May 6, 2010

More Day One

Coco Loco Lodge - same day. (It just goes On and On.)


After rest and decompressing, I walked down to the dirty beach for a test swim. "Really, it's called Playa Negra beacuse of the volcanic soil." This sounds more exotic and glamorous than the reality. Ma'am I have been to volcanic beaches. They look slightly cleaner.
This is the heel end of a bay (where that rusting hulk of barge has been left for decades? you get different stories from different people.) There's debris, decayed wood, rust, and charred bits floating in the water. At one point I looked up to check my bag and saw a rubbish fire burning maybe 100 ft. away, up by the road.

I shared my swim (technicallly a wade as I had to crouch down to be in the water even to my shoulders) with a four year old named Azan. He's knowledgeable about which are the most fun beaches and Very Funny. He gave me strict instructions for tomorrow: the double pools at Rocking J's. (R.J's doesn't have pools ... right?)
I had decided, between meditating over frozen coffee and reading EAT, PRAY, LOVE, that if being frantic about check-outs and phone calls and disappointing Katty is damaging my brain: Just Forget it for today.

Tomorrow I go to the hostel, back to Plan A, and see where we are with appointments.

On the way back, in a wet bathing suit and pareo wrap, looking for something basic to get as take out for dinner. I found Soda Miss Sam's, which may be in the guide book. (If it's not, it should be / or it shouldn't be depending on your feelings about sharing.)

They do this thing here with rice & beans. They add just enough coconut milk to suggest a taste but not so much to be obnoxious (which it really can be, let's be honest and I say that as a great lover of the coconut.)

So, I order the combo: chicken, rice&bean&  salad ( "salad" is a local enthusiastic description) to go because the lady (Miss Sam?) has been mopping and her floor is clean and wet and I am sandy and wet (with dirt and char stuck to me and inside my bikini.)

But when I get back to the bungalow, shower gratefully & into clean pajamas and finally sit down to open my dinner: facing me is a pile of spaghetti.  Oh no.
How did this happen? I was the only customer, no mix up. Did she misunderstand me?
But No, No = the spaghetti is ON TOP of my dinner order -- in case you believed yourself in danger of losing weight in some tropical paradise; like  Barbaloots in the Lorax, fresh fruit off the trees, swimming, biking, yoga every day... La La~~       NO.   Carbs for Everyone!
I have done things in Puerto Viejo that I wouldn't do in Vegas. All dietary. I don't even EAT white rice! I'm politically opposed on the theory that God gave it to us Brown, we should probably trust His judgement. Apparently, in P.V. -- all bets are off. Yesterday I ate a Chocolate Croissant. (?!) For some reason there are bakeries on every street selling croissants. What?    Nutella?    This is Central America!

And I, who have been known to be quite disciplined, sometimes for months on end in a "Salem Witch Trials" kind of fanatical dietary Puritanism that would make Dr.Oz look like John Candy -- for some reason, far from embracing the healthy: I have gone the other way.
(Okay. We were exposed a couple of times to second-hand dope smoke in bakeries ... could that be it? Or have I thrown in the towel since NONE of my summer clothes from even one year ago fit. Very sad.)


2 a.m. Awake for two hours ... strange dreams and stomach pain from over-eating (let's hope that's it.)

Now it's dogs dogs dogs barking at each other across the yards. WHY? What is the purpose for them? It doesn't sound like enjoyment. And now they've woken the local rooster who stimulates a distant rooster to challenge him and there's some kind of poultry one-upsmanship going on out there. And, maybe, beneath it all is the dull roar of the waves. They must be very big to sound like blowing winds all this way from the beach. I'd love to walk down there at night, alone on the beach -- finally quiet in town but it's impossible.
There's the night guard here at CocoLoco, the iron security gate,  and of course NO ONE would do such a thing in Puerto Viejo!   So I just lie here, listening to dogs and roosters and possible thunder moving in.

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