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Costa Rica part four Thursday? Oh my GOD. Today was a day and I'm really tired. My feet are dirty, my clothes are dirty. We're at [terrible place which shall remain nameless] and there are so many shells on the beach that it tinkles when the waves go in or out. We hiked through the goddamn jungle to get here and if there's one thing I hate besides Bob Costas and raspberries it's the goddamn jungle, burn it all down. It took us three hours, maybe more, I was delirious when we finally arrived and didn't think to look at my watch. Tampax should make a commercial about me: "When I'm ankle deep in jungle mud the last thing I want to be worrying about is whether my tampon is leaking, (thumbs up and a smile)." And the idiot who packed my stupid bag apparently also snuck in her bowling ball along with all her stupid winter gear. (Actually I've worn all but her raincoat and may have need for that at some point. But a bowling ball, no.) I might have blisters on my shoulders from my stupid bag. As I was trekking through the goddamn jungle thinking up new ad campaigns for feminine products I was also composing many colorful sentences, all of them containing fuck or motherfucking or jesus motherfucking christ. Such as: Goddamnit I hate the motherfucking jungle. Or: Jesus motherfucking christ this is fucking stupid. I was in a bad mood. We could have taken a boat, see? But they say on their website that they're trying to become less dependent on the boat = going by foot is the more sustainable option. But seriously it was fucking ridiculous, and not a small environmental impact, soil erosion, mud, stomping on plants so you don't get sucked into the fucking mud. I was mad at the fuckers for making it seem like walking there was better. Then my sister mentioned, oh yeah, they did say in an email to her that going by boat was better. It was hot, my bag fucking sucks, my fucking shoes were fucking covered in mud, I had no fucking energy, I hadn't eaten lunch. Furthermore, we didn't really know where we were going and we're too fucking cheap to hire a guide. I was pissed etc. There's no point in talking about it anymore. And now we're here and these are not my people. I do not have a people, but if I did these would not be it. And I'm going to bed now.
My digestive system has stopped digesting. I will not describe further but if I did you'd be appalled. I hope we leave tomorrow. I'm reading Ishmael etc. I've been thinking but I don't feel like writing. Although I got most of the jungle mud from my pants - my great pants that I love and adore - and although my clothes are all on a clothesline meters away from the Caribbean - Ocean Fresh I'm sure is the name of some scent of fabric softener - my clothes are stinkier and dirtier now than they've ever been. Now I'm going swimming, after a trip to the bathroom. (At least they have flush toilets here. I'd've already killed myself if they only had composting toilets.) Mere acquaintanceship leaves me unsatisfied, and few people are willing to accept the burdens and risks of friendship as I conceive of it. Ishmael Sunday How happy I am to be back in stinky trashy old Puerto Viejo. I just took a shower and got most of the jungle off me. In the end the jungle turned out to be fine and the howler monkeys only woke me up the first morning sounding like demonic phantom walruses swooping through camp at 5 a.m. and last night I slept all night long, dreamless, in the same position and I woke up this morning and went out to see the sunrise over the Caribbean for the second and last time. Michael, the very nice Swiss guy who rode back with us in the boat, said the sunrise was red but I apparently missed that part - I saw gray and pink and shafts of light bursting through the clouds. Michael was very nice and we were having a nice time talking and eating his peanuts waiting for the boat to finally leave, which it was supposed to do an hour earlier. Eventually out comes the reason we're waiting so long: a woman: a drama queen and attention whore who apparently decided at the last minute to come back with her mountains of luggage and mountainous boobies and stomach which were not exactly concealed by her tigerprint beach attire. Her landlord just went and died on her! 54 years old! She lives in a nice old Victorian house in Chicago! She's going to meet a friend who may or may not have tickets to something or other! She loves to buy swimming suits wherever she goes! The boat was bouncing her around terribly but not anyone else! A boat capsized once right here you know! She can't wait to get her daughter and sister here to see them in the boat! Her hair is so curly here especially from the saltwater! Did you know they had ganji in the pancakes this morning? Ganji! Etc. I tried to ignore her and enjoy the ride. The terribly mysterious and compelling Mexican who we'd seen smiling in Puerto Viejo and Manzanillo came and left without smiling. But we did share a moment, he and I, a perfect moment between two shy people. He was missing a couple fingers. I bet he likes Pearl Jam. My sister got sick and barfed and spent all yesterday in bed. I stopped digesting and I could have gone my entire life without experiencing that. I am my father's daughter and put it all down to improper food handling. Thinking about it makes me want to run to the bathroom again. I think that - it's an organic sustainable permaculture community but if you were to spend any amount of time there you'd learn more about social organization than permaculture. And the next book I want to read is Lord of the Flies and after that I will tackle Heart of Darkness, the book that started my long-standing hate affair with Literature all those years ago. And I will say no more about [terrible place which shall remain nameless] tonight. Let us put the whole sordid affair behind us.
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