Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 9)

March 18 – After a splendid first night of town strolling, margaritas, pizza, music and some much needed rest, I awake and decide to go on a stroll. I always enjoy being up early on vacation and scoping out my surroundings in solitude. Vendors are busy selling food and crafts. Many Americans live here permanently, and I observe as they jog by, or sit in nearby sodas and read the local newspaper. On my way back to the apartment, I am surrounded by a canopy of welcoming monkeys up above me. I even get a peek at the beach.

After some breakfast, which consisted of some strong local coffee at a local soda, we head to the beach. Dark sand, hot sand…volcanic sand, whoa! My scorched feet invite the Pacific’s cool touch. We camp down for a while and enjoy the beach among the local American populace. Playa del Coco is a lively area filled with many Americans who have made this, their permanent residence. I can’t blame them. There are numerous beaches nearby, the town bustles with energy and noise. We decide to do like them, and move from del Coco to Playa Hermosa. Hermosa means “beautiful”.

Prior to getting to the beach we stop by a local soda for some lunch and a refill of both beer and water. The ride to the area is quite scenic as we rise higher on the road, anxiously anticipating our arrival to Hermosa. Wow. Magnificent and indeed Hermosa. Palm trees line the beach, which by now in the early afternoon seems rather calm, with just a few folks here or there. In the middle of the sand, I spot a man and a cart... What could he be selling..? I walk over and discover a nice treat – a Granizado. A sweet concoction made with condensed milk, ice and fruit flavors... so good… so refreshin during our stay here we discover a strange tree, with a strange phallic shaped protrusion. The entire afternoon is spent in Playa Hermosa, basking in the palm trees’ shade and the Pacific’s refreshing ocean. Not a bad way to spend a day.

Prior to the night’s festivities, we head into town to pick up my laundry. See, the night before I found a woman who we gave our laundry to. Those clothes came back brand new and smelling amazing. I almost made out with my socks….

We venture out into the night and everyone is on the same vibe, party time. Pick up some souvenirs here or there; enjoy drinks at the Lizards Lounge and the most amazing dinner ever while during our stay in Costa Rica, in a dirt floor soda. The meal consists of your typical “casado”, which in essence, is rice and beans and meat and veggies and an assortment of other delicacies. Fresh fish is consumed as well as some fresh fruit shakes. All in all an absolutely delicious meal in a dirt floor soda where dogs linger and soccer is watched in a 13 inch TV. Unforgettable.

As the night resumes, we stumble upon a pizza place which the girls show interest in, prior to heading back to the apartment. It’s been a long day full of wonders and great experiences. The day typifies what it is to be in Costa Rica; carefree, and open to experiences of both the eyes and taste buds. Back to the pizza place though…as the girls wait inside, I go in and skip past them letting music guide me. No freaking way…a tiki party in the back of the pizza place??? There’s a band playing island tunes and tables and torches…what the hell is going on?! This is awesome. I linger and order a beer, while the girls continue to wait on their midnight snack. Everyone is enjoying the music, infused with ocean breeze and smells of fresh fruit. I say good bye and head back to our headquarters, pizza in hand for another great night at the apartment with the best people I know.

32 Posts Later...I'll Toast to That

It's baffling. The show began back in July, when I finally made the decision to take my writing public. Snippets here and there, sleep-deprived sessions centered around my world and the things that influence me the most. It has been an incredible 2010, kicked off by an unforgettable Vega$ trip with old and new friends - a trip where I almost lost an eye, and spent a Saturday night in ER, due to it. I wore an anaconda around my neck on my last night there.. blissful trip. In comes the summer and here in New England, we are blessed with some of the greatest summer weather ever; highlighted by numerous parties, trips to the beach, and many long nights spent amongst friends, in particular, some of the best people I know and love. The kids enjoyed it immensely as well, trips to amusement parks and the beach..but I digress. You see, if you would have asked me back in January if I would ever even ponder writing on the Web, I would have probably dumped a soda on your head.. it was unthinkable, yet I'm not sure why it was... what was the fear..?

As I look back at 32 sessions beginning in July, I feel not proud, but rather satisfied - satisfied that I made the jump and never looked back. That regardless of what the topic was, if it piqued my thought process, I wrote about it. I talked about Grape Crushing in the New World, I shared my experiences in the stunning land of Costa Rica, I wrote about love in many forms and about music and dreams and books and Paris and change..! Yes, change...! I've learned that I am to be a father again come June of next year and I recently started a new job.

Still.. I remain satisfied, perhaps even accomplished to an extent. I reflect and smile and sometimes emotion overwhelms me when I read back my own writing, my very own thoughts and tribulations. And I think to myself - there is nothing in the world that fills my soul more than writing; allowing thought and opinion to manifest itself - full of unbridled and effervescent emotion. I thank those that have read and those that have pushed me to 'ramble on'. The pleasure is indeed all mine. Happy Holidays!! See you in January.

Love, Irving

Astray

It rejected me as if I did not belong there. My deserving rest wrestled away from me, pried from my aching feet, lifted from my heavy eyelids. The walking was lazy. Strolling through my kitchen in the wee hours of the night. Searching for familiarity not commonly found in drawers or fridges. It all felt dreamlike. This altered state of being did not bode well I thought. I was a wanderer, a stranger in my own reality. Disconnected, I froze. It was the kind of cathartic experience perhaps not found in the day to day doldrums of life. I suppose it helped to reset the brain as it resonated with confusion and dissonance.


Was there anyone else out there? No sound. No air. The lights remained off and I struggled to find the kitchen counter. I felt the need to lean on something; on someone. Realizing perhaps in this distant state, that I was very much alive and well. That although the time indicated otherwise and the house was pitch black, the sun would rise in a couple of hours. Things became common once more. Complexities and strangeness seemed like forgotten memories. The inevitable grasp of all things familiar breathed life into me and I walked up the stairs, into my room.


It was five in the morning. Dead in bed. Far off somewhere else. Searching once more, for that kitchen counter.

Lunacy Sets In...

As I review the amount of strange and unusual words I've collected as I read the Wake, I've come to one clear conclusion. I am a lunatic. I mean after all, taking on this task of attempting to decipher this book, is the equivalent of walking on broken glass. Endless scribblings and words that seem to not make sense..yet somehow they kind of do. There is no concise story at this point. No real plot or characters. Simply, Joyce's words are the main characters. That's it. I've accepted this as fact at this point, yet feel compelled to push forward. I must be a masochist. Most people would have given up by now I suppose. After all, the book defies all known structure or discipline.

It may explain those strange dreams I've been having. Hmmmm... ok back to the Wake.

Avalanche

Scary huh? Yet, all I can picture, is cascading snow; enraged by a scream or a thunderclap. Despondent yet transforming. I mean after all, an avalanche does change its surroundings. One of nature's sudden whims to scrap a written page and commence anew, with the hope that the alteration of the nearby terrain will be effervescent and purposeful. Something with much more spark than previously envisaged. The key to the avalanche, is change. And change is good, most of the time. The majority of us are sticklers to routine and any flicker of addition or subtraction generates panic! I mean after all, this is what I..like..to do...right...right? Why oh why does it have to change..? There are changes taking place around me that will forever alter the fabric of who I am, or at least, who I thought I was - a sudden introduction of agents accosting me at all corners. Changes that will bring forth an avalanche of sorts, and with it, questions that beget answers, actions that must be taken. I can hear the drum roll in the distance. "Let's get lost", as Chet Baker would say. Dye the soul color blue and dive right into this mess of snow and rock coming straight at me.

Sudden whims huh? I can see it all now.... A strangeness at first, like driving to a new job on day one. Scrap that last page and commence anew. Effervescence and purpose are on their way.

Book Club Membership in 1986

Back in 1986, I barely spoke or read English. I had just docked into American waters oblivious to signs and newspaper articles. The inevitable sense of doom was overwhelming. I was 11 years old and I pretty much felt like I sucked at everything. Add to that, the inability to communicate in the native tongue, and you can bet your ass I was concerned. I didn’t even know what ‘fuck you' meant. Sixth grade came and with it a gravitational pull towards jean jackets and stonewashed jeans…and glasses. Fucking glasses. It was not fashionable to wear glasses in 1986. In fact, it was the “Golden Era of the Nerd”. You wore glasses you were a geek. Add to that the fact that I could barely mutter my home address, and yep, I shit you not; I was a geek and a mute.

It was the late 80’s and it was all about metal and freestyle - rocking jean jackets, spiked hair and Nike sneakers. As part of my introduction to the school system in the US, I was placed in the bilingual section of the curriculum, which consisted of another 6 kids. Though these kids had been born in the States, their English was pathetic at best, hence their placement into the club. I needed to learn to speak English pronto damnit! How the hell was I supposed to talk to these girls? Sign language was not an option, unless I wanted to get my ass kicked.

Enter the “60 Book Club”. Simply, you had to read at least 60 books and provide a book report for each. At the end of the year you would be rewarded with a “membership card” and public recognition in front of the entire school. God, I was such a nerd. Nonetheless, it was my ticket out, and I planned to capitalize on it.

The books available at the time ranged from “Pygmalion” to “The Karate Kid” to “A Raisin in the Sun” and so on. I dedicated myself all year to reading these books, and writing book reports for all. I stumbled at times – the pressure of all this reading combined with the combustible atmosphere that is junior high made for quite the cocktail. I was a nerd, plain and simple – but my ambitions were high, and I knew full well that this year of devotion to books would serve as a stepping stone for the rest of my life.

Last week of the school year. 64 books. A cheesy ceremony where I wore my Dad’s old suit, and my god-awful glasses. I had arrived. 64 book reports. A shiny membership card and the official stamp of nerd. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as this spurred me to continue to read and read some more. It certainly didn’t help me in my affairs with the female population, but all roads must be crossed twice sometimes. Inevitably, you find your way.

Perhaps I’m still that kid in my Dad’s old suit. 64 books. I should find that card and frame it.

Finnegans Wake

I have spent most of my adult life doing two things in particular; reading and writing. As far as reading is concerned, I've taken on them all rather successfully; from the Bible to Hemingway to Kerouac and down into Shakespearean territory. Now granted, I have run into fits of despair and may have destroyed a copy or two of Naked Lunch - it all comes down to the following story. A colleague of mine in Galway, Ireland, sent along a book to another travelling colleague of mine, with the sole purpose of it arriving in my hands safe and sound. I was unaware of what book I was to receive. I simply knew that a book was crossing the pond; something unexpected, perhaps something with a greater amount of substance than anything I've ever encountered.

James Joyce.

Yes, James frigging Joyce. I've never read anything from an Irish author in the past, and as fate would have it, James Joyce will be my first rendezvous. In particular, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. A rather complicated work of fiction known as one of the most difficult in the English language. It arrived Monday, and as of yesterday, colleagues at work were calling me a dork, for even attempting to comprehend it. Finnegans Wake, from word of mouth, defies regular storytelling. Its approach is strictly stream of concsiousness; a never ending loop.

Perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew, but this is a legit challenge unlike any other. No cliff notes or abbreviated summaries will be employed. I will commit myself to this book and no other, for the next few months. 628 pages, to be dissected; my own notes scrawled upon scraps of paper, napkins, whatever is close. It may drive me crazy, I may lose whatever I have left of hair... I will report back with my findings. James, we have a date.

Sometimes We Become Muddled and Lazy

I often wonder why it is that people wait for an unfortunate event to occur, before they take action. The action I speak of focuses on each one’s legacy. What will you be remembered for when you leave this Earth? How will your children remember you? Will your friends recall stories and memories from long ago where you played the main character? I know…many questions. Perhaps as one gets older, these questions creep in much more often than not. I am fortunate that my folks are both alive and that my younger brother is alive. I do not take them for granted. I speak to them at least twice a week. I reach out to my closest friends as much as I can.

When I ask these questions from others, the answers are often muddled and lazy. “Yeah you are right, maybe I should call him.” “It’s been about three weeks..I think.??” It never escapes me, how important family is, how important those few I call friends are. Life is busy, I know. It’s easy to fall into a quagmire of inactivity; a despondent state of affairs.

A dear friend of mine was here this past weekend, and we chatted about simple things. We talked about the past and brought up fantastic and incredibly funny stories. It didn’t escape me then either, how important those memories are. Years have passed and once in a while, a window opens, when you are reminded, purposely or not, that action must be taken. We must do what we can, while we can.

Legacy.... May your actions and memories linger in boisteroius laughter and joyous admiration, when you are no longer here.

Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 7)

March 17 - Leaving Samara. Sad morning, but hopeful that our travels ahead remain full of adventure and steady doses of ice cold beer. As we bid adieu to Samara, we see Napoleon and Pollo driving by us on the other direction, frantically prompting us to yell out to them in unison.."Pollo...!!!" He waves smiling, as if to say, "see you guys soon". Beach bums, gotta love 'em and their unyielding spirit of doing absolutely nothing but enjoying life. We could learn from them.

Onwards we go, north, closely hugging the coast, taking in the ocean scenery, passing small villages, dirt roads, kids kicking soccer balls, the vastness of the Pacific. We make it a point to stop at random beaches along the way, Playa Garza, Playa Rosada.. gorgeous pieces of the Pacific. Then...we hit the mother load; miles and miles of unpaved road, gravel, rocks, the works. The caravan slows to a crawl, to avoid a flat. Jason's lulled almost to sleep with the constant rocking. It feels..endless. The journey takes a strange twist when the Caravan finds itself head on with a semi flooded road. I get out and go in the water with a branch to check its depth. The last thing we want is to be stuck, but we must push forward to our destination - Playa del Coco. The girls get off the Caravan and I instruct the Jason to charge ahead, like a battalion with bayonets..."Chargeeee". Our vehicle makes it through the water unscathed, and the rest of us make it via a walk ramp, safe and sound.

Soon, the road becomes paved. We stop for snacks along the way, replenish our beer stash and on we go. Finally, we reach our destination, and first stop by a soda for some much needed lunch. From there, it's on to the apartment that will become our base of operations for the next three days. Welcome to Playa del Coco.

My Attempt at Poetry

Lost in Writing

Scattered papers, shapeless stars

Endless words, unscripted scars

Numerous tales of woe and disaster

Life in effect seems ever faster

Bringing its noise to a sudden halt

It resonates in the ever after

Where I discuss my melodrama

I choose death before dishonor

Yet everything at last fades

Into silence, endless shades

Rebelling as I speak

I sense this world to be unique

Yet at the peak of its own fate

Lies the line between love and hate

The mind is muddled with hysteria

The body rots and life gets wearier

Laying upon this bed of leaves

I dare to challenge your beliefs

From here and everywhere

Undeniably aware

Unequivocally rare

The room now fills with air

Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 6)

March 16th - Woke up at 7:30am, wanted to head out and walk on the beach, clear my head and take it all in. Already the heat was evident, a gorgeous day. Took my sunglasses and camera and out the door I went, headed straight towards the beach, intending to at least walk the entire right side of it.

The water was calm at this time, while everyone still slept, recovering from the prior night's debacle. It was a tranquil walk, and I felt very relaxed; listening only to the sound of waves and just taking everything in; breathing deeply and feeling lucky to have come to this part of the world. My only encounter eerily enough was with a vulture who sat steadily on a rock and saw me wander around. I managed to take a picture of it, which I'll post later. It was as if to say, if you decide to die, I will have you for lunch. I picked up some gorgeous seashells and headed back after a cool walk. It was time to surprise the kids with seashells in the morning.

As I made my way back to Hotel Giada with pockets full of seashells, I spotted Jason, nonchalantly sitting on the porch, reading. He seemed tranquil and I didn't feel like disturbing his reading, but he spotted me, and asked me about the walk to the beach. Waking up the kids was a joy; they were so surprised about the seashells; I could see a sparkle in their eyes, as if a newly discovered comet had been observed. Their reaction coupled with the walk on the beach, made my morning.

The rest of the day was spent on the beach, taking in the sun, fighting the surf, boogie boarding, and snapping pictures at every turn. Great sunshine, great day to spend on the water.

By nighttime, after dinner, we made our trek back to Locanda Bar and its alluring arms. Salsa in the air, drinks, and just truly feeling as if anyone who was anyone was at Locanda's, and there was no one else in the world, but us; thoroughly enjoying a rich and glorious time at the shores of the Pacific.

I Seem to Have Forgotten Your Name

I see you. Between the waves. Smiling back at me, relentlessly. I recall your long blonde hair and your enticing eyes yet I don't recall your name. The sun was at its brightest on that day, and God decided it was time to unveil you in front of the world. You spoke to me from afar, and every once in a while, you smiled, and the world was a better place because of it. Beneath the clouds, the sun, and those fantastic waves, you spoke about where you were from. You spoke about your past and about your day to day. It was one of those encounters, where you look back now and think to yourself, I wonder how she's doing. I wonder what one of God's greatest creations is doing. On that day, that bright sunny day, we spoke about waves, and about wind. We spoke about music and what is best in life. All the while, I wondered where you had descended from; one of His very own angels, lounging around the surf, dancing to your own beat. Seemingly oblivious to the world around you. Your attention, simply, on me. Inquisitive yet playful. Perhaps my perception changed on that day. I realize now that encounters such as these are few and far in between.

Wherever you are, sun-kissed, green-eyed, and angelic, I hope you are doing just fine. I hope perhaps you remember me, brash and cocky, yet stunned from the mere sight of you. A boy, who remembers you, and wonders how you are doing after all this time.

I seem to have forgotten your name. Then again, angel would suffice. I hope wherever you are, you remember me as I remember you.

Interview

As I stood there waiting for my interview, thoughts came to mind; random thoughts that sparked fires of paranoia and delusion. The room was devoid of any furniture, aside from an old desk and a chair. Though the room lacked windows, the air was cool and electric. In a flash, something out of nowhere startled me – it led me towards that desk and that chair. I sat down slowly, with my head down, unsure of what would happen next. Upon lifting my eyes a person sat in front of me, looking at me intently; gazing into my soul. He did not speak, he did not budge; he simply looked at me, intently.

In amazement, the first words came out of my mouth. “What should I do?” “Where do I go from here?” The questions kept bubbling up, to the surface. Questions about myself, about my future, about life.

No answers. Simply that gaze, fixed and unequivocally familiar.

As time ticked, the questions subsided, and I focused my attention on this person in front of me. Familiar yet strange. Silent. Unyielding.

Anger. Perhaps a result of frustration, of his unresponsive nature. I struck him. I lunged at him with force, crashing through the mirror. In an instant, I knew. All along it had been me on the other side of the desk. My own reflection. Questions unanswered. Responses that shattered through the air in a million little pieces. The interview that never was, concluded with cuts on my face and arms. A reminder perhaps, that the truth can be as painful and severe as the silence of a windowless room.

Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 5)

March 15th - After our incredible stay at Arenal Paraiso, our travels would take us down a different path. This time we were headed towards the Guanacaste region, which ultimately meets the Pacific Ocean. Our ultimate destination would be a sole beach by the name of "Samara". Just thinking about Samara brings smells of salt in the air, sunshine, surfboards and the great Pacific.. Wish I was there now.

On to our trip. We boarded the trusty Caravan and headed west, zipping around Lake Arenal, a vast pool of turquoise waters. Along the way, we observed vibrant European nuances; houses built like suisse chalets, and luckily, a German bakery. That's right, I said it, a German bakery, in the middle of Costa Rica. And even better it serves beer.... my God, what is this place??? Are you kiddin' me?? Okay, where's the hidden camera... But, no joke, a German bakery hosted by Germans who serve beer...German beer.. Fuck me sideways!!!! I actually had the gall to ask our lovely German hostess if they served beer... her response was like a slap across the face with a wooden sandal.."Of course we serve beer, it's a German establishment?!" Really she was saying to herself... "What are you a fuckin' idiot??" Yeah I laid a huge goose egg on this one.. but moving on, we proceeded to enjoy great German beers on tall glasses and stocked up on more for the road. I bid adieu to this fine establishment, with the reminder that someday, sooner rather than later, I would come back to this very spot, and order a German beer from that very hostess, before I even said hello. Prost..!

We caught our first glimpses of the Pacific upon our arrival to Samara. After unloading and catching a quick meal at Hotel Giada, we walked down towards the beach. I was overwhelmed after seeing the Pacific for the very first time, regal and sparkling; white foam rushing all around. Palm trees stretched out near us as the only shelter against the sun. It was late afternoon and after taking several dips, we hung around until the tide came in and swept away our bag, towels, kids' toys, etc... clearly a welcoming sign from Samara. Aside from the wild waters of Samara, the area itself is very cool. Clearly, a surfer's town, with many surf shops and souvenir kiosks and your share of new and repeat tourists, you just can't get enough of the coolness of Samara. Wicked high cool factor.

The late afternoon was not complete, until we decided to mount horses for a ride by the beach. The girls went over to negotiate prices with two fellows aptly named Napoleon and Pollo; characters who live and die by the beach. Their ocean breeze and salt blasted faces tell the whole story; these guys are legit beachbums. Drunk ones at that; but I digress. We mounted our sturdy friends and yours truly decided to bypass the lesson and take off to higher ground. My horse did not agree with this decision and decided not to follow directions or listen me, after numerous requests. He came and went as he pleased, to the thrill of the crowd and one Shirley, who could not stop laughing... more on her in a bit.. Finally I made it back to Napoleon and crew, a beaten man. Getting back to Shirley though... she was on a horse for a max of 5 minutes. Fear and loathing soon took over and she proceeded to dismount, feeling safer on land than on horse.

After returning to our comfortable digs and cleaning up, we walked out into the evening to explore our surroundings. We weaved our way around souvenir shops in search of a decent place to eat. At first we arrived at a bar, devoid of people; a dark and dreary place where the dead go to drink. We passed on the chance and to our surprise, a bar named Locanda loomed near. L

Locanda is one of those places on Earth that is not bound by the same rules as other places are. What I mean is, this place is magical; literally glowing, enthusiastic, energized, life resides here in bundles. The soundtrack? Simple. Salsa. All night. That's all. No other form of music. And you know what? It works. Especially if the place is but feet from the ocean, the wood carved tables are surrounded by palm trees decorated with Christmas lights, and the ocean breeze takes you away to some other location. Out of sight, out of mind. We pass the night here overwhelmed by the most amazing night sky I've ever witnessed. The first time I see the milky way, over the Pacific Ocean, what a sight. Great night amongst friends, the drinks and food kept coming until it was time to close shop for another day.

Lessons from the First Grade

Where has the time gone? Alex is now 6 years old and in first grade already?!! This past Tuesday I took him to school to meet his teacher and scout the surroundings, and it struck me; it wasn't that long ago that my own mother was taking me to first grade. As I recall, she took me by the hand on my first day and once I was seated, she bolted. Here I was in this strange new world of boogers, whiners and newness. In retrospect, I should have never punched Johnny in the nose. Weird times.

So as I let go of Alex in class this past Tuesday, those memories rushed back, and I observed him, seating there, no longer a baby, but a kid, with his own curiosities and view of the world around him. I lingered intently, to observe his movements- would he talk to anyone, maybe a hi here or there. He seemed content. He had arrived. And I felt at ease, as he caught me lurking, and waved at me from afar, smiling as if to say, "it's ok Daddy, I'm good to go".

As I drove back to work, I felt relieved. Perhaps this is how my mother felt. Here he is world..! Release. Life goes on. As I get older, I tend to appreciate moments like this more so. Nothing is trivial. These lessons became evident, as I lingered and watched my kid step into the spotlight. The first of many grades in life.