DEPARTURE
There is a man exerting great effort in some bizarre version
of a power-walk up the hill of the residential area in San Bruno, California where
I have parked my car at my cousin’s house in preparation to leave for Costa
Rica. The man might actually be running
in slow motion. He has a rope tied about his waist. My mind can’t make sense of it all for a
minute as my eyes follow along the taut length of the rope and see it is dragging
a tire along the cement. Across the
street, I exhale a plume of smoke out my car window and fumble for my camera to
capture what my mind can barely make sense of and what is in direct opposition
to my current desires; to rest my body, soul, mind, and heart on my favourite
beach in Costa Rica and do nada.
A part of me detests this man because he is a reflection of
myself on a daily basis, trudging up the insurmountable mountain of life,
dragging a metaphorical tire along the way, using every ounce of energy, and
having something which is already difficult be much more challenging. It is not of my own volition; I am not
training for something for fun or glory or simply to get in shape. Occasionally I give up momentarily or break
completely, and it is on these days that some catch an often misinformed,
distorted glimpse of me, reacting either with incredible kindness and empathy
or heart-wrenching discomfort, ignorance, and fear.
I left California with a heavy heart, disappointed and hurt
by someone who I don’t think meant to hurt me but did nonetheless. My mind churned through all that had
transpired, already cluttered with spider web thoughts of travel, love, and
life.
Dining alone at the airport save for a phone call to a
girlfriend, I catch snippets of conversation between two travelers and a third
on his own nearby. In my peripheral
vision, a young girl in pink glides by sitting on her shiny pink luggage as if
she were riding a pony, pulled presumably by her father. A smile lights up my face. I want to be like her riding through life
enjoying the scenery, yet I am more like the man with the tire on most days.
I board the plane and one of the men I eavesdropped on while
eating asks me about the book I’m holding as I pass by his 1st class
seat. I explain I haven’t read it yet
and that it was just given to me that day by someone. He thinks it is great “someone” just gave it
to me and tells me I should pay it forward, maybe assuming a stranger gave it
to me. He seems nice, but I don’t want
to talk to anyone at this moment finding my accessibility to others
irksome. I get comfortable in my seat only
to disembark minutes later when the flight is delayed due to a change in
aircraft. Fine. I’ll go get a beer and start to read the book
on solo female travel that my boss had given to me to read.
An hour later, we are boarding for the 2nd time,
and I can feel the buzz on the aircraft that I think is due to everyone having had
a drink. My seat companion and I strike up an interesting conversation and talk
most of the flight. He is visiting his girlfriend in LA and, with the concern
of him hitting on me out of the way, I can talk with abandonment. We talk about
travel, solo travel, long-distance relationships and other random topics. When he tells me his name at the end of the
flight it sounds like, “How.” I get embarrassed by wanting to say, “How do you
spell ‘How’?” wondering how many times he’s heard others trip up on that, but I
am glad I have something more official to remember him by.
My delayed flight began to cause me some stress about
missing my connecting international flight, especially after I arrived at LAX
and had to take a shuttle to another terminal and received conflicting
information about where to go. Somehow I
made it on my flight 15 minutes before take-off and was a little surprised when
we stopped in Guatemala to pick up more passengers.
The woman who sat next to me from Guatemala to Costa Rica
gave me some travel tips for hot springs I had never heard of before. I was again reminded of how easy it is for me
to meet and talk to people, or perhaps more accurately, for them to meet and
talk to me. Why ARE people so afraid of
solo travel? Why am I so afraid of being
accessible to others?
Oh yeah, it’s because it is easy for me to get hurt. If I had been more reserved, I wouldn’t be
travelling to Costa Rica with a heavy heart and confused mind. However, if I had been more reserved, would I
be talking to all these interesting people?
Would I be travelling to Costa Rica?
Would I even still be Naomi Fino?
Solo travel can play upon our real world fears of murder,
rape, robbery, or other types of bodily harm.
It can also play upon our insecurities of loneliness, our abilities to
navigate an unfamiliar world, and the frightening prospect of having to trust
other humans we do not know or discern whether to trust them in a short amount
of time. We can be very vulnerable, which
can sometimes feel and play out like a terrible human weakness or can amazingly
be an incredible human strength. Life is
complicated. Rarely are things black and
white despite many people’s attempts at reduction.
ARRIVAL
My Sansa flight from San Jose, Costa Rica to Quepos is short,
but again a conversation is struck with a man named Jeffrey who doesn’t like
prop planes. He says to me as we lift
off into San Jose’s famous cross-winds, “That fish tailing thing? I don’t like that.” Again the subject of solo travel comes up and
I inquire further, delighted that I keep meeting people who have something to
say on the subject. I want to hear
everyone’s perspective.
He is a 6’ man, goes to English speaking countries like
Dublin, England, Amsterdam and enjoys the feeling of getting lost and discovering
things around the corner.
He begins to make strange movements with his mouth occasionally
and I am distracted by this and the barf bag I notice he has set on the seat
next to him. He tells me the story of a
rough landing he had earlier where a little boy incredulously filled an entire
barf bag. I can’t help but wonder, “Is
he going to retch?” I don’t know if I can handle that in a small airplane in
such close proximity but I want to hear more about his solo travels.
When we land I am introduced to his friend picking him up at
the airport and we chat. They end up offering
me a ride to my destination and, while I have ascertained they are not
dangerous, I think about the topic of hitchhiking and taking rides with
strangers. I have never put my thumb out
but I have taken several rides with strangers in Costa Rica or people I have
only briefly spoken with. I am still mostly
selective about this, but occasionally I have taken chances wondering if I was
being that stupid woman travelling alone who goes missing. It’s really not so different from the chances
I have taken with my heart over the years, which is probably why my heart is
still resonating from something that makes it ache and feel bad.
Driving through Quepos, my heart begins to feel better. I am in a place I am in love with and I can
feel my heart opening up to reach out to this place that has done more for my
soul than any other person, place, or thing.
I arrive at Casa Buena Vista sweaty and stinky but give
Anita a hug anyway and we chat and I have a cold Imperial. I don’t need the typical rundown for visitors
– I know the drill and coming to the cottage or casita is like coming
home. I am welcomed here – welcomed by
Nuria’s towels folded like swans with flowers scattered across them.
I am welcomed by Anita with a cold beer. I am welcomed on Facebook by many people I am
looking forward to seeing and feel warmed by Sean’s comment, “Naomi Fino you
are a beautiful flower dipped in chocolate!”
I am welcomed by my friends who want to see me who I assume are at La
Mariposa based on the infinity pool pictures I glance at briefly. I want to shower, unpack, get settled, and enjoy
the feeling of my heart unfurling.
Doug and Burt surprise me by appearing where I am staying
and announce that they are kidnapping me. My heart springs wide open and I am overjoyed
at seeing my friends. I still think we
are going to La Mariposa but it turns out it is to a gorgeous house that Peter
and Doug are taking care of for friends along with two cute doggies. One doggie gives me long distance kisses and
cocks his head with an inquisitive expression that pulls at my heart.
Burt bravely drives up what is probably the steepest hill I
have ever seen in my life. They speak in
hushed voices and sneak me into the elevator.
Yes, the house has an elevator.
My heart unfurls like a flower viewed through a time elapsed video when
I see everyone. My mind is boggled by
the world I have just stepped into of architectural beauty. Where the hell am I? I’m still exhausted by my red eye flight
where I only dozed off briefly and a week of difficult conversations, work, and
severe lack of sleep. My ever attentive
kidnappers make sure I have a cocktail.
I
am given a tour of the expansive glass house that has a beautiful master
bedroom, a Jacuzzi with an incredible view, and of course an infinity pool.
Peter explains he doesn’t like snakes and shows me the railing with snakes on
them. They are fake to scare off the
birds – Scaresnakes! He tells me how the
owners of the house bought a bunch of the snakes from Toys R Us and then
shipped them to Costa Rica, and I tried to imagine what kind of horror some
poor customs worker received when opening a box of snakes before realising they
were fake.
We laugh, talk, eat, listen to music, and I receive my first
few mosquito bites. Even the mosquitos
are happy to see me. We watch an amazing
sunset that ends with a bit of the famous green flash. The clouds reflect in the infinity pool like
a Maxfield Parrish painting and we see the sunset from the view of the house,
through the camera lens, and through the reflection of the infinity pool. It is a sunset of 3 perspectives. The world is definitely not black and white.
Tim and Burt kindly give me a ride home but I ask them to
drop me off at Super Joseths. I want to walk
back to the cottage. I am a woman alone
at night and feel safe. Part of this is
because this place feels like home to me so it is like walking 15 minutes
through your home town. Safety is an
illusion. I am no more or less safer
here than at home. Bad things can happen
anywhere. Bad things happen at
home. Bad things HAVE happened to me at
home. These are things I am thinking
about in the context of solo travel as I walk through the streets absorbing all
the many changes Manuel Antonio has gone through since I was last here. Some are exciting and some make my heart
fall, like the big structure at the top of the hill where La Mariposa is. This is like my childhood street changed except
it is my adulthood street. I am fond of
it and protective of it and every change over the years affects me – the paving
of the road, the imposing Los Altos building, and now this new structure.
I open an Imperial and sit down to write. I am exhausted but I push myself forward to
write even though I get to points where my eyes are rolling up into the back of
my head and I fear I might topple over in my chair. The mosquitos make their
effort in keeping me awake by biting me and causing welts on my arms and legs. I am still the girl trudging up the
insurmountable mountain of life pulling a tire that is separate and yet fused
to me, but I have also been lucky enough to be the girl in pink, taking a ride
on her luggage and watching the scenery.
I do not come here to escape because I know for me, there is no true
escaping. I am not quite that
disillusioned. I come here to give myself a break before I break. I come here to see my wonderful friends. I come here to listen to the constant humming
and singing of insects in the jungle, the thriving, pulsating life, the
chirruping geckos, the distant crash of the ocean, and something that moves
nearby in the dark trees. Then I hear
him – my howler monkey. They have been
here beside me the entire time. I
excitedly say hello and feel welcomed even by the howlers. I come here because Costa Rica, much like the
tire, has become over the years an inseparable part of who I am. I come here because I am in love with Costa
Rica. I come here because the unfurling
of my heart is as exquisite as a simple flower inhaling and exhaling the beauty
of this colourful world.
No comments:
Post a Comment