Hello Indeed,
Buenos Dias Alec,
With our dear friend traveling down through the southern lands of this great continent, there needs to be some way he can get a quick, completely unbiased, yet deeply thorough briefing on the sports of the most dominant city this nation has ever seen, Boston. At this great time of year, with the intersection of all important American leagues, it is high time for an assessment of our great world of sports.
First a dip into our great heritage, thats right - the national pastime of Baseball. Conveniently, the Red Sox were again an elite team for much of the season, running away with the american league wild card. The playoffs rubbed out to: NY, Boston, Minnesota, and the Angels in the AL, and Philly, St. Louis, LA, and Colorado in the NL. LA should of come out of the NL, but they lost their ace (Billingsley) and Philly stole and ace (Cliff Lee) and it shook out that Philly ended up in the series. I'm really not sure who they played or what happened, so I'll move on to the offseason report for the best team in the world, the Boston Red Sox. The rotation looks as strong as ever, with a dominating front three in Josh Beckett, John Lester (early cy young favorite), and Clay Bucholtz. After that there's the green Michael Bowden, the old as the infield dirt Tim Wakefield, and the ever gyrating Dice K. Only time will tell who our great leader Theo will pick up to supplement that rotation, or whether we'll see Papelbon go for an upgrade at ss. Either way, the Red Sox are my early favorite for champions of 2010, and I expect the Dodgers to emerge from the West to lose to us in the series. I'd also like to mention that I have the Rays winning the AL wild card :)

On to the once a week bone crushing bonanza league that graces us with it's presence on god's day. The Patriots are just about the only team that you'd want to be a fan of right now. I suppose the Saints and Colts are pretty good teams, but let's be real - they're just not going to be able to stop the Patriots in the playoffs. The only team that really scares me is the Steelers, with their monstrous defense and fairly potent offense.

On to the most dominant of all Boston teams, the Celtics. It's been quite an explosion for the Green out of the gate this season, it will be a bountiful treat to watch them for the rest of the year. Great things to come, great news to come.

Ale, I love you. Be safe, we'll be waiting here with open arms for you, brother.

It feels like theres so much to write. The past week or so has been moving so fast I have struggled to find the time to sit down and blog. Since last Thursday, my traveling band of commrades (Jeremy, Jimmy, Dan, and I) have been living and volunteering at a place called Cascada Verde. It is located on the side of a mountain just outside the town of Uvita, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. In the late afternoon, as the sun is setting, we do yoga on the upper deck and watch the sun set over the ocean.
This place is completely different from anything else weve done so far in Costa Rica. We are sleeping in a loft just above the yoga deck, at the very top of this eco resort, but we spend most of our time in the volunteer house out back, where we have our own kitchen that we share with the rest of the volunteers. These volunteers are of all ages and nationalities, currently we are living with three turkish women, a crazy french artist named Dominic, who we are helping construct this massive in ground pool based on a concept of the three hearts, one for each of the loves of the boss of this place, Patricio, a polish woman named Grazshena, who is much older but a very young soul, a mexican hermano Ellio, and his french girlfriend Magali, a swedish girl named Sora who is convinced the world is a big conspiracy, and various other characters who move in and out. The communal kitchen has been a great place to come together, it is open air, with a big picnic table, plenty of space for many people to cook at the same time, something I never thought I would enjoy so much. It is funny that cheese and avocados have come to be the ultimate luxury, as we are buying most everything we are cooking from the store. It is so nice to hang out in the communal kitchen, hearing French, German, Turkish, English, Spanish, and maybe some Polish or Swedish, sharing card games, recipes, dishes, massages from the master Robert.
This reminds me of a earth shattering, life changing discovery I have made down here, which I will never look back from the same: Cashew Butter. Since I got my hands on my own jar of the stuff, its all I want to eat. I have been eating nut butter and jelly sandwiches, nut butter on bananas, nut butter and honey, anything I could possibly spread it on. I feel like Im five years old, but it is like my life of peanut butter deprivation has come to a crashing end, and I couldnt be happier.
During the day, we work about four hours, on all different kinds of projects. Currently we are working on and learning about this incredible grey water system that Patricio is trying to get started for the hotel. He is using a huge biogas digester, which uses a combination of filters, animals, and toilet waste to create energy, something that totally blows my mind. The water left over then moves into a canal system that links different ponds, along which he will be growing bananas with the super nutrient rich water, and other crazy plants in the pond. In learning about sustainable living, this project has been incredibly interesting for me, as he is generating energy with waste that is naturally produced in his own house, and reusing the water from a process that usually just throws it away in large quantities.
After work we walk across the dirt road at the end of the property, down a little hill and we are at a waterfall, with a big natural swimming pool, and a rope swing that comes down from a big hill on the side of the river. Recently, we decided to climb the 30 foot waterfall, sit in the river at the top, and allow ourselves to be carried down the waterfall. This was absolutely terrifying.
The evenings consist of rowdy dinners in the communal kitchen, where everyone comes to congregate after a days work. We are having such a great time here, we have decided to extend our stay. Next week we will be going to Panama for a day, then to the Osa Peninsula to camp for a few days, and then back here to Cascada Verde until the end of my trip. I am looking forward to home, but as the end draws nearer, I am sad that this trip is coming to an end. It has been a great trip, with many lessons learned, which I will be sure to blog about next time.

Last Thursday, I left Sierpe and travelled northward by myself to begin what I planned would be a month at Finca Amanecer, a farm in the little town of Londres, about 30 kilometers in from the central western coast. I got off of my third bus of the day in the late afternoon, and walked into the farm. I was greeted by this blond woman about forty years old asking me who I was and what I was doing there. Before offering me to take my bag off or a glass of water or even telling me her name, she told me that the WWOOF program at the farm had been shut down and I wouldnt be able to stay there, not to mention Jimmy and Jeremy who would be meeting me on Monday. Thankfully, a girl about my age, who was traveling from Ecuador to Mexico with her friend, walked out on to the porch and rescued me from the raving womans wrath. She introduced me to Kyle, a Canadian guy a few years older than me who had been trying to get the food growing operation up and running at Amanecer for the past couple of weeks. He got me a glass of water, and we spent the rest of the evening walking around the farm, which was in pretty pathetic shape, and coming up with a plan of what needed to be done for the farm, what was already growing (some pina, banana, vanilla, a bit of chocolate, yucca, and some spices), and how we were going to justify my stay, and my friends stay, to the powers that be.
Kyle left for good the next morning, but not before he managed to convince Kelly, the woman who greeted me, and Elena, the owner of the farm who was in the States, that the farm would need the three of us to stick around and work for a month. The next few days I spent composting and digging a big old hole for an outhouse, among other tasks around the farm. During the first few minutes of digging, I was stung by a wasp and quickly realized that there was a nest about six inches from my face, on the back of a leaf hanging right above the hole. I took great pleasure in gathering a bunch of dry leaves, making a huge pile in the hole, which was about five feet deep by then, and setting it ablaze to smoke out the bees. This was highly successful, and I was able to continue digging. I also constructed a masterpiece of a compost heap, made from chicken wire, bamboo, and string, which I was very proud of. I spent a lot of the time that I was working in the fields laughing at myself for getting such a kick out of making a well layered, airated, and hydrated compost pile.
The weekend after I got to Amanecer I slept in a tent because 15 Costa Rican cowboys came to town for an annual cowboy convention. They road 10 hours from the capital city of San Jose for a big old party in Londres, so our farm was turned into a bed and breakfast for Saturday night. Since we were hosting the cowboys, we got to eat and drink for free all night, which lead to some dancing and howling to the Tico band that was playing. It was a great night, and I was glad to have met and danced with Maile and Sophie, two super cool Oregonian girls on a super cool trip through south and central america.
This reminds me of the sheer amount of people I have met and lived with on this trip. When I think back to the friends we were with at the beginning of the trip, it feels like Ive been here forever. It turned out that things werent meant to last at the Amanecer, though. Jimmy and Jeremy showed up on Monday night, with Dan, our good friend from school who had to meet us down here a bit into our trip. It was great to see him and hang with them at the farm for a few days, but we soon became too much for Kelly, and after waking up to her yelling made up accusations about us in the kitchen, we decided it was probably time for us to move on. We spent a great last day at this magnificent cliff overlooking a big old river which we swam and fished in, and then we were off to Cascada Verde, where I am now writing from.
Im pretty hungry by now, so Im going to head down to the kitchen to start some beans Ive been soaking, and I think were going to a big festival on the beach tonight and tomorrow, which should be a hoot. Ill write all about this new place, which is located on the side of a mountain overlooking the Pacific ocean, real soon.

It feels like a lot has been going on lately, and I haven't had much time to write on this ridiculous blogospherewebnet thing. I'm in Londres now, on a farm called Finca Amanecer, but I still have some stories from Sierpe to share, so I'll track back in my journal and work my way to where I am now.
3/6/09
By the sweet grace of god, I've somehow managed to find the Celtics down here in Sierpe. I was bumming about missing the Celtics' bout with the Cavs, albeit without Papa Bear Kevin Garnett, so I thought I'd walk down to a nearby hotel to see if the Celtics could possibly be on ESPN International, and sure enough, they were! After spending a month in the mountains on a farm, I am really enjoying some aspects of being in a town, like the Celtics tonight, and champions league on tuesday and wednesday. Ok, I guess all I really missed in the mountains was sports.
3/7/09
Yesterday I was walking from Don Jorge's house, where after being blown off three consecutive times I had plans to give english lessons to his son, Santiago, I finally got to sit down with this pudgy little kid to practice some english. Approximately ten minutes into our lesson, I was told that his little highness had to go somewhere, so I was back on the street walking to Las Vegas, the local bar/restaurant/ecotourism outfit of Don Jorge. I was fascinated to see a man talking to another in the middle of the road, one of whom was holding a hose, just watering the road. I had glimpsed him from a distance when I had entered Don Jorge's house, but I figured he was just watering some plants I couldn't see. As I walked past, I watched in fascination as the man continued to carry on his conversation, while very purposefully watering the dirt road.
Today I found the man who the road waterer was talking to an asked him why that guy was watering the road. He laughed and said matter of factly, "el polvo." All of a sudden I realized that whenever I walk by a car on the road, I cover my face so it doesn't get filled with dust, which must devastate the houses on the side of the road. Here I was reading a new yorker article that Mr. Cho gave me about how theres not enough water in India for people to drink and bathe, and how our planet is literally running out of clean water, and I'm realizing that most everyone in town waters their roads for a while each day. Bummer.
3/9/09
Almost two months into my trip, and I am seeing rain for the very first time. I can almost hear the earth breathing a sigh of relief, as the water soothes its thirsty and cracked soils. This is some of the best rain I've ever seen, right in the middle of the hottest part of the day. I've been shvitzing my cohones off for the past two hours inside, and I just walked outside to be greeted by the freshest air. Yesterday I went to the Isla del Cano by boat, down the winding rivers through the mangroves, out of the delta, and into the Pacific Ocean. It was a beautiful trip, I snorkled and saw a meter and a half shark swimming creepily by, two beautiful rays who looked like magnificent silver birds underwater, a ton of colorful fish and the coral reef they were feeding on, and a big old turtle from the boat. While I was snorkling, something caught my eye at the floor of the ocean, my eyes were instantly drawn to this perfectly round, black and yellow... wheel. I did a double take, theres no way there could be a golf cart wheel at the base of the ocean off the coast of an island off the coast of a peninsula off the coast of Costa Rica. I stared at the wheel for a while thinking about Jeffrey Sach's glowing reverence he pays to the Industrial Revolution in his book, The End of Poverty. I'm sure you could imagine... haha. On the way back, we saw a bundle of monkeys that loked like mini gorillas in the tree tops, some mini bats on a tree, and a host of caymans on the banks of a little inlet we explored.
Sierpe felt a lot different today after the rain. I felt like birds were coming out to sing for the first time, and that everything looked greener than ever. Juan Luis (the father at La Iguana) told me that it used to rain every so often during the summer, but for a few years now, nothing at all. At least I can content myself knowing that no one will have to water the street today.
Looking around Sierpe it's good to recognize some of the good parts of town. Bicycles everywhere, a single daily bus that carries tons of passengers to Palmar. Some cars, some motorcycles, some boat traffic, and even a guy on horseback every now and then. Now that I think about it, Sierpe was probably one of the most diversely transported to places I've ever been.

Well said, Ben. I definately feel very distinctly a white person down here, which is quite appropriate considering what a gringo I am. I wasn´t trying to draw any lines between myself and anyone else in the last post, just observing the effects of my culture on a foreign country. I suppose the reason it interests me so is the culpability that I feel, even though I´m not trying to do anything wrong. I´ve been with plenty of great whities down here, which brings me to a story...Sunday night and I´m walking back to my house to read for a while when I hear a voice calling out from behind me. I turn around to see a tall, older, white guy with a long white and blond beard, and long hair of the same color. He asks me how I´m doing and we start chatting about what we´re both doing in this little town of Sierpe. I had seen him a few times in town, and I soon learn that he is the owner and builder of a magnificent catamaran that I had seen anchored in the river when I had traveled out to an Island off the coast earlier in the day. He walks down to the side of the stream and lets out this birdcall down the river, which is sooned returned by something that sounds like an owl from off in the darkness. As he waits for his friend to come pick him up in a little dingy, he helps some Ticos get a boat out of the water, while I stand there uselessly. When his friend pulls up in the dingy the guy turns to me and invites me out to the boat for a beer. I had nothing to do, so after asking him not to abduct me, I hop in on the dingy and am paddled off into the darkness.
The boat turns out to be quite a production, which these two friends, about my parents age, have built from scratch by themselves. I learn that they both have families of their own, have been living in Costa Rica for twenty years, and have been traveling the coast living in this boat for the past two months, shuttling from surf spot to surf spot. They were two of the funniest middle aged hippies I´ve ever met, and I was glad to have met them and checked out their boat. Definately an inspiration to make some stuff with my hands, hopefully under the supervision of Dave this summer.
Anyway, the extent to which I am judged down here for the color of my skin makes me all the more conscious of not judging other whities for being white, although I still am interested in looking into our affects on this country. Also, just as Ben´s post said so well, what is it with the tourist´s aversion to tourists? That still cracks me up, but I think the first step to being ok with it is the acceptance of how much of a tourist one is. With that in mind, I can enjoy the company of many different people while I am here, which has been one of the best parts of my travels here.

Hard to believe it´s already March. It seems like the last month has flown by, and it was definately a great one, spent on La Iguana chocolate farm in the mountains of western Costa Rica. My last few days there were pretty darn eventful, and I found myself appreciating more than ever the magnificient rolling mountains that we would walk through to get to the river for a swim, or to town for a drink or the internet. The simplicity of life there was beautiful, and I´ve never in my life enjoyed reading more. On my last day I went in to town were they were in the final preperations for the big dance party that would be happening the following night. There I got to witness the process of making Tamales, and did my part in washing off the banana leaves they would use to wrap the Tamales in. I took careful notes on the process, and the women were more than happy to help out a gringo who was strangely curious in learning how to cook. After returning home for lunch, I quickly hurried back to town, because I heard that there would be a slaughtering of a pig around 2 o´clock.
I had never seen an animal be slaughtered before, and when the pick up truck pulled up to the Salon Comunal (where the Tamale process was still going on) I approached it with great curiousity. This curiousity turned to horror as I heard the bloodcurdling screams of the big as it was yanked off the back of the truck. This thing was humongous, they said 200 kilos but I would have argued more, and put up a hell of a fight as the big dude in town, Mauricio, yanked it by a long rope attached to a kind of harness, down the hill to the side of the Salon, where a fire had been going for a while. I can´t possibly express the awfulness of this pigs screams as it put up his last fight; I am completely certain that he knew exactly what awaited him at the bottom of the hill. Once they got him to the spot where they wanted him, they took off the harness and he laid down on his belly, as if accepting his fate. Two other guys came out, one holding an axe about as tall as I am, and another with a foot long knife (and a breathtaking curly haired mullet). After a moment of discussion, the man with the axe raised it high into the sky, and brought the blunt end down on the pig´s head with a loud thud. The next moment, mullet man plunged his knife into the stunned pig´s chest, which started spouting blood instantly. The pig bled and gargled for a minute or two, before his whole body went into violent shaking, bleeding the whole time, and then that was it. The whole time all I wanted to do was turn away, but because I eat animals who are killed much more brutally than that, who live their lives in much worse conditions than this pig did, I felt like I owed it to all those animals I´ve eaten to watch this bloodbath.
After the pig was dead, they put him on some wooden slats and poured boiling water on him as they took the hair off his body with the same long knife. This was particularly strange to watch because a pig´s skin looks so much like that of a rather pale human. It was like watching Tom Hennessey be shaved with a long knife. Bleh.

Anyway, I am now sitting on a bus leaving Dominical, where I have spent the last few days hanging and body surfing with Jimmy and his friend from Peabody who is visiting for the week. As I look out the windows of the bus I am struck by the fact that most all of the signs written on the side of the road are in english. Everything seems to be ¨For Sale¨ or ¨For Rent¨, but never ¨Se Vende¨ or ¨Se Alquila¨. There are no secrets about where all of this land is going, about in whose hands, or in what color hands, it is being concentrated. This makes me suddenly aware of the other thing I have found at the edge of most every road I have walked or traveled in Costa Rica, no matter how remote: fences. Sometimes there will be a steep hillside instead or the fence will be overgrown with plants or vines to make it look nicer, but every piece of land has a barrier blocking it off from the outside. Even if it is just a wasteland, with nothing at all there but trash, it will still be sectioned off so no one would encroach on it. When all of this buying and selling of Costa Rican land started (or ¨land development¨), fueled primarily by foreign capital, there must have been an explosion in staking claim to land by building fences. I wonder what kind of shifts in attitude this brought on. Attitudes towards neighbors in fighting over land, towards the land itself, as being seen as a commodity instead of a vulnerable pìece of the earth to protect and nurture, or towards foreigners, as either an opportunity for capital or a target of resentment for taking native land.
In this face of overwhelming gringo inflow, it seems interesting to note that all the gringos want is to avoid each other. It seems that all of the tourists complain about how much they hate ¨tourists¨, as if they´re just the ugliest thing in the world. The most coveted locations are the most ¨untouched¨, or ¨natural¨- which seems to be suggest simply being uncontaminated by gringo touch. After all, Costa Ricans, seem to be just about the moth coveted commodity around besides their land. Everyone wants to experience the ¨culture¨, or have a connection with a ¨local¨. It kind of cracks me up to see these desires so strongly held by largely the same people by who are in many ways destroying the very culture they so fetishize, to covet a connection with the same locals whose land they are in facting buying up and poisoning.
Dominical was definately a shock to the system after living in the mountains for the past month. I was there for three days, and that was enough. It was such a cluster of people, a completely American village, where english was easier to be found than spanish. In this aspect I was also pretty turned off, guilty of the same aversion to mass quantities of other whites that I find so interesting to observe. Although I think I disliked Dominical more because there were just so many people on top of each other, there were plenty of whities in the mountains who I really enjoyed, the difference was more that of there being plenty of space, and solitude, as well. Anyway, I wonder where this gringo aversion among gringos stems from. It makes me think that it may stem from some subconscious rejection of our own gringo culture, which in turn fuels this intense fetishism of ¨local culture¨. In the attempt to escape all things gringo in our travels (which seem to be the most desireable times, the times everyone works so hard for) are we somehow acknowledging the harmfulness of the lifestyles that American culture has come to foster? Even in spite of the proud to be an American songs, and of all of the other forms of patriotist propoganda we are constantly indoctrinated with, is there some sort of subconscious rejection, among some Americans, of American culture, that I am seeing portrayed here in Costa Rica?

La Iguana

It boggles my mind to think that I am down to my last two days at the Iguana, the wonderful chocolate farm in the mountains of western Costa Rica. On Saturday, I will travel to Dominical to meet Jimmy and his friend from Peabody who will be getting in on Friday night, surf for a few days in Dominical, and then head down to Sierpe where I was for a week at the beginning of my trip for a week of giving english lessons. I will leave Sierpe around the tenth of March to cross the southern part of Costa Rica to meet with Jimmy and other UVM friends who are coming down to spend a week with us on the Carribean coast. This week will be sure to bring more surfing and it will be great to see friends from school, and then we will cross the border into Panama in order to renew our visas. By then Jeremy, who has left us temporarily to get an early start on the farm will we go to after Panama, will be with us again, and las Tres Hotas (3 Js) will spend a few days on some Panamanian islands. Will will leave Panama around the twentieth of March for the final farm of my trip, Finca Amanecer, about 40 minutes from Quepos on the central Pacific coast.
I am happy to say that despite the incredibly enjoyable time we have had at la iguana, I am getting ready to move on in my travels. The work has grown rather repetitive, and although we are living and working on a farm, there are many monotonous tasks such as frijoleandoing and general upkeep of the houses that have us yearning for a farm where we can work closer with the soil. We did manage to break out of some of this monotony by volunteering to cook lunch a couple of times last week, managing to produce patacones, black bean burgers, some salads and juices, and Dan and Mai´s incredible chocolate raw food shake. It is good to get some experience in the kitchen, especially considering that at the next farm we will be cooking all of our own food.
We do have some days of interesting work - Jimmy, Jeremy, and I spent a day making a gate for the upper end of the living space (just under the tree house I sleep in and attached to a beam supporting our water tank, which we prayed we wouldn´t collapse). We also had a morning of hauling huge palm frans up a small mountain - I haven´t poured sweat like that since the summers before NNHS soccer. It was also great to help with the reconstruction of the porch, and the compostable toilet´s roof and walls, all of which were destroyed by the winds.
The winds struck about a week into my stay here, and were the closest thing I have ever felt to a hurricane. La Iguana is located in the mountains, on the top of a ridge with valleys on either side, so it truly bore the brunt of father wind´s wrath. On the first night of the winds, I insisted on sleeping in my tree house when Lidiette, the mother of the family, advised me to sleep in the lower house with the rest of the voluntarios. This turned out to be a terrible idea as the wind brought all kinds of bugs, leaves, and general earth into my bed - my mosquito net was also quickly blown off and I was harassed by the bugs that managed to withstand the wind. It sucked. The second night Lidiette mandated that I sleep in the lower house, although the only bed open was the lone top bunk. This became a problem because the wind that night was so strong that it began to tear the roof off of that house. Fortunately the roof, or at least the parts that remained attached, held fast and I was still alive on the top bunk when morning finally came. It was amazing to see and feel the incredible power of the wind, and we spend about a week repairing the damage it inflicted.
The schedule here is breakfast around 7:30, and then work until Lidiette hollers the blessed word ¨ALMUERZO!!!¨, around 12:30. After an always sensational lunch we are free to do as we please, which ususally includes lots of hammocking and reading, usually a walk to the glorious river that reminds me of Switzerland, and maybe a walk into town for internet or la cantina. It is great to have the main activity of my free time be reading, of which I am really discovering my love for. So far I have read the Unbearable Lightness of Being, Deep Economy, Ishmael (thank you ms dannenberg), the Shock Doctrine, The Garden of Eden, Episodes of the Revolutionary War by Che, and the Jungle Book. I am currently in the midst of The Israel Lobby, In Defense of Food, and The End of Poverty. There is so much good stuff to read, and here there is plenty of time to read it.
One of the best parts of living here has to be the food, as I look forward to every single meal. We eat rice and beans with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I don´t think I could ever get sick of them. We have salad with lunch and dinner, eggs of some form for breakfast and often another meal, meat every couple days, and a bounty of other treats that Lidiette throws in. I can never stop myself at one plateful, and I have found myself walking around with a paunch for a few hours after each meal. I even got to make brownies yesterday while they were making peanut butter chocolates, which were easily the best baked good i´ve encountered in my life.
Otherwise, I am really enjoying the companionship of both Jimmy and Jeremy, and we have also grown close with Jorge, the 20 year old son of the family, who is a great guy. The family has a fooseball table, so we have been playing plenty of that, and every now and then we get to catch a local soccer game down on the little black and white tv they have at the bar. At nights, there are more stars than I have ever been able to see in the sky, so we do a fair bit of star gazing on the hill behind the farm - although even in the mountains of Costa Rica there is still a visible street light.
It´s truly a wonderful life, yet I still find myself missing home, both at UVM and Newton. Or more, missing all of you who make home what it is. Even while enjoying the bejeezus out of Costa Rica I can still look forward to going home for the summer, and then back to school in the fall. Here lies such a blessing, I am in such a great place with close friends doing stuff I really enjoy, and I still have room to look froward to home. I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to say that, and thank you to all of you who make home, wherever it is, so great.