Saturday, November 24, 2007

Long Time Coming

No posts in six months. Just got back from my first dip into Central America.
ate lunch in a massive plant nursery in Antigua, climbed up ruins where I found Mayan owl carvings in Copan, ate Honduran shish kebabs by candlelight in a wonderful spot deep in the heart of darkness, slid down a bench soaking wet with rain and waves to slam into a Honduran on the boat to Utila with a 30 degree pitch, walked, snorkeled and drank in the rain there, ogled the murals of Whale Sharks but never got to meet one, wound around the hills of Honduras while inhaling diesel fumes and listening to the new Radiohead, got dust in my teeth on the schoolbus from the Nicaraguan border to Leon where I got the trots and missed the chance to volcano board, had 8 servings of Cazadores Anejo and 3 Jack Daniels in Grenada, swam in some more rain in a clear volcanic lake with a hangover, looked into an active volcano that leaked out a red glow and sulfuric acid in droplets, crouched at the mouth of a bat cave and felt/smelled the wind of their own wings, stood in a cave in the darkest darkness while sweating and shivering at the same time, learned to play Shithead adequately on the porch of the hotel on Ometepe, consumed an entire (small) bottle of Flor de Cana rum the same evening, did a bad Mick Jagger impersonation under the influence, the next day developed a combo of distributive and hyperthermic shock early in the first hour of an 8 hour clamber up and a slide down a bitch of a volcano only to complete the epic gong show thanks to my orthodontist companero and Ometepeno guide/whipmaster, watched the green world go by on the long dirt road climb of our van as we wound our way up to Monteverde listening to 1987 U2 and the goddamn Eagles, ogled a perfect specimen of Costa Rican manhood instead of the possibly nonexistent Trogons and sloths he pointed out in the dark wet forest above us, zipped into nothingness on a canopy line covered in cloud, leapt three stories and out into an arch over the jungle on a tarzan swing, ate a tremendous bowl of sopa de mariscos, laughed, rode a horse on a muddy road up to a waterfall, almost drowned under a raft on a trip down the Rio Toro on my last day, kissed my Dutch tourmate on the lips when we saw the bridge signifying the end of the river, ate what will likely always be the best pineapple of my life upon returning to the riverbank, cried and was comforted by kindly Tennesseans and my Dutch rescuer Ingmar and group, drove over the hills to San Jose for Argentinian supper of ravioli with artichoke and almond, drank deeply of some wicked Malbec, limped my way onto a plane, felt full of everything and nothing, watched my South Bay surfer seatmate chuckle at Frasier reruns on the monitor through the turbulence, landed at LAX amid the red haze of November, sat on a shuttle for an hour to get home, crawled into my own bed with clean sheets and slept for 18 hours.


Melissa said...

Yes! Nana used to say the best part of traveling was putting your feet under clean sheets when you arrive home, but it sounds like you had a whole trip of best parts. Good on you.

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