Gallo Pinto

When I was in Santa Ana with Mom we stayed at Villa Antigua. Every morning for breakfast Denis' sister or another one of the women who worked there would get up and make gallo pinto for us.

I have been craving it so much recently that I decided the first real meal I would prepare in my new apartment would be gallo pinto. So after a two weeks of sandwiches, soup and other "on the go" food I actually went grocery shopping.

I bought beans and I soaked them. I bought cilantro and chopped it up really fine with an onion and a pepper. I bought rice and I fried it dry first, which according to the website is the true "tico" way to do it.
I called Mom and told her that if she brought over eggs in the morning I'd serve her a real Costa Rican breakfast. She showed up with eggs and I put the finishing touches on the rice and beans, pulled the toast from the toaster and poured two cups of coffee. "It smells right," said Mom. My little Cambridge kitchen smelled heavenly and exotic.

We each took a bite and then sighed a little. It was good. It was really good, we agreed. But it didn't taste the same.

"Of course it wouldn't," I lamented, "there are so many variations."
"Well someone who never had that version might think this is amazing."
"Yeah. But I still want to fix it."

So now I have to dig up Denis' email address. See if I can get the actual recipe. And when I do, you can absolutely come over for the best start to a morning you can ask for. As long as you bring the eggs.

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a week of moments like this one

Because it was there when I got off the train I took the #1 to work today.
As I sat sipping some yerba mate and reading The Metro I heard a noise that immediately made my heart sing.

I looked up at the bus ceiling, willing my eyes to adjust to the shadows of the crevices where wall met roof.

Then I realized that what I was hearing was someone playing with their ipod touch.

...not a gecko at all.

Horseback Riding, or Why Mom doesn't say No

Mom and I walked around Jamaica Pond the other day until I had to leave for a show at IA. "It's just as well," Mom said, pausing to stretch her leg, "my knee's been bothering me since the horse incident."

Mom, Jack and I had a leisurely lunch and got on a van that brought us to a reservation of sorts across the street from one of the entrances to the Arenal Volcano National Park. Once we had all mounted horses and gotten a quick orientation to riding them, we were off.

Cantor, I thought humorously as the guide explained how to make the horse cantor, yeah, I'll be needing that a ton.

My experience with horseback riding is nonexistent save a trip up a mountain in Vermont when I was nine. My horse was tied to the back of an experienced rider and all I had to do was hold on.

The way to the top of the mountain was a mix of open rolling hills with staggeringly beautiful panoramic views and steep rocky trails through a primary rain forest. We started off walking, but soon we were trotting and cantering over the gorgeous landscape. The guide surprised us by signaling vocally to all four horses to just make a run for it. At first this caused a lot of chaos (Mom and I almost ran into each other), but then I got hooked on the cantering, finding it easier than trotting and more practical for long stretches than walking.

As a result I rode up front with the guide a lot, and occasionally even went on ahead with his permission.
This freedom combined with the guide's praise at my "quick learning," as you might imagine made it even easier to fuel some ridiculous fantasies about a small cowgirl, a faithful horse and a rain forest.

(Photographic evidence , courtesy of our guide, indicates that I in fact resembled a cowgirl in almost no way).

I wasn't the only one with the romantic visions, Jack lit a cigarette and asked us if he looked like the Marlboro man. Then he added, "Man, I tell you, cowboys have little balls." He readjusted in his saddle and smiled uneasily at the guide unsure if he had offended him.

The guide spoke mainly Spanish but tried his best to point things out in English. Occasionally he would speak Spanish and I would struggle to translate for Mom and Jack, the improviser in me not willing to give up without a try.

We saw wild pigs, a deer, turkeys, toucans, parakeets (an entire flock of them), and a family of howler monkeys (with whom we stopped to communicate). We rode right into a stream (my cowgirl delusions multiplied), and passed a sulfur lake covered in lilies.

At the summit of the climb we let the horses drink and eat while we did the same. There, at the top of the mountain, was this open air stone chapel. I was fascinated. It had no walls, and where the pulpit and altar would be was only empty space overlooking Lake Arenal and rising above the lake, the Volcano itself. Like the Volcano is going to sermonize, I thought. Like the Volcano might try to break Bread with us.

The day was so cloudy the top of the volcano was lost, but the peace and magnificence was not. In my journal I wrote: How can you see something like this and not acknowledge the existence of God? It was impossible to sit, surrounded by so much beauty and not be overcome with humility and thanksgiving. And also to not feel like a cowgirl.

When we got back on the horses, something happened to Mom's knee. She's not sure what, but it was a Bad Thing. This made her trip downhill less pleasant. Still, we all laughed when Jack hit a particularly hard part of the road and quipped to his horse, "It's okay, Tonca, I didn't want any more kids anyway."

I mentioned that the guide flattered my fast learning, and he even gave me a small lesson in galloping, which was exhilarating. And although I'm sure my form was nonexistent, he complimented me anyway.

As Mom dismounted at the end her knee took a turn for the worse. As the guide helped her down her foot missed the bale of hay and she fell.

She recently recounted this tale to her aunt, my great Auntie Mame. "I'll bet you never do something like that again," Mame clicked.

My Mom told me she responded resolutely that she absolutely would do it again and in a heartbeat.
"You see," she said, "I know what it's like to not be able to walk at all."
I nodded grimly. My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and the time she is referring to in 1996. She woke up one morning unable to walk. The paralysis was temporary, limited to a few days, but after that she was on Canadian crutches for a while.

"I didn't know if I'd ever be the same again," she says now. "And with MS, I never know if that's going to happen again. Or if it will be for good." She paused, "so, no I wouldn't say no to horseback riding again, or anything else."
"That's also what made me try the zipline*."

There are only a few things more spirit lifting than rising a fast and fleet footed horse through a rain forest and up a mountain with sky all around.

Equally spirit lifting is knowing that my mother is the great person she is. It's incredible to me that I get to be her daughter. Here is a woman who refuses to give up, give in, or quit living her life despite any obstacle that gets in her way.
All I have to do is think of that and the journey becomes easier, the sky becomes clearer and everything is more beautiful.

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*Story coming soon to a blog near you.

Stories from Costa Rica: Flying

The first morning I woke up in Arenal I still wasn't over how beautiful it was there, even though it was now raining, and a fog so dense that it hid the volcano had descended.

One afternoon, years ago I stood with a friend on the observation deck at Shelbourne Falls in Massachusetts. I told my friend that I wished I could live on the top floor of the candle shop that stands next to the great glacier potholes. Every day, waking up to this, I told him, would be amazing. Knowing I could come outside and climb up the falls whenever I wanted; dive and dunk into the pot holes; sun myself on the ancient rocks. He answered sadly. He told me that we would get too used to it. And we'd forget to be thankful.

I don't know if that's true, I suppose it could be. But I only spent four days in Arenal with Mom and Jack, which meant there was no limit on how much we could appreciate our time there.

Our patio had a roof, which meant even when it rained we sat outside, enjoying the garden and each other. I've described the garden, the volcano and our room here. But I'd rather show you my photos of Arenal.

Our first morning, since it rained, we postponed plans for a horseback ride and I made arrangements to go canopying instead. I sat on the patio playing with the cat we adopted, and listening to what I imagined was the worlds largest frog when up walked a man. He stood expectantly and then said my name. I realized without any further conversation that he was going to drive me to the canopy tour.

I jumped up to follow him, realizing only as I climbed into his mini van that I hadn't said goodbye to Mom or Jack. Now here I was, on my own in Costa Rica for the first time and I was getting into a car with a man I didn't know whose language I didn't share. This is how movies start, I thought. Bad movies. Movies that end with Denzel Washington killing everyone.

Of course I was not in any real danger, and he dropped me off at a gated compound where a few guides and one newlywed couple about my age were gearing up. I thanked and tipped him, and then tried guess my pulse. I'd guess 125. I was so nervous that I forgot to tuck my camera into my coat pocket. Luckily, the couple had a camera and agreed to email me some photos.

After a brief orientation to the cables and equipment we began hiking further up hill. I didn't know there were more than one types of canopying, but there are. On this occasion I sat in a type of sling-style harness, mostly upright. A guide was available to fling us off the platform, but we needed to brake on our own, using a piece of leather strapped to the dominant hand. We could use this brake to slow down if we wanted, the guide told us, but if we lost too much speed too soon we would get stuck out on the line and have to pull ourselves in hand over hand.

It was so much better than I had pictured it. Each line was high above the canopy floor, allowing for amazing views of the forest, as well as views over the forest for miles. The lines were so long, some of them, that we couldn't see the other platform. My favorite happened to be the longest, and ran parallel to a small canyon with a river running through it.

I expected (and braced for) that drop in my stomach that happens on rollercoasters and other carnival rides, but it never came. There was only a rush of adrenaline and the sensation of flying. Wind and mud hit my face. The sound of the trolley rushing along the cable was the closest thing to my ear, but it couldn't silence the birds, bugs and frogs, or the sound of the river below. I looked down, a lot, which wasn't as scary as it sounds. The lines were so long, there was plenty of time to appreciate the actual flying, as well as doing some prime canopy sight seeing. It started to rain, which made the lines wet, but it was possible to brake by pressing my left hand on top of the right one holding the leather strap even more firmly against the cable. Here's a picture of me braking as I approach a platform:

Adding to the fun, there were only three of us on the tour, and then the two tour guides, so we took our time, took photos, and joked around with one another. We lamented the rain, which kept most of the animals hidden, but we learned about nearby flora instead. One of our guides showed us that the tree we were standing in was a rubber tree. He pulled a piece of the tree off and showed me how it stretched, and then retained its original shape. "This is how they make tires," he said.

The very last zipline was low, and took us from a half-sized platform to the ground. The guides pushed and pulled on the line to throw us up and down, and it made us all laugh. Bottles of water and a tram awaited us, and when we got back I called to arrange another ride back to the hotel,
after all Mom and Jack were waiting for me to go on our horseback ride*.

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P.S Canopying and then horseback riding makes for some serious hurt the next morning.

Stories from Costa Rica: Jack's house

I couldn't see the second lizard. I think I was looking at the first one, and Mom said she saw it too, but I  was beginning to think there was no second lizard.

"It's RIGHT there," David insisted. 

We were standing on a small foot bridge at the base of a set of steps that led back up to the yard shared by Jack, David  and several other people. All around us giant green plants screened the sunshine but I could still feel it on my shoulders. I had seen the parade of ants carrying leaves, but for the life of me couldn't see the basilisk David was pointing to.

Suddenly it jumped off the rock and ran down the small ravine, it's feet stepping lightly on the surface of the water. Mom and I laughed with delight and David just shook his head. After all, this is where he lives.

After exploring a bit more, I climbed back up into direct sunlight.  The smell of flowers greeted me with a small breeze. David swam around the pool, occasionally doing a flip off the edge. Jack was arranging breakfast on the table, a plethora of fruits we had purchased from "the melon man," on our way over this morning.  Jack and Mom stared at me as I tried to cut up a mango and finally Jack burst out laughing. "Give me that," he demanded.

He skillfully served up the rest of my battered fruit. 

"This is why I live here," Jack said, gesturing at everything we could see. Mango ran off my fingers, and another breeze moved the big white canopy just slightly. I've rarely seen my mother so relaxed.  I began to wonder about the nursing job market. 

Stories from Costa Rica Part One: Landing

We were mainly just glad, at that point, to be out of Houston. The man who drove us through the airport at a rapid pace to make our connecting flight was nice enough. But the woman who didn't bother to greet us or to tell us our flight had been delayed was rude and impatient. Mom was unimpressed with the cheese steaks we ate at lunch and I was tired of trying not to watch the couple at our feet making out underneath a creepy wool blanket. The cramped plane was an unlikely but welcomed change from the airport, and as if that weren't reward enough, it was taking us to Costa Rica.

We claimed our baggage with ease thanks to a stranger who ran and retrieved my bag after my fingers missed it by centimeters. "Thanks," I told him. "Con mucho gusto," he beamed.

"Are you going to recognize Jack?" I asked Mom. She, like me, was squinting at the sunlit windows. Pressed up against every inch of glass was an unfamiliar face, smiling, eyes searching the crowd for family and friends.
"I think so," she said, but she sounded unsure. Then: "There! That's him!"

As our new friend Abus drove us from the airport to Santa Ana he and Jack told jokes, exchanged insults and laughed easily. My Boston accent having been mocked within the first two minutes, I fell right at home with my cousin and his friend. Mom and Jack bantered happily, and I stared out the windows at rolling hills, chickens, children on bicycles and brightly colored houses behind large iron gates.

As we passed through the center of town we drove by Bar Amigos and Jack craned his neck to see who was inside. "Oh good,"he told us, "everyone's here. You'll get to meet everyone."

There were horses outside of Villa Antigua when we pulled up. Denis showed us to our room and I fixed my hair and jotted down a few notes of things to remember, like the color of the sky (it was about to rain), and what the air smelled like (trees).

But I'll never get through the whole trip if I take an entire entry to only describe part of a single day.

Leaving Costa Rica

In the next few days I will be writing entries based on my journal entries from Costa Rica. I'll cut through the personal stuff to bring you some quick and easy anecdotes. But before I do,
I wanted to tell you about leaving.

When I left Tokyo, I felt certain things, which I described in this entry: Leaving Japan.

Looking back at my confidently stated desire to melt into a sea of strangers and anonymity, I think it's ironic that my very brief trip to Asia was the beginning of both my Twitter account as well as my stated intention to write in this blog every day. I loved being unaccountable, but I wanted to share it with everyone. I was surrounded by literally thousands of people every day, and I hoped that they would never know my name, but I wanted them to know my virtually transmitted opinions of everything.

When I got back from that trip two huge things happened for me. I was invited to join Improv Asylum's Mainstage, and at the same time Three Hole Punch began to really take off. This new surge in my stage career called for even more virtual social networking. Suddenly I was updating constantly about shows and promoting events. I was "friending," dozens of new people a month on facebook after meeting them at shows. I began to carefully edit my life online. It makes sense, I thought to myself, if I want to be a public figure I have to live like a public figure.

If Tokyo made me want to be a Nobody, but somehow also made me believe I needed to start saving up for an iPhone*, my short time in Costa Rica was the opposite.

Mom and I stayed most of the trip in the town of Santa Ana. The town is so small that the man who runs the store across from Bar Amigos won't sell my cousin cigarettes because he heard about his recent heart attack. It was calming and comforting to see the same people every day on the street selling fruit or onions.

And as I began to feel the stability of a small town life, as I got used to not having a cell phone and constant internet access, the importance of those things melted away. When I did finally log onto facebook, I couldn't figure out what on earth I used to do on there all the time. Read status updates? Why? And I didn't update my Twitter account once. Not that I wasn't doing interesting things. "Flying through a rainforest canopy on a zipline," would have been a great update. But I didn't feel the need to broadcast it. I shared those experiences with the people (literally) near to me, and then later could share it with anyone who hadn't been there over a couple of drinks or dinner.

As I sat on the plane from Tokyo to St. Paul I wrote "As we rush through Nothingness I believe I can feel the weight of responsibility descending on me." I remember the feelings. It was like waking from a dream into a tumultuous reality.

But as I sat on the plane from San Jose to Houston I had a very different feeling altogether. It was the feeling of leaving home.
I will miss many things about my trip, mostly the people I met. But I also felt a deep ache in my chest for the things I had remembered about myself by living away from my normal life for ten days. A simple example is this:
I don't like eating junk for breakfast. And I don't like skipping meals, but how often do I brag about my ability to go all day on just some fruit and coffee? And I dislike how rude people are to each other in the city. And unlike many of the 20 somethings I know, I honestly like kids. And old people.

In Costa Rica I pledged that when I returned I was going to start cooking breakfast, or at least preparing a substantial meal the night before. I swore I would start spending more time on my porch and less time on the computer. It seems feasible still. After all, my sun burn still stings every time I move, reminding me of the past ten days.

But some day that sun burn will fade.

So what does it all mean now that I'm back? Well. Clearly, I'm blogging again. And I'm back on Facebook. And I can bet that after a few more weeks you'll see my Twitter account jump back into use. It's just the culture here. It's the most useful tool for forwarding the (night) job I've chosen.

But it's nice to know it's part of this particular culture; not my own essence. It's nice to know that all of those luxuries are merely tools with which to exist in a particular time and place. Removed from the culture, I give over the trimmings, but lose nothing of myself.

It just so happens that Costa Rica gave me more glimpses into myself than I have been afforded anywhere else recently.

So on that note... I have already looked into flights back to Costa Rica for mid May to early June.

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* What on EARTH would I ever need an iPhone for? EVER?

Costa Rica Update

Mom and I arrived finally, and safely after a delay in Houston. I am writing this from my cousin Jack´s computer. The keyboard is a bit different, so I struggled to get into my account for five minutes trying to find the @ symbol. One combination of buttons I pushed made the cursor arrow turn into a rainbow. That´s part of why this will be short. The other part is because every minute I spend here is a minute I am not sitting by the pool eating a(nother) mango.

For lunch today we went to "the melon man" and we bought scores of fresh fruit for about two dollars. I can have all the avacados I want.

Jack met us at the airport with his friend Abus, and we took a quick ride up long and narrow roads scattered with pedestrians, dogs and bicyclists to get to Villa Antigua where Mom and I are staying. The owner of Villa Antigua is Denis. Right now we are the only guests there. Denis told us to make ourselves at home because his house is our house. And it´s a nice house. Denis made us breakfast this morning, gallo pinto, and black coffee.

Denis has two dogs, and one of them has taken to following me around. He waited for me this morning at the door of my room, and even followed me to the bathroom. He laid by my feet during breakfast, not begging... just waiting. Yes, I´ve been here two days and already adopted a pet. His name is close to ¨"bobby" but I call him perrocito.

Last night Jack took us to his favorite hang out, Bar Amigo. There we met an amazing cast of characters including the owner, ¨"Weymouth Pete" and a man named Jerry who convinced me to go to the Festival de Cebolla which was going on down the street. We also met Jack´s next door neighbor who is about my age. David is originally from California and teaches English here. He came with us to the Festival later, and then to dinner and karaoke. At the Festival, which reminded me of the stalls and stalls outside of the temples in Japan, I lost myself in the smells and lights and music. I bought a CD of pan flute music. Read this as: I might have been drinking a little bit. We capped the night off back at Bar Amigo where Jack and Mom made me step dance for everyone. You know, because I don´t look Irish enough.

Oh! Did I mention, I also saw a horse tap dancing? It´s just something they do here apparently.

I could go on and on and on but I want to go back outside because David (who called in sick today) showed me some baby basilisks running down the river a little while ago and then he saw an big adult one, but I didn´t. And I won´t if I stay inside.

By the time you read this I'll be gone (again)

Mom just arrived with all her luggage. I am about to begin packing my own stuff, and then we'll have dinner and go to church.

At 6am in the morning, when this posts itself, we will be boarding a plane to Houston, TX. From there we will fly to Costa Rica. In Costa Rica I will meet my cousin Jackie for the first time. We're going to stay in Santa Ana, and then travel to Arenal, then Mom and I will go alone to Monteverde and meet Jack back in San Jose.

While I am gone some very awesome improvisers from Tokyo will be in Boston visiting and performing. The only downfall to my vacation plans is that I will completely miss out on seeing them. If you, however are in Boston this week please make it a point to try to get to Improv Boston and catch a performance. I got a chance to work with them while I was in Tokyo last fall. They're very funny, super talented, and it's not a show you get to see every day. Go see them , for me. And take pictures. And then tell me all about it later.

Packing

The prospect of traveling to another country always brings up some new issues to think about. Yesterday Mom and I checked out a local sporting goods store to buy "hiking shoes," which are recommended for our horseback ride up the volcano in Arenal.

"These are just super expensive ugly sneakers."
"Do you think we could just wear our normal sneakers?"
"I guess so. I mean, as long as you're comfortable walking with them."
"My leg brace doesn't fit into anything else anyway."
"I think we'll be fine."
"Do you think we should buy backpacks with water reservoirs?"
"They have those?"

Clearly, we are ready to fly to Central America for a week.