So Fresh and So Clean.

I've been home for 24 hours now, and I'm convinced that my bug bites itch more at home than they ever did in Central America. I think because I'm actually clean here. Somehow, always being covered in sweat, dust, and grime made the bites more bearable when I was travelling. I actually used soap yesterday and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I also got my new drivers license since my purse was stolen in Nicaragua. My mullet is forever immortalized now. Yipee!! I studied the license picture with interest in the car on the way back. I haven't seen a mirror in almost a full month, and I'd forgotten what I looked like. Oddly, I don't look that different without makeup. Or at least, not discernibly so from my memory of myself in college photos. A little disturbing, considering that the makeup industry makes a fortune every year off of girls like me. I wandered around Barnes and Noble this afternoon, wearing my Panama shirt and the same hiking pants I've been wearing for the past month. It's so hard confronting my closet whenever I first get home from travelling. It's just so large and there's so many choices that I don't want to deal with it. My travel clothes are so comfortingly familiar and safe to choose from.

I also went shopping for a new wallet, since the temporary wallet I bought in Nicaragua after being robbed is not going to make the cut back in the States. Having a hologram Winnie the Pooh in my back pocket will hardly inspire confidence among my patients when I'm a med student. I hate wallet-shopping. They're always so expensive, and I never like the wallets available. I had a hard time buying anything in fact. It all seemed so expensive and so unnecessary. The only things I bought were soap (which I left behind in Montezuma), a back scrubber, some anti-itch cream, and body lotion. All things I would've bought in Central America anyways. I looked at the beautiful woman at the DMV with her well-manicured nails and perfectly done hair, and instead of feeling intimidated and hyper-aware of my own slovenliness, I just felt... indifferent. Like her and I were different breeds of women, and I just happened to have shaggy hair and untrimmed nails with dirty under them. I itched my bug bites nonchalantly while my dad glared at me and told me it wasn't appropriate to expose my calf like that in public. Not even for a bug bite. We're so... structured.

I spent the entire evening in a tank top and windpants, without a bra, sitting at the kitchen table at home. With a tube of anti-itch cream beside me. And I ate a can of Pringles, which made me feel nostalgic for Costa Rican bus rides. Pringles were a staple of my diet in Central America, since they came in handy for long bus rides and sudden midnight cravings. My new roommate's been calling me so I can fill out the lease and credit check application, and my dad's been asking me repeatedly when I plan to start packing because I'm moving on Sunday. He asks me why I'm so disorganized.

I don't know why I'm so disorganized. I guess because I feel like you can't really plan life. Like the Costa Rican buses, life never runs the way you think it will. It doesn't go on a schedule. It leaves when it feels like it, "around" 8 AM or so. Give or take half an hour. And it arrives when it feels like it, sometimes with your luggage, sometimes without, sometimes with your bum intact, sometimes not, sometimes with a flat tire, sometimes not, and sometimes not even with the same bus that you got on at the beginning of your trip (especially if it breaks down halfway through and you have to switch buses). Usually though, you get on the bus as a solo female traveller, and by the time you get off, you may not know where you are, or even whether this is the right stop to get off at but you do get off with friends that you've made along the way. People to go with to the new hostel, people to share a cab ride with, people to find their way with you. Because hey, even if we get lost, it's all part of the adventure right?

Yes it is, says Apple corporation, as they charge me an additional $300 to replace my stolen ipod. And adventures, however disorganized they may be, are sadly also expensive. Looming ahead of me is the structurued doorframe to Medicine. On August 1st, I start Orientation. And then I'll have to be organized, and responsible, and all those things that I didn't have to be when I was travelling. Boo...

Building a Mystery

Small children who cannot behave on planes should be sedated. Even dogs are better behaved than some children are. Can you imagine the furor if a dog kept whining and crying for an hour straight? Or if the dog stood up on its seat, placing its front paws on your seat back and drooled on the back of your neck? There'd be an uproar. How come it's okay to dislike dogs and complain about being in a closed cabin with one, but it's not socially acceptable to be irritated by a small child behaving the exact same way? What kind of country is this when we better train our pets than we do our children? Maybe we should start clicker-training our kids.

My bus ride back to San Jose was uneventful. Though the Tico man sitting across the aisle from me had 4 different Bank of America ATM cards in his back pocket. My flight home was delayed by 3 hours, making my 4 AM rising utterly unnecessary. Instead of arriving home at 6 pm, I arrived home closer to midnight.

I spent about 6 hours sitting in Miami's airport, which didn't endear it anymore to me. Last time I was in Miami's airport, it was because they'd overbooked my flight. And the prior time, I had to spend the night sleeping on a chair. I hate Miami. Luckily, the $4.50 I invested in a Vanity Fair paid off since it occupied me for 4 out of the 6 hours. Read the damn thing cover to cover. And also consumed the bag of white chocolate covered coffee beans that were supposed to be a souvenir for my friend. Oops. I spent the last hour chatting with a med student who's going to be a 2nd year at the school I'll be at in a few weeks. The >16 hours I've spent travelling haven't done wonders to my skin or hair. I'm starting to look forward to a good shower and a long nap.

About halfway through the evening at the airport, I realized that I was no longer thinking about Mohawk Med Student from Panama. Perhaps fickleness runs in both the sexes. Had I stayed an extra day or two, perhaps it would've become patently clear to me that he's a doofus. Or boring. Or strange. But half his intrigue at this point is simply the lack of conclusion. He'll forever remain a mystery. And everyone loves a good mystery. Even if we do meet again, I'm sure it will be strange and awkward, because we'll be back in our accepted roles in society instead of simply being 2 individuals who shared a lap and a good conversation at Shipwreck bar.

I used to think that I could get along with practically anybody. Partially because I talk a lot. But also because regardless of our differences, we're all human underneath it all. But in Dominical, I got an inkling that my idealism might be on shaky ground. Meels and I hitched a ride with a bunch of guys who were headed to the waterfalls. My first hint that perhaps I might have little in common with these guys occurred when they all mentioned they worked in construction or carpentry or lawn-maintenance. The landscape guy had a startling resemblance to Brad Pitt. True to the Desperate Housewives gardener stereotype, except he wasn't in college. Even though we're all people with similar wants and desires, the paths we all lead are sometimes so divergent that it's a struggle to find common ground. My second hint happened when I innocuously asked what Brad Pitt's tattoo was on his back. It was the Confederate flag. It said something that 1) I didn't know what the Confederate flag looked like and 2) that he had it tattoo'ed hugely on his back. Later on int he day, I also had to explain to him that Oriental is for rugs, Asian is for people. The funny thing is - Meels ran into that bunch again at the airport when she was leaving. She sent me an email about it. Apparently, I'd made quite an impression on Brad Pitt, since his friends told her he wouldn't shut up about me for days after we parted ways. I was slack-jawed. I wasn't sure what he was basing this on since we barely exchanged two words to each other, besides some awkward (and unsuccessful) attempts to find common topics of conversation to discuss, but I was hugely flattered that I'd made such an impact, however unknowingly. I had my suspicions that perhaps the porn industry might have something to do with it, but I thought I'd give myself (and him) the benefit of the doubt and assume it was my dazzlingly charming personality.

What I like best about travelling is the fact that everyone is more open. Everyone is out of their element and you all have travel as a common thread. No assumptions are made, no roles in society are adhered to, and no one cares. Backpacking levels the field because everyone is cheap, everyone smells, and everyone is completely dirty. And thus, British fashionistas mingle anonymously with Bob Marley-worshipping males, guys with the confederate flag tattoo'ed on their backs fall for Asian med school girls, and an otherwise pseudo-conservative gal like myself finds herself chatting up a boy with a mohawk. And discussing Asimov, of all things. At home, you never speak to strangers in coffeeshops, because you don't have a common thread. But when you're backpacking, really - everyone is fair game. How long have you been travelling for? Where are you from? How long is your trip total? Where have you been so far? Really? I'm headed there next! How did you like it? It's the ultimate exercise in non-judgmentalness. It's what I imagine high school would've been like if everyone wore uniforms.

I got back home about half an hour ago. Back to real life and real responsibilities. I suppose you could say that the rest of my life begins tomorrow, since it marks a move to Philadelphia this Sunday and the beginning of med school shortly thereafter. I hope my socializing skills remain well-oiled for orientation purposes. Though, I have a feeling my bug bites will remain starkly evident for the White Coat Ceremony. I'll be the Mosquitoe Bite Girl. I ended up with a grand total of 96. 4 short of the coveted Triple Digits. Disappointing.

Bocas del Toro: one extra.

I decided to stay in Panama for my last day of vacation. Tomorrow, I get on a bus to travel 6 hours to San Jose, Costa Rica so that I can catch my flight back to the States on Wednesday. So, what am I doing with my last day of vacation? Absolutely nothing. I tried to be productive, but it rained all day, which resulted in hours spent lying in the hammock, alternately reading a bad murder mystery from the book exchange, dozing, and being woken up by people passing by.

Just a few days ago, I was thinking that I might be a little relieved to be going home. My Central America trip was a bit more disappointing than my Africa trip I think. Costa Rica turned out to be one huge spring break-style destination more than anything else, though my favorite parts were Nicaragua and Panama for sure. I was getting tired of meeting people and was starting to feel decidedly anti-social. But trips have a habit of turning up atthe end, making you wish you had a few extra days or an extra week to squeeze in that extra bit of something that caught your eye. I met an interesting med student from UNC last night. An interesting med student who doesn´t drink and was going to turn in early originally. He was a friend of Brian, a guy I met earlier in Puerto Viejo, who turned up in Bocas today. Since I was already two tequila shots into the night, I chattered on quite a bit more than I usually do. I mistakenly revealed my secret interest in sci-fi (something that should always be kept under wraps when first meeting a boy) and that I owned a pair of Crocs, which I had to fix with dental floss when the hinge broke. Meanwhile, around us, girls with ruffly skirts and big hoop earrings mingled. But I had stopped wondering how they kept their clothes so smooth when my own clothes seemed to come out of the backpack perpetually wrinkled. Ah, the wonders of alcohol. He also doesn´t drink, which of course puts my interpretation of the night´s events into dubious light since drunk people always seem retarded to sober people. They were headed to Isla Bastimentos the next morning, but said they would stop by my hostel to say hello before they left. Around noonish.

He never came. Unless they stopped by when I was out for breakfast. And for some reason, I was disappointed. Though I know the common knowledge that boys never keep their word, never call when they´re supposed to, much less show up when they say they will, I couldn´t help but be puzzled by the no-show. Was it my imagination when he hugged me in glee since he has Crocs that he too repaired with dental floss? What about when he held my hand on the way back to the hostel and told me I absolutely must come with them to Bastimentos the next day because we have to exchange books? Looks like my playa-alarm must be malfunctioning. Funny, he didn´t seem insincere or the least bit shady. I actually thought we connected. But I suppose a connection over Isaac Asimov and Croc river shoes with tequila in the mix could potentially be questionable.

And to think, last night, I was asking myself whether I could possibly be attracted to a balding freckled (I think, it was dark) guitar playing mohawked med student who sings like he has the lungs of an elephant while strumming guitar. And not just any song, but Dave Matthews, who I happen to hate. The answer, oddly enough, was that I may quite possibly be attracted to such a guy. I suppose we´ll never find out now will we. Today, I left for San Jose, and I leave behind my balding mohawked med student without a goodbye, an exchange of email addresses, or even a last name. I´ll add him to the list of people I felt I hit it off with this vacation and will likely never speak to again.

Rivers from Nicaragua
JT the Mormon surfer (also from Nicaragua)
Mohawk from Bocas del Toro, Panama.

On another note, the DEET bug spray has not only failed to prevent the 92 bug bites I´ve accumulated on my body so far, but its also managed to melt the plastic face of the little blue Target watch I´ve had since my Africa trip. Yesterday´s snorkeling trip in the ocean resulted in its grisly death. It continually beeped every 3 minutes as it entered its death throes. I´m now watch-less and feeling very naked. Not knowing what time it is is strange. But I find that I´m more patient when I don´t have a watch. Waiting is a little easier when I don´t know exactly how long I´ve been waiting because I don´t know how mad I should be getting. There´s a certain freedom to not having a watch. Why are we so preoccupied with time anyways?

Bocas del Toro, Panama

I crossed the border yesterday into Bocas del Toro. A part of me breathed a sigh of relief to leave Puerto Viejo behind, though there´s a chance I may spend a night there when I pass through it again on my way back to San Jose for my flight home on Wednesday. I travelled with an English bloke and a Canadian military man, leaving behind the Floridian girl with the autoimmune disease and the first year med school student in Puerto Viejo. They decided to spend an additional day there. The boat ride into Bocas was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. The people here ride hollowed out tree trunks that they use as canoes. The speedboat we were in seemed somehow alien and not at all in sync with the surroundings. The Panamanian people of Bocas have a more Asiatic look about them than the Ticos of Costa Rica do. Snorkeling yesterday was infinitely more enjoyable than the snorkeling I did at Montezuma, and half the price as well ($15 for a full day). We also stopped by Zapatilla Caye, which the guide told us is the island where a lot of countries come to film Survivor. I like Central America because everyone seems to be responsible for their own actions. We were left on the beach on the island to our own devices. There was no "swimming area" marked out, despite the undertow, there were no lifeguards stationed, and when we snorkeled, they just handed us goggles and tubas and we waded out on our own to find the reef. No instructions. Being here has made me more aware of America´s culture of fear and constant caution.

Bocas, interestingly enough, has the widest street I´ve seen so far in Central America. Complete with yellow lines to mark lanes!! Imagine that. I´d say the favorite parts of my trip so far have without a doubt been Nicaragua, Osa Peninsula, and Bocas del Toro (Panama). My Spanish has improved ten-fold, though it is still sadly in a broken state. I did notice that the guy to girl ratio in Bocas is significantly more equal than I´ve seen it anywhere else in Central America. Not only that, but the girls are also significantly prettier. With pretty dresses that they packed in their luggage, and beautiful earrings and necklaces. Yes, I feel slightly intimidated and competitive. If only because I haven´t cut my hair in almost 8 weeks now and really, baby mullets are so last year. The 86 mosquitoe bites on my body aren´t helping, nor are the ant bites on my hands that made my fingers swell up all fat. Though I´m a bit relieved to not have to fend off advances in the style of New York bars, hearing comments from guys like,¨"You know, you´re a great conversationalist" turned out to make me feel a little funny. Sure, it´s a compliment, but it felt oddly like someone telling you, "You know, you´re a really nice guy."

A few characters I´ve met so far:

1) a juggling French Canadian with an avid interest in tarot cards, ESP, and astral travel. He joined me for a 7 dollar dinner and told me all about how astral travel can be done. 7 dollars is quite extravagant by Panamanian and backpacking standards.

2) the owner of Mondo Taitu, the hostel where I´m staying. A recent Emory grad, he´s spending his post-college years running the most hip hostel in town. And to think, I spent my post-college years in a cubicle.

Today: Isla de Bastimentos (currently on Isla de Colon) with the Florida girl who showed up here in Bocas one day after I did. Red Frog Beach is on our list.

Puerto Viejo de Talamanca

I´ve been staying at Rocking J´s in Puerto Viejo. All the rumors about the amount of ganja here are true. I met Jay of Rocking J´s and also met Juppy of Juppy and Tino Adventures, who brought us to the Manzanillo reserve for a half-day hike. The Manzanillo reserve was absolutely beautiful. We blazed our own trail through the jungle behind our guide, who carried a machete. My 35mm camera has been taking the place of my digicam, but I´m suffering through growing pains. I keep forgetting to bring extra film and always run out of shots about halfway through whatever activity I happen to be doing. I haven´t been sleeping well since arriving at Puerto Viejo. I knew early on that I couldn´t stay here for too long. As much fun as the nightly drum-and-guitar bonfires are, I could see easily that this wasn´t a healthy environment for me. The people here feed off of each other into an endless cycle of peer pressure and giving in.

J of Rockíng J´s seemed like a sweet, albeit lonely man. I didn´t see a wedding ring on his finger, and he´s always got a J in his mouth. He´s a middle-aged ex-pat from the U.S. Though, I suppose running a hostel that kids can come to party at can´t be considered too bad of a life. He gets to hang out with girls in bikini´s all the time. And its different girls every week. His hostel also has an artistic flair to its design that I appreciate. Poems on the inside of the bathroom stalls instead of things like "I will love Eric forever."

I did meet a surprisingly sweet gentleman from North Carolina who has his own band - Forward All. I do have a weakness for tall blue-eyed Southern gentlemen. But all hope died when he admitted to having a knight-in-shining-armor complex. There´s something, he said, about girls who need to be saved. Barring drug addicts. I realized at that point that I was out of the running. As a girl who´s travelling Central America on her own and starting med school in the fall and stubborn to a fault, I´m the last person who needs to be saved. I don´t appeal to those in search of maidens in distress. Perhaps more so to those who enjoy challenges. After all, how attached can you get anyways to someone you meet on the road for 2 days? Even despite an easy-going personality and an utterly charming one-sided dimple?

What was once lost can never be found.

I´ve replaced my lost pen with one donated by the hostel I´m staying at. Too bad I can´t replace ipods as easily. Funny, when I had it on the trip, I never listened to it. Perhaps because I was too fascinated by the new landscape to want music intruding on my already busy thoughts. Now that I´ve had some time to get accustomed to the flora here, I have room for a soundtrack to accompany the remainder of my trip. But sadly, like all neglected companions, my ipod has left me for someone else.

I can´t help but wonder if all this loss is due to some karma debt I had racked up. It theoretically is just loss of material goods, but these material goods are a) expensive, and b) have a lot of personal value. Did I do something to anger God? Am I being punished somehow?

Since January, I´ve lost:
1) my mom´s diamond ring (still heartbroken about this one)
2) all my credit cards and ATM card
3) digital camera
4) ipod

Though, I like to think of 2, 3, and 4 as stolen as opposed to lost.

Since January, I´ve gained:
1) med school admission
2) a Philadelphia apartment lease (I move in 3 days after I get back!)
3) almost 10k in savings minus $300 for a new digicam and $300 for a new ipod
4) a snowboard
5) 10 pounds

2005 may quite possibly go down as the year of simultaneous loss and gain.

When I was in Quepos, I ran into a Kiwi whose name I can´t remember. He was telling me about the New Zealand aborigine people and how they´ve been hard to assimilate into the existing ecnomoy because they have a habit of wandering off on their own on a walkabout, without any sort of warning. And then show up nonchalantly a few months later. Culturally, this happens with enough pseudofrequency that it doesn´t go over too well with cubicles and employers. I think perhaps my own semi-yearly journeys are walkabouts as well. And I need them, just as the NZ aborigine needs them. I find strange comfort in being alone among strangers. Perhaps that´s why I liked NY so much. The crowds gave me space to think. To be leisurely with my own thoughts as I disappear into the hum. I could pretend not to hear someone over the rumbling of the subway.

Music makes my heart sing. Sometimes.

Music makes me feel a little sad sometimes. And a little alone. I woke up this morning with my internal ipod playing Iron and Wine's "Such Great Heights". I was a bit concerned that I still had music in my head even despite the absence of a physical ipod, but I think it should be okay. It's not like I'm hearing voices or anything.

I. Think that it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned. And I. Have to speculate that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.

Lost in Translation

Setting: Talking to our middle-aged rather portly Costa Rican guide on our 25 km hike through the Osa peninsula.

Tiene buena forma!
What I meant to say: You're in good shape!
What I said instead: You have a good body.
Correct spanish: Esta en buena forma.

Setting: Talking to the hostel owner.
Tiene una cucaracha para mi sandwich?
What I meant to say: Do you have a spoon for my sandwich? (to spread the pb&j)
What I said instead: Do you have a cockroach for my sandwich?
Correct spanish: Tiene una cuchara para mi sandwich?

I'm back in San Jose staying an Tranquilo Backpackers (it gets the thumbs up from me. I personally hated Pangea). Arenal was a good place to go, and the bridges were pretty. Quite honestly, after Osa, everything seems a bit diluted. We also tried the hot springs at Baldi and realized that it was Spring Break Cancun central.

Tomorrow: Western Union to get my money. Bus to Puerto Viejo.