girls stripped to their bathing suits and played in the water as they posed for pictures. 

I scoped out a good rock to sit on, a good rock to envy the girls in their fit and hairless bodies from, when my waterproof shoes betrayed me. I slipped and landed on my bum, hard. A few of the group members saw my misfortune and politely asked if I was okay. I really was, although my ego was as bruised as my butt. Between horseback riding and falling on a rock, I did not know how I'd be walking later that night. 

The ranch owner we had borrowed the horses from came to my side and sat next to me. He knew I was Mexican based on my Spanish accent, he said, and the proceeded to ask me a few general questions. He was so kind that I wanted to take him with me so he could be my grandpa. He was proud of me for being a teacher and then shared a bit about how he acquired his ranch. Then he stood up and ordered it was time to head back. 

The pain was unbearable on the way back. My butt was sore, along with my inner thighs. I didn't know which position hurt less, sitting on the saddle or riding standing up. Drizzle turned into light rain and we were done riding horses emotionally. Usually coming back from a destination feels faster than getting there. Not this trip. The discomfort was intolerable. I don't know why I didn't get off and walk side by side my horse. 

Eventually we did arrive, soaked and exhausted. We washed up and were served dinner by ladies in an outdoor kitchen. The beating had us famished and most of us devoured our food in just a few minutes. The ride back to the hotel was almost silent. We would have knocked had the road not been so bumpy to rock us to sleep. 

*          *          *

P.S. That night we went to a local club invaded by American tourists. Drinks were a dollar but the DJ sucked and the selection of men was nonexistent. Bored, we left prematurely without having gotten our groove on. 

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 10, Part 1-- A Wet Goodbye

Jackie and I had nothing planned that morning in San Manuel Antonio. The brave ones went canyoneering at sunup but we had opted out. Months before, during a hike in Forest Falls in the San Bernardino mountains, I watched as three people descended the waterfall. It was late afternoon. The air had started to cool. Two females and one male came down directly underneath the downpour. I imagined myself in their wet shoes--unable to catch my breath, incapable of seeing through the water rushing down my eyes and face, and tensing up due to the cold. No thank you. That was one activity I could live without ever partaking in, especially after I saw how banged up the crew arrived hours later. Their knees and elbows where scraped and bled. I could only imagine how well canyoneering would have turned out for me after my contacts washed away.

With the first half of the day to ourselves, Jackie and I walked to the dining area behind the pool in our pajamas 30 minutes prior to closing time. There, we found a less adventurous group like ourselves (or broke, at that point) at a table. We filled two empty seats and shared our plans until we went horse back riding in the afternoon. Most of them were ready to head to the beach and Jackie and I agreed to meet them there as soon as we changed.

What was supposed to be a quick wardrobe switch-- bathing suit, cover up, sun block, hat-- turned into an hour because Jackie decided to blow dry her hair. 

"What are you doing," I snapped. "We're going to the beach. The sun will dry your hair."

But the sun would not be able to scrunch or add volume to her curls, she said.

By the time Her Majesty was ready, our peers were coming back. We bumped into three of them halfway down the street. I was mad. The point had been to hang and sunbathe with them, drink and have good conversations with friends. I was now stuck with my sister, the person I was getting upset with at the speed of one exasperation per hour.

"You guys done already," I asked with the most desperate and disappointed inflection I could form to convince them to turn back.

"The beach is too sandy," one of the girls said.

I stared at her stupefied. Yep, I thought, the beach would be sandy. I thought you knew that.

"It's too hot," she then said, using her hand to fan herself, "so I'm going to go to the pool."

We bid each other farewell and went about our day. As we continued our walk, I fidgeted with my towel hanging over my bag. Jackie caught sight of it and said, "My towel, I forgot my towel."

Oh hell no, I thought.

"You don't need it, we'll share," I said, using everything in my power to get to the beach pronto.

But she insisted. I explained I wasn't going to walk back with her so I handed her the room key. I hoped that by sending her off alone she'd hurry. While I stood in the middle of the road, I messaged her best friend. I needed advice. I had to know how she managed to get my sister out in a timely manner when they vacationed together. She told me to breathe and enjoy the rest of my trip. 

The sole purpose of heading to the beach in the first place was to complete our end of a deal. Jackie's friend (has now become my friend too) Fransisco has a sister in Hawaii that makes the cutest cover ups. Knowing we were Central America-bound, he gave us each the summer must-have under the condition that we be photographed in them for his sister's website. 

Like a true Mexican, I never intended to accept his gift for free. My goal the entire trip was to capture beautiful pictures in Fransisco's sister's creation. I took my sandals off when we reached the sand, ready to scope out the perfect location. As we walked across the beach towards the water, I realized the warmth I felt under my feet was more than that. I had actually burned them, something I'd never managed to do in California. My soles only felt relief in the water where I quickly put my sandals back on. 

Jackie caught me assessing the damage.

The Pacific Ocean...

...from Costa Rica!

We spotted one of our girls lounging under an umbrella. We walked towards her and she volunteered taking our picture before we continued our scavenger hunt.

To the left of the beach, we spotted what looked like a little jungle island. There were few people coming down a stone staircase that reminded us of the L.A. staircase hikes we'd done with friends back home. We waded through the water to get to the vegetation where unbeknownst to me, I would leave a piece of my heart. 

Our hiker instincts took us up the stairs where my slippery sandals made it hard get a grip and balance. I was thankful the steps ended at the short distance to the top because I didn't feel confident walking with burnt feet and shoes without traction.

Probably the only selfie I have never erased.  

As we descended, a family that had been taking pictures amongst large rocks packed up and left. Jackie and I rushed to that picture-perfect spot for our shooting. We hung our bags from a naked branch in a neighboring tree and I put my camera in Jackie's hands. As she prepared, I walked to a boulder in the water trying to muster as much confidence as my sister always did when there was a contraption with the ability to take her photograph in front of her. I posed for what I thought would make good shots but Jackie corrected and directed. 

With combined efforts, we achieved this, the only frame that didn't show my lonja, or roll.

I can only stand someone snapping away at me for so long. If they can't capture what they want with a few shots, they probably won't. So when I was over it, I walked to Jackie to critique the images. I hated most of them because, even though I thought I sat up straight and sucked in my stomach, my imperfections were visible. Seeing my disappointment, Jackie sent me back to the scene. She wanted me posed in front of the other rock. Trusting her photographic skills, I followed orders. 

Second decent shot.

The water made the ground very unstable. The current moved the sand so much in certain areas that it was swept from under my feet and created holes that almost made me fall. Luckily I remained upright thanks to the rock walls I used to hold or lean on. The waves kept coming while Jackie kept shooting. She yelled orders at me and I tried my best to follow them. I remained vertical by finding new ground to stand on constantly. In one of those unstable moments, I looked over at Jackie and found her bent over a rock. I didn't think anything of it except that I noticed water dripping from my camera lens in her hand.

"Why is my camera wet," I demanded to know.

"The water knocked me over," she said, her voice getting higher as she finished that sentence.

Water droplet in my picture. The beginning of the end. 

My camera took over my mind as I swooshed as fast as I could to get to her. I thought it had only been the tip of the lens that had kissed the ocean but my entire camera was soaked. I instinctively snatched it out of Jackie's lousy grip and smacked the water out of it the way a doctor slaps a newborn to make it cry, at least the way they do in the movies. Then I proceeded to the tree, grabbed my towel, and padded it dry. I could hear Jackie apologizing behind me, repeating it was an accident. I knew in my heart it was but that didn't mean I wasn't allowed to be angry. I just wished she wasn't as clumsy as she was. 

I was attempting to save my precious memory maker-- blowing droplets out of crevices, slapping water out of gaps, and sticking my towel in far to reach places-- when I heard, "Aren't you going to take a picture of me?"

I paused my operation to see exactly what Jackie wanted me to take a picture of. She was sitting in the exact spot on the boulder I had begun the shooting.  I shot her a look similar to that of a mother who has just come face to face with her child's killer and knows she's about to avenge herself. How dare you ask me that question after what I have just been through, I thought. You killed her and you you still expect me to use her for your entertainment? As calmly as I possibly could, without snapping and sounding deranged, I said, "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm too busy trying to save my camera." 

I unhooked my purse from the branch on the tree and left her.

Camera, taking pictures without my consent.

I reached the other side when Jackie screamed behind me, "Are you going to leave your sandals here?"

I felt so stupid. I thought I had executed my furious maneuver so eloquently, leaving Jackie behind to wallow in her guilt, only to have karma stop me in my thoughtless tracks. I knew giving my camera a dip was an accident but the sentence she uttered last drove me over the top. How could she be so selfish, was all that repeated inside my head. The least she could do is bring my shoes to me on her way back.

Like an idiot, I splish-splashed back to the jungle-island, picked up my sandals, and waded to the main beach again. I frantically searched for a place to sit to continue to operate on my camera when I found a fallen tree trunk. I set my folded towel over it and proceeded to save my picture maker. Jackie, meanwhile, gave me a piece of her mind when she set her stuff down on the sand to relax the way we were meant to that morning. I hated her for appearing so carefree, laying on her towel in her teeny bikini with no worry for any body fat spilling out of it. My camera brought me back to reality as it took its last breaths. It turned on and off on its own, zoomed in and out, and captured some last shots without the press of a button, including this one:

Yep, that was Jackie taking a selfie while all I wanted to do was strangle her. 

That's when I opened the tiny door that housed the memory card and took it out. I dried the diminutive piece of plastic and put it away in a safe compartment in my purse. I hoped and prayed that the pictures I had taken during the past ten days would be safe. I gave up on my camera after a few minutes. I accepted I had lost her forever. All I could do was hold tightly to that memory card and pray that it would work when I got home. 

The girls had been right, it was too hot. Jackie and I packed our stuff a short time later and headed back. But not before one final stroll.

We walked around the edge of the beach, closest to the foliage, searching for a crocodile. I had calmed down a bit and for the umpteenth time, Jackie apologized. I accepted her apology and shared a private sentiment. The day was July 21st, the exact day I had decided seven or eight years before to marry my then boyfriend. Back then, he thought I was crazy. He didn't see the point in waiting so long to merge our lives when we had already been together for a couple of years. But the truth was that I didn't trust him. I was giving him time to change and me, time to believe, confide, and rely on him again. It was also exactly a year since I had ended said relationship. 

"I was supposed to marry him today," I said in my softest voice ever. "Maybe that's why all these bad things are happening, like a curse."

Using her MSW rhetoric, she assured me that the end of a saga for my camera was unrelated to the date. She said I couldn't attach negative thoughts to July 21st because just like all the others, it was just another random day of my exhilarating life. 

Deep In Thought. (Copyright @ Jackie's cell phone)

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 9

Jackie was not just hung over in the morning, she was still blacked out. Her alarm went off but, as always, it didn't wake her. Instead, it scared me and all of the occupants in the hotel wide awake. She had crashed out in her dress and heels, just as we had gone out the previous night and for all intents and purposes, appeared ready to head out again. Somehow, she had also managed to throw the comforter over her body sometime during the night. I don't know if I woke her long enough to make her to turn the phone off or if I did it myself.

Since I was already awake, I got up to use the restroom. In my grogginess, I noticed we'd run out of toilet paper a little too late. I remembered seeing extra rolls in the cabinet outside so I screamed at Jackie. Once, twice, three times to no avail. I pulled up my pants, walked outside, grabbed the paper, and finished what I'd started. I was so mad that I decided not to wake her. If you don't know me, you might have thought, Aw, what a nice girl, letting her little sister sleep in. If you do, you should have figured out that I was executing an evil plan: leaving Jackie little prep time before our departure. Muah ha ha.

Meanwhile, I took my sweet time packing. I stepped outside onto the balcony to collect clothes I'd left out to dry. When I was done I relaxed, for once, on the patio chair. I checked my email as I basked in the sun and was shocked to see an email from Rico Suave so soon. After an irritating morning, he was the first one to put a smile on my face that day.

I replied a typical, flirtatious message, somewhere along the lines of, "I'm not easily attracted to someone but you managed to get my attention..." yadda yadda yadda. After I clicked Send, it was time to wake Jackie. There were ten minutes left before breakfast was served. She'd have to scarf her food down, if she could at all, before we were scheduled to load the bus. I called her name but she didn't even flinch. I was left no choice but to walk to her bed. I shook her but she was a rock. I placed my palms on the bed next to her body and made it bounce. That's when she finally stirred. She opened her eyes, looked at me, searched for the time, and yelled at me for allowing her to over sleep. I recounted everything from the alarm to the toilet paper to now, grabbed my bags, and left.

Jackie and I always made up on the shuttle. We never discussed the incidents that infuriated me and made her curse me out. We simply put the occurrences behind us and kept moving forward. That was my strategy from the beginning. My failed relationship taught me there was no point in staying mad if a) nothing was discussed or b) something wasn't learned. I had already spent too much time holding grudges or giving the silent treatment to my ex, moments full of potential happiness we could have used to make memories instead. I swore I would never again resent such people but rid of them completely. For goodness sake, I was in Costa Rica. I was with my sister. It was our first international trip together. Occasionally we drove each other crazy but as long as our views were understood, we would keep enjoying our journey together. (I hope I'll be able to move on that easily with my next mate...)

We hit the road and headed towards the place the girls had intended to vacation for the entire 12 days in the first place: the beach! We were bound for San Manuel Antonio and we were in love with it before we even arrived. We got a sneak peek of the warm, sunny, dry weather a few hours before we even saw water when we made a food and restroom pit stop. We thawed as soon as we descended the steps in the bus and broke a sweat while we waited for our group to buy ice cream and fruit drinks. We missed the warmth when we were back in the shuttle and were eager to arrive and stay put for the next three days.

Although cloudy, it was still humid in San Manuel Antonio. Jackie and I hauled our luggage to the second floor and fell in love with our room. It was covered in windows which let a lot of sunshine in. But our favorite part was the kitchenette. Jackie wanted to go to the convenience store right away to stock up and have a party. So we dropped our stuff and headed to the beach.

We literally walked two blocks to capture a different view of the Pacific than we were used to. The street was aligned with shops and eateries and those pesky American tourists our guide had warned us about.

Dinner was scheduled for the evening but we were ready to grab a bite. Jackie, who always craves ethnic food, wanted to try the local Thai place. A couple from our group was already dining there and bought us drinks. We took in the views of the ocean and the people before heading back to change for dinner.

My favorite captured monkey moment from this trip. 

The couple we bumped into at the restaurant came knocking at our door before dinner. We gladly let them in. Since they already had drinks in their hands, it was only polite for Jackie and me to accompany them. We had just enough time to finish before we headed out to eat... and eat and eat and eat.

Gecko on our window. 

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 8, Part 3-- Snakes, Classy Bitches, and... Romance???

After I descended from the last tree like a monkey, I was ready to get back on those zip lines again. But it would have to wait until a future adventure, in a different place and at a different time. 

With an hour to spare at Selvatura Park, we skipped through nine suspension bridges and a humming bird garden. 

A fellow traveler had a good eye. Can you spot him???

How about this one?

One of the girls and I were walking side by side comparing our teaching careers when she jumped and yelled. When I looked back, I saw the reason for her howl. She practically rubbed elbows with the thing, if he had a skeleton. 

This was the same snake stretching its way back to the neighboring tree. 

Hummingbird close up.

How To Catch a Hummingbird, coming to theaters this spring. 

Because daytime walks and animals weren't enough, Jackie and I signed up for a night time hike with a few others. This activity confirmed our nerd status, not only on this trip, but in the world.

Another sloth sighting.

Tarantula camouflaging. 

A viper!

Snake, that is.

Not a car.

A giant walking stick.

Freakishly big snail.

Sleeping toucan.

I'm exhausted just thinking about that day. Even now, I wish I could say I got to my hotel room, showered, and knocked out but it wasn't over. Our guide had promised us "the local experience" and to save time, I only washed the dirt off my body, not my hair. I put my tresses up, threw on a black and gold skirt, black racer-back and sandals. By ten, Jackie and I walked, yet again, under the drizzle and crossed a deserted shopping center towards the bustle of the town on the other side.

We were the first ones to arrive at the club. The rest of our group, those who didn't need hours to get ready for dinner like my sister, were doing just that at the restaurant next door. We paid the cover charge and found our guide and driver sitting near the bar past the dance floor. I asked for a menu as soon as I sat because I was famished. For some reason, I only ordered fries and a rum and coke. I assessed the place while I waited, giving it two thumbs up for music selection (it was playing my favorite: reggaeton, salsa, merengue, and some cumbias) and size (large, spacious dance floor). My eyes then landed on a black girl with short curly hair and a perky kadunkadunk. She moved her behind so sensually, seductively, and effortlessly to the rhythm of the music; it was as if her butt had its own brain. While her legs moved left and right, her buttocks went round and round like a ferris wheel, independently of its body. And she didn't crave the attention, she just attracted it. There she was minding her own business, dancing the night away, and there we were gravitating towards her, young and old, male and female. I turned to the guys to point them in the right direction but they were already entranced. The tour guide commented that she was most likely from Panama, the neighboring country to the south. Men were dreaming of bumping and grindin' with her while I sat completely envious of the gift and talent God had blessed her with.

Our group trickled in shortly after whilst I licked my fingers of the last of the fries (I know, equally sexy as the Panamanian girl). Most of them were buzzed which meant their courage meters were full. So they hit the dance floor until their tanks were empty. I waited for an invitation to join them when one of the girls bought me a shot out of the drunkenness of her heart. I think, though, she just wanted me to relax since I always (so I'm told) seem tense. Just then, another cool chick from our group came up to Jackie and me. Apparently, she had been watching us take shots throughout the trip. She claimed we downed tequila with a straight face and was dumbfounded by our lack of what I like to call, fuchi faces, or cringing. So she nicknamed us Classy Bitches.

I eventually strutted my stuff with our driver and tour guide doing salsa and bachata numbers and just plain goofing around with the group. Then it was I who ran out of gas around one in the morning. I went from being a Classy Bitch to simply a Bitch. I no longer wanted anything to do with a club or drunk people because they were acting and looking stupid. They were sweaty, with their hair stuck to their faces, and they slurred their words. I wanted to be tucked in my fluffy hotel bed. But I also didn't want to be the reason why Jackie left prematurely. One of the girls decided to leave at that moment and I wanted so badly to walk back with her. But I wanted to hang until closing time and close the party down like a true single American living The Dream. I watched the hands on my watch move for sixty minutes until it read 2am, which is typical closing time for US clubs, but the DJ kept playing. My anxiety level rose. I couldn't stay any longer. I had to leave. I looked for Jackie to conjure her to bounce with me when I saw her in the air. Stemming from a white guy's arms, he spun her around in circles as if she were a helicopter preparing for lift off. Initially, I was livid. How could she still want or have the energy to party? Didn't she, at some point, tell herself, Ok, this was fun but it's time to go? When it was obvious that she didn't, my heart sank. I knew I wasn't going to to get out of there just yet and that's how I reached maximum tiredly Angry Bitch status.

As I sat there with an invisible electronic mosquito human zapper acting as my aura (instead of my less threatening Keep Out sticker posted on my forehead), an attractive guy came to my table. I seriously looked behind me searching for the person he was trying to address-- a young, energetic girl-- because I had my caca face on and have always been told that it's a pretty scary one. But he kept talking and looking at me. Little did he know I wasn't in the mood for assholes who thought they could get their way because of the time and assumption that I must be drunk.

"Let me buy you a drink," he said in Spanish.

"No, thank you," I responded, also in my first language.

"Then why come to a club and not drink," he asked.

"I already had two cuba libres and a shot," I replied. "Who comes to the club at closing time to buy a girl a drink, anyway" I shot back.

But neither my attitude nor my raccoon eyes scared him away. He must've not gotten some in quite some time, perhaps a week, because he insisted I have one more drink with him. Just at that moment, Jackie walked past me towards the bar with the white boy and the rest of our gang. I still didn't foresee my hotel room in my immediate future so I caved.

Rico Suave was tall with dark hair, beady eyes, and a strong jaw that reminded me of one of my uncles'. He wore either a sweater or sweater vest, both of which were too formal for the club but made him stand out, nonetheless. He sat to my left after he brought the drinks and because I cannot stand a moment of silence, I asked him for his friends. He claimed they were sitting in the upper level but I didn't believe him. I assumed he had just arrived, maybe from a date or a late night business transaction, to scope out the scene and see how lucky he could get. I didn't call him out on my theory, though, there was no point. It was late, I would be gone soon, and I would never see him again. If his lies made him happy, who was I to bring him down?

I asked him what he did. He claimed to supervise one of Costa Rica's largest supermarket chains.

"The one with the chicken," I asked.

He might have clarified it was a rooster.

"I thought they were El Pollo Loco," I said. He looked at me dumbfounded so I explained. "I had no idea they were grocery stores."

Rico Suave supposedly also ran a few inns in town. He asked me where I was staying and said he knew the owners well. Then he wanted to know what I did and I confirmed his suspicion that I was a teacher. My seriousness and caution-centered self had given me away, he said. That's when Rico Suave started to grow on me. He was shedding the jerk label I had placed on him when he first came up to me because he understood and laughed at my jokes. That's how I knew he was smart, so smart, in fact, he met me head to head with his own dry humor.

I enjoyed his company, surprisingly, and even wished we were back in California so we could have a real chance of going out. But at the same time, knowing he was just a passerby in my life made it easy to talk to him because I would never see him again. Just then, Jackie decided it was time to go. Against my will, I got off the stool and walked behind her and another girl with Rico Suave by my side. It was still drizzling outside. The girls walked ahead of us, stopping short of turning the street while he and I stood feet from the club entrance. Rico Suave said he could walk me home so my friends wouldn't have to wait for me but I had seen enough movies to know what could happen to me: kidnapped, cut into pieces, raped, killed and buried in a remote place. I assured him they were fine waiting for me, at least Jackie would have to be since I'd done the same for her several times; it was standard girlfriend protocol. Sensing his time had run out, he asked if there was a way he could stay in contact with me. I wasn't going to give him my number but I sure as hell didn't mind a pen pal. Willing to give him my email, he took out his phone but couldn't work it so I jotted his address in mine. My heart beat fast thinking he was now going to try to kiss me. I didn't know what my instinct would be. Would I allow him to come in or would I block him with my hand to his chest? Would I meet him halfway with my head tilted? Or would I let him do all the work? I turned to Jackie and she gave me the same look I had given her an hour before. Knowing our time was up, Rico Suave moved towards me and threw his arms around me. Somewhat disappointed, I embraced him too. As we unlocked, I want to say I remember him kissing my cheek. I turned around and caught up to my sister.