I was glad to leave Jaco. The place lacks any visibly redeeming qualities. An imminent hostility permeates the darkened night streets, and besides, there is something deviant and perverted about the blatant Americanization of the place. Jaco personified is an obese transgendered prostitute chain-smoking in an expensive red ball gown on a tricycle, incessantly ringing the tinny little bell. It is a sad reminder of the lifeless manufactured surrogate reality which the media and mainstream sheep-think perpetuates and replicates, like so many cancerous cells, at home and abroad.

The scenery out of Jaco quickly reverts to open cow country. Broad billboards punctuate the bovine ambiance with crude promises of ¨paradise¨ in the form of beach-side golf courses and over-priced stucco facades. The road is paved, well-traveled, and relatively flat. I made good time riding the third sprocket gear beneath a searing mid-day sun.

Exhaustion hits - all dimensions collapse to a singular, pointed ¨onwards!¨ - peddles & pavement become all.

About halfway to Quepos I stopped in the small town of Parrita to hide from the sun. I drank a cold batido and pooled sweat on the beige tile floor. I thought I was going to die. The remaining stretch of road was a flat ride through an African oil-palm plantation. Tall palms rose on either side, sprouting small epiphytic ferns from their trunks. The plantation workers drove trucks, operated various machinery, some smiled and waved. I peddled on and pulled into Quepos early in the evening, completely exhausted.

I met up with sweet Susy Pinkfish at a cafe in Quepos. She had gone ahead and found us a place to stay for the evening - a house full of rowdy, delightful Irish girls and one from Seattle, former TEFL students in Manuel Antonio. We went out to Bambujam and danced to the salsa band, sweating profusely in the open-air bamboo bar.

I stepped out back to pee in the brush and came upon a wooden cable car on tracks which went about a hundred meters up a steep hillside. In Spanish, English, and German, a sign warned that the car is to be used at one´s own risk. I brought Susy over and we sat in the rickety car. The thing looked stable enough. We both stared at the green button labeled ¨up.¨ How bad could it be? We briefly discussed an escape route, which consisted of diving from either side of the car into the bushes the moment we felt the rusted chain-link cable slacken. A wave of deja vu hit and I felt like I´d dreamed all this before, some forgotten night years ago. Suddenly Susy jabbed at the button and we braced ourselves for whatever comes next.

Nothing happened. We had bought the ticket to take the ride, threw caution to the wind, declared ourselves masters of reality, and the damned thing was unplugged. Anyways, so what? She had pressed the green button. We´d shown our intentions to the hodge-podge contraption. We were ready for the ride, no matter the perils.

Always press the green button.

The next day we swam at the crowded beach. Manuel Antonio is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Costa Rica, and a look in any direction shows why. The terrain is lush jungle meets island-dotted ocean. You can spot all sorts of exotic wildlife lurking in the trees, the water, and between your bedsheets.

In the evening, Susy and I went to a farm in the hills outside of Quepos for a full moon celebration. The woman who owned the place reminded me of the classic Humboldt ganja farm wife. She busied herself in a kitchen full of reused glass jars and compost bins, absent-mindedly grabbing some fresh oregano hanging from one wall, a clove of garlic draped over the window sill. Her voice was high-pitched and enthusiastic, and when she laughed it resonated in a very mysterious place in my chest. She was like the good witch from some Disney movie - charming and somewhat eccentric. She would say outloud, to nobody in particular, the name of whatever ingredient she was adding to her dish, and seemed to be recalling her first taste of basil, tumeric, and lemon grass as the dish grew. The atmosphere was light and I found myself becoming breezy and bubbly in disposition amongst the lively company.

Susy and I cooked a brochette/pizza hybrid dish and shared a huge meal with about ten others. Someone commented on how rewarding it is to eat something you´ve grown yourself. Our hostess agreed, saying ¨do you remember the watermelon? OOOh, the perfect watermelon. It split before the knife and lingered in your mouth all afternoon!¨ Her pure joy at the recollection was incendiary and contagious and we all smiled, tasting the phantom melon for ourselves.

After dark, we lit a bonfire (with considerable effort) and a shaman from Florida led us in a group energy sharing meditation. A few words of hopes and prayer were murmered and then we jammed out on drums, bamboo sticks, and stones. Later, Susy and I went for a swim in the creek which ran through the property, the full moon occasionally peeking through cloud coverage to beam on down through leaves of bamboo and mango.

A vague paranoia of the infamous fer-de-lance serpent clung with me the entire time.

Today we came back to Manuel Antonio and swam in a small, hidden cove beneath Ronny´s Place. Susy is scouting a new location for the couchsurfing.com collective, so we toured a beachfront mansion and swam in the infinity-edge pool overlooking the sea.

I felt like a zillionaire.

-----------------------------------------

Dropping Keys

the small man
builds cages for everyone
he
knows.
While the sage,
who has to duck his head
when the moon is low,
keeps dropping keys all night long
for the
beautiful
rowdy
prisoners.

-Hafiz

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written by  chaddeal on January 11, 2009 from Quepos, Costa Rica
from the travel blog: The Great Pan-American Synchronistic Cycle Extravaganza Unlimited
Send a Compliment

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Wow. What an unforgettable night!! I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to join in on the adventure, but I have a sneaky suspicion that there are more full moons to come....

The next full moon is always on the calendar yet shines a completely different light....

Keep on peddlin'. Your experience is not only inspirational, but also a perfect example of what living life is all about. :)

LP

written by  Lisa Parker on January 25, 2009

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