Now I know why Costa Rica is called the Rich Coast

I ventured out from the farm for the first time a few days ago. Swallowing my fears of starving outside my beautiful world of daily organic food, I randomly chose a town after hearing that is was a surf mecca: Jaco (pronounced with an accent over the o). For the first time in my life, I am grateful for letting my cheapness mold my decisions- I hopped on the local buses to get to this little beach town. For about 7 bucks, I journeyed 6 hours to the Pacific Coast, having to switch buses twice. With no companions and no clue where I was going to spend the night, I put my game face on and whipped out my Spanish Dictionary, determined to make friends with some fellow Ticos. In the San Ramon bus station, I received some weird looks from other passengers as I ate my grapefruit-sized avocado with a straw (something more normal, say a utensil, was not to be found). So far, so bad with me fitting in and making friends...

I wound up having to stand for the 2-hour, windy drive from San Ramon to the port town Puntarenas. But that, along with my ridiculous aviator glasses, ended up being a blessing in disguise- a crew of 5 Costa Rican surfers were standing as well and immediately dug my shades. Although none of them spoke a word of English, my limited Spanish must have been entertaining enough for them to want me to stick around. After much discussion over our family, pets, and favorite colors (the topics that I was really strong in), we got off in Jaco and found a hostel together. Jaco is bizarre in a timeless, lazy way. Thanks to Jaco, I truly understand the definition of "painting the town red" and what ex-pats are.

When I had settled on Jaco back at the dining table at Casa Luna, I was advised by Iti and Rebecca, the two Tica hotel managers, that Jaco was dirty in every sense of the word. With their description, I half-expected to get drug offers and dubious looks from prostitutes the moment I got off the bus. The long main street of Jaco was actually quite colorful and mellow- a classic beach town to the max. You could tell it has definitely seen its fair share of drunken packs of tourists, but the sun-kissed youths heading to/returning from the beach gave the place a decided "vacation from life" feel. After asking a few gringos on the streets where they were staying, my new friends and I stumbled upon Da Haan Inn, a $10 hostel greeting us with a faded mural of a chicken surfing a pipeline. For a surfer looking for a crashpad less than 50 meters from the beach, Da Haan Inn was tacky in all the right ways.

My stay in Jaco was a whirlwind of bath-temp. ocean dives, conversations with surf-bums, and sipping on coconuts. The next day I left to go back to Luna, but one of my buses was late, which resulted in me having to stay in San Ramon (2 hours from Luna) that night. As my incredible fortune would go, I had befriended an Ethiopian jewelry-maker on the bus named Valentino. He lived in San Ramon and upon hearing my situation, insisted that I have a cup of coffee with him and his family. Later that night, I marveled at the situation that surrounded me; here I was, sitting with 4 Tica women and Valentino, in an apartment in San Ramon Costa Rica, sipping on Tutti Frutti tea and watching a telenovela on their purple sofa. It was great. Valentino's wife insisted that I spend the night instead of finding a hotel, which I gratefully accepted. Leaving early the next morning, I promised my new friends that if I returned to San Ramon, they would need to get the Tutti Frutti tea ready for me.

After one more gorgeous busride through the rainforest, and then a drive up the 2 mile stretch to Luna in the back of a pick-up truck, I was home. I came stumbling up to Casa Luna, meeting Iti and Rebecca's quizical looks with an exhausted, yet blissful grin. Then seeing that Ana, one of my favorite chefs, was starting to bring out a rainforest salad and marinated tilapia for lunch, I couldn't help but smile.