The rich coast

Costa Rica, or Rich Coast, is.The greenback has penetrated this place. I am sure that it is difficult for locals to get by in the towns that have become tourist destinations.Both the prices and the tourists are high, which makes my experience here a little less pure. However, it does give me the opportunity to reflect on the sad state of the world. WAIT WAIT WAIT. I am not saying that tourism is an evil. It has benefits of course. Nor am I saying that pot-smoking, cashed up Germans and Americans with henna tattoos and linen pants are indicators toward the end of the world. I am just being bitter, it makes for more interesting reading.Now for the sweet contrast.

I have met a young Filmmaker from NYC. Brian, or Woody Allen as our Argentine friend aptly branded him, and I travelled the same route as I had the year before. San Jose to Manzanillo on the Caribbean coast. As we neared the lush east coast the palms became lower and broader. I recalled seeing that river. I recalled seeing that town. I am almost certain that same dog barked at the bus in the same way last year.

The unfinished cabinas in which David and I stayed at last time were now, making them unaffordable for us.Brian and I found a cheaper place to stay. We had some rice and beans, and went for a swim. No doubt I will say this over and over, but there is something healing about being in the ocean. All of my negative feelings were [cliche alert] washed away [end cliche alert].
Brian shares the same sense of humour, and tragedy as me. Although he is a little more tragic – not a bad thing if your are reading this mate. Early on I asked him which is his favorite TV show. Many of you have, at this point guessed what he said. Correct. Curb Your Enthusiasm. I found it difficult to curb mine when he said that.

We also put Miles' Kind of Blue in our top 5 albums. However, he chose the White Album whilst I prefer a stroll down Abbey Road.

Travelling with Brian has been a welcome vacation from the vacationers. In addition, it has allowed me to get in touch with my inner New Yorker and view him in third person. When I travel, my inner New Yorker takes a back seat. I become less manic, more logical and also, more tolerant of unpleasant situations. WAIT WAIT WAIT. I am not saying that everyone in New York is manic, illogical or intolerant. Rather, my inner New Yorker – a behavioural amalgam of Larry David and John McEnroe – is.

After we sorted out some of Brian's crises the rest of the afternoon was spent strolling up and down the beach people watching and playing frisbee with local kids, who later tried to steal my frisbee. I broke one of their arms. Shouldn't have that problem again. At night there was only one thing on my mind. Last year, David and I had feasted night after night on sopa de mariscos (seafood soup) from the only restaurant in the town.The waiter must have noted our strange obsession. Raymond actually remembered me. I was not disappointed. Last night, it rained. this morning it is still raining. Apparently, on full moons it rains for a few days. I am sitting in a tiled internet cafe - flooded. The young girl that works here is doing a good job mopping it up, as this rich Australian sits by and types.

Off to get some food,

Daniel