My Blood Type is Salt

I have stumbled upon yet another gigantic subculture unbeknownst to me until now ... the world´s backpacking travelers. It is day five of our Central American unplanned extravaganza and the amount of random travelers that we have met doing the exact same thing as us is overwhelming.



We meet them at the bus, at hostels, in sodas (Central American diner equivalents), in the bathroom, on the street, on the beach ... they are everywhere. And I thought we were crazy. Out of everyone, we by far have the shortest trip here. Backpacking for months on end, these people take funemployment to a whole new level! It has become evident that I am clearly a rookie at the fine art of living out of a standard size bag. That being said, I am having the time of my life.



For the sake of my parents that I know are reading this, I will not detail the hostels in which we have stayed thus far. However, I will say we just got back from a weekend at one of Costa Rica´s most incredible beaches ... in my limited opinion ... called Santa Teresa. Located right off the Nicoya Peninisula, it is virtually untouched except by the locals and true to life surfer bums that came and never left. And truth be told, I had thoughts about never leaving. Seriously. That good. Getting there is a nightmare ... Costa Rican public travel you might as well take a camel ... but once there, it was surreal. I felt like Brad Pitt on some spy mission amongst locals on bikes in lush jungle like conditions. All we need is a rugged vehicle. This whole bus thing is really killing our look.



After Abby mistakenly thanked our cab driver in Italian, we found ourselves a hostel, made friends with a cute couple from British Columbia, found some coffee, and footed the long dirt road that spanned the whole coastline. Lined with crazy hostels, restaurants, surf shops, obnoxious roosters, and stray dogs, this place has gold written all over it. Someone really needs to notify John Milton because Paradise has definitely been found.



We rented boards for a day from uber hard core surfer gal from Norway and I gave everyone a quick makeshift lesson on surfing. Super scary considering my limited surfer skills. But despite the horrendous instructor, everyone did awesome. I took a head dive into the ocean floor but am alive to tell about it, Abby got a board to the face, also alive to tell about. Mikki almost drowned but is still alive to tell about it ... flu shot invoked swollen ankles and all ... and Amy is still alive! However, despite our injuries and our horrid sunburns, we can now say we surfed the world renowned waves of Costa Rica. Check off one of the things to do before I die! Meanwhile, Abby and I determined one of two things, we were either supposed to be birthed into the Pacific Ocean or our blood type is salt. We became one with the ocean.



I have to mention the hostel we stayed in called the Funky Monkey there in Santa Teresa. Imagine coastline bungalow with hammocks positioned above the beach hidden in the forest and that is where we stayed. Absolutley amazing. The people staying there were some of the most fascinating people we have ever met. From the hottie mom that owned the place to crazy brothers from the O.C. to old Steven from Canada to Nicolai from Norway who once hitchhiked across the U.S. with his mom... God´s dynamic creation just kept coming out of the woodwork.



However, meeting the worlds weirdest and best and falling asleep everynight to crazy animal noises and the best of American classic rock and Bob Marley ... literally heaven in a bungalow ... had to come to an end. We are now currently en route to try to kill ourselves again by taking a zipline over the canopies of some rainforest. We had to take a slight detour back to San Jose because someone decided it would be fun to steal Amy´s passport. Definitely a buzzkill. However, an epic story has been generated from the tragedy. I will save this story for later as this is getting far too long and some random keeps interurrpting me to chat about life.

However, as a teaser, let´s just say we had to traverse the streets of some random town looking for a police station to report the crime. And then let´s just say I ended up being quasi struggling translator between Amy and the chief of police of Puntarrenas. Then imagine us being transported by the police ... with the whole police force laughing at us ... to the court house to make our official complaint for the U.S. Embassy. Oh the sweet taste of adventure in a third world country!

Foot loose and Fancy Free

Three admissions counselors. One Accountant. Four women, age 24, on a reckless adventure in Central America. We have arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica.

I am currently sitting under a short surfboard with a painted turtle on it that says "Costa Rica" in a random hostel in San Jose. Thoughts running through my mind ... Where are we staying and where is the closest Marriott? Also, who is this clown outside smoking and talking about his surfing escapades? The adventure has begun.

Our Thanksgiving was spent in the airport and our usual turkey feast was transformed into colorful goldfish, peanut butter and chocolate chips, granola bars, and fruit snacks. Myself, being the shameless coffee addict of the group, had to stop at a coffee shop in DIA to get my last American latte. Pathetic, but totally necessary. Regardless, we had our meal and are now thankfully in one of our destination countries without any major issues. The first blunder of the trip: I spilled half of our chocolate snack on the airport floor and Abby forgot her shoes. Its going to be a good trip. Amy the Accountant seems incredibly organized and I think she will be instrumental in our success.

The cab ride over was the perfect start to the trip. Two good ole boys ... probably age 50 ... shared a cab ride over with us into San Jose from the airport. Sporting loud, obnoxious Florida jerseys, they were the epitome of American tourists. However, they were perfect for a few good laughs, some traveling tips, and a couple off-color jokes which I asked them not to tell, but Stu decided that we had to hear them. Classic. When they asked us what we were doing down here and we told him, he was shocked. "Wait none of you are married?" Nope! We tell him. "Well arent you guys just foot loose and fancy free!" Quote of the day. Done.

Thankfully, my Spanish is coming back quite easily and I was able to communicate with our cab driver about all sorts of things. When he pulled up to the hostel, I asked him if we were in the right place because I dont think I quite prepared myself for hostel travel again. I quickly looked for the nearest hotel, but realized that we are doing this on a budget. Budget means hostels and hostels mean ... sleep with one eye open. Flashbacks to college and my time in Argentina are upon me. What would an adventure be without crazy hostel patrons.

We are off to bed. Tomorrow we are going to try to figure out our next destination. My main goal ... coffee.

Disclaimer ... apologies if my grammar is off and punctuation marks are missing, the keyboard here is bizarre and this monitor is the size of my cell phone.

Vamos.

So, a few months ago in the midst of a sunny, workless afternoon, a couple co-workers and myself concocted an idea to buy a ticket to a random destination in the world and go on vacation. (Yes, welcome to the life of an admissions counselor or as a fine hip-hop artist would say a "Go-Gettah.") At first we were thinking South Africa, then upon the remembrance of the fact that Costa Rica has amazing surfing and of course acrobatic monkeys, we started toying with the idea of Costa Rica.

Over the next couple of weeks after the idea of Costa Rica was mentioned, I have never heard or seen so many things about Costa Rica in my life. The next day I ran into someone who just got back from there, I started seeing news articles about Costa Rica, I was dreaming about Costa Rica, and finally -- the last straw -- the brew of the day at Starbucks was from ... yep ... Costa Rica! I mean, seriously, it was written in the stars basically. But, all jokes aside, a few days later there was a bigger confirmation that we were definitely destined for the shores of Central America.

I was assigned to visit this random high school in Lakewood just down the street from my work. So I arrived at the high school (about 40 kids) thinking that this trip was going to be a complete waste of time. However, I went in sat down and started chatting with the guidance counselor on staff there. We talked substantially about her students, the high school, and college and I did what I do best: pretend to know what I'm talking about. Then, somehow we got on the subject of travel and she started telling me about a trip she had recently taken to ... Costa Rica. However, her story did not entail legends of jungles, wild parties, surfing, handsome Costa Rican men, or the narcotic-like coffee. Instead, her eyes lit up when she talked about working with Nicaraguan kids ("nicos"). She told me how poorly the Nicaraguans are treated in Costa Rica because they illegally migrate by the thousands to Costa Rica in search of a better life. Her and a group of her friends volunteered with some of the nico kids and she said it literally changed her life to spend time with these precious children and tell them -- to their utter shock -- that they were loved not only by them but a terrificly fantastic man named Jesus.

The minute I heard her story I knew ... We had to go. I got back to the office and told my co-workers, and surprisingly, they too had it placed on their heart that this "vacation" was an awesome opportunity to volunteer. Excited and totally exhuberhant, we purchased our tickets on a whim.

That was six months ago. Now, two days away from our trip, reality is setting in that we are actually going! We still don't know where exactly we are going to volunteer in Nicaragua, but I am confident that the Lord will lead us to where He wants us to be. So, if you are reading this, please pray that God uses us down there in anyway he pleases and that we are obedient to His call. We have no reservations, no plans, no itinerary, and are virtually open to any opportunity that arises. I just hope it is not a Nicaraguan prison because man, I hate prisons.

Also, I checked the surf report yesterday and let's just say ... like the thief on the cross next to Jesus ... soon, I too, will be in Paradise. And by Paradise I obviously mean ... Costa Rica.

I'll Take Two Dozen ... Years.

So, yesterday I reached the magical number of 24 years old. I typically kind of always dread my birthday for some reason. I am not particularly fond of a production being made out of me and would rather just somehow float under the radar specifically on November 13. For other people's birthdays I am the first to want to celebrate in epic proportions, but for myself, totally different story.

However, despite myself, I was bombarded with presents, messages, letters, phone calls, and in true 21st Century communication efforts: facebook wall postings, texts, e-mails, etc. It was mind boggling! Who knew being so socially connected via the internet could provide such an ego boost! Call me ridiculous, but I was seriously touched by the random birthday wishes and thoughts from so many people -- even if that creepy guy from High School wished me a happy birthday --I'll take it! (Kidding).

But the most valuable Birthday wish of all came in the middle of the night the night before my birthday. Now, I'm not Joseph. And I'm not a dream interpreter. And I don’t slay people in the spirit. But often times, I know that I hear from God. If this is too charismatic for you, then burn me at the stake and take me off the prayer chain.

Anyhow, I couldn't sleep for some reason and I laid in bed awake thinking of all the days tasks and feeling slightly anxious about the fact that it was my birthday. I'm 24 years old. I haven't written a book yet, I do not own property, I sometimes park on my front yard because I live with so many people, I still don't really fully grasp the concept of a 401k plan, what the heck am I doing with my life, I'm totally dreading the awkward phone call from the ex-boyfriend wishing me a happy birthday, am I going to get the same sweater I get every year, etc. You know, the typical birthday anxiety syndrome.

However, in the midst of all these fears, questions, and self-accusatory thoughts, God pressed on my mind this one simple thought: Tomorrow is my day to celebrate you Tracy. It doesn't matter if anyone else recognizes this day. The fact is, I do and I am the most excited and thrilled about you, your life, & my creation.

Never thinking about my birthday in that light before ... a time when God -- you know God of the Universe -- actually celebrates over His creation, and that creation being me ... ! I guess you could say that totally blows the sheet cake that says "Happy Birthday" at the office completely out of the water.

Needless to say, I awoke the next morning having an entire new outlook on the ‘ole November 13 and the fact that I am 24 years old (and still parking on my lawn). So while all the presents, wall shenanigans, e-mails, surprise deliveries etc. were absolutely fabulous and wonderful, I got the only Birthday greeting that really mattered this year on November 13 at 3 a.m.

No wonder I was ridiculously late to the office that day.