Now this I could get used to...

A typical day at Blue Osa:
Wake with first light and sounds of howler monkeys around 5:00.  Strong Costa Rican café and fresh papaya and pineapple to start.  Walk on the beach, observing ghost crabs scurrying across the sand and scarlet macaws breakfasting in beach almond trees.  Seventy-five minutes of hot, sweaty power vinyasa yoga where I am achieving poses I always thought unattainable…must be a combination of the inspiring instruction of JL Chiemingo, the humid heat, and my increasing ability to let go.  

Astavakrasana

 

The yoga studio is a gorgeous space with a view over palms out to the sun glinting off the sea.  We’ve even seen white-faced capuchin monkeys leaping through branches while we were in Vrksasana.  
 

View of studio

View from studio

A quick shower – don’t even mind that there’s virtually no hot water – then a well-deserved brunch of fritatta and gallo pinto.  In the afternoon, we either make a wilderness excursion or hang out at the pool or swim in the Golfo Dulce – nap optional. 

An hour of restorative yoga – easy stuff like balancing chakras – and a guided meditation, followed by a cold Imperial cerveza or a watermelon mojito. Dinner is a delectable exercise in true farm-to-table indulgence, consisting of lentil-tomato soup with fresh tarragon; avocado with passion fruit dressing; cashew-encrusted mahi-mahi; chickpea, beet & orange salad; mango mousse with coconut macaroons.

 

At just eight degrees from the equator, nightfall comes early and I collapse into a deep sleep by 9:00 – the only thing that might disturb is one of a series of distant earthquakes jolting the cabina….This retreat will soon come to an end, but yoga has been and will continue to be an integral part of my journey, providing a crucial source of balance and centering.  As one of my Montana soul sisters urged me: Make the world your sticky mat! 

Namaste!

¡Pura vida!

The tropical paradise chapter of my journey has begun: I have arrived in the Osa Peninsula on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica where I will spend three whole weeks in the rainforest.  I've traded my shitkickers for flip-flops, my cowboy hat for a panama, a quarterhorse for my yoga mat.  The ponderosa pines have been replaced by palm trees, the sagebrush by hibiscus, and the arid air of the desert by the humidity of the jungle. 

I actually love taking puddle-jumpers: the narrow, cramped cabin; the penetrating smell of jet fuel fumes; the open cockpit and proximity of the pilots; the deafening drone of the propellers – it’s all associated with holidays in beautiful, faraway places.  It was a smooth flight from San José, the capital, to the backwater town of Puerto Jiménenz where the unpaved, potholed roads make for very bumpy rides.  But my attention was quickly diverted from the terrestrial conditions by my driver’s keen eye; in the 30 minutes to the retreat, he pointed out a treeful of squirrel monkeys, a swarm of blue morpho butterflies, a couple of hawks and turkey vultures, a tiger heron, and several pairs of scarlet macaws.  As we forded a creek swollen by the heavy rain, he mischievously informed me that these are perfect conditions for – shudder! – crocodiles and snakes, and sure enough, as if on cue, a fat boa constrictor slithered across the road. 

The Osa is one of the most biologically diverse places on earth, containing over 500,000 (yes, five-hundred-thousand) species of plants and wildlife in its mere 20,000 square miles (50,000 km2).  The list of trees, flowers, insects, reptiles, amphibians, mammals, and birds – many endemic – is mindboggling and includes such exotic creatures as the toucan, quetzal, red-eyed tree frog, three-toed sloth, anteater, armadillo, puma, tapir, white-headed capuchin, mantled howler, and spider monkey.  

Scientists and hippies alike declare that “there is no other place in the world like it!” and I can already confirm that there is definitely an embarrassment of riches to be mined here.  

Arriving in the Osa

Growing everywhere by the side of the road

Costa Rican morning

Scarlet macaw

¡Pura vida!

Catching My Breath in Big Sky Country

Seneca said: Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind. 
And soothe the soul, I would add.

The American West was all I wished for, offering wide open spaces and phenomenally expansive vistas that allowed me to pause and catch my breath – and then the epic starry nights took it away.

I wanted to immerse myself in the great outdoors and allow it to stimulate the senses of wonder.  Confronted with dangers and comforted by delights of nature, it was exactly the experience I craved, far removed from the office desk, kitchen sink, laundry room, and grocery aisles. 

Montana was particularly good to me, giving up the best of herself in the form of spectacular, spacious skies and amber fields of grain; her gorgeous ranches, rivers and mountain ranges; an authentic lifestyle; and luscious huckleberry ice cream.  

It takes a better photographer with a proper camera to adequately capture the feeling of a Big Sky panorama in pictures, but here is my attempt: 

As restorative as it has been, it's time to move on…the aspen and cottonwood foliage is in full fall glory, and there is snow at higher elevations. Halloween is almost here, and I even saw today at the store – egads! – Christmas decorations for sale.  Campgrounds are closing, seasonal businesses are boarding up, there is a definite chill in the morning air, and the wicked katabatic is kicking up.  This is a gusty arctic downslope wind that can blow up to 95 mph (150 kph) and turn this Paradise Valley town into a winter purgatory.

The tropical temps, balmy breezes, and colorful flora and fauna of Costa Rica are beckoning and promise continued healing….

My own personal news blackout

In quite a fragile emotional state when I embarked on this journey, I decided not to read the news (at least for the time being) which was a dramatic departure for someone who devoured two daily newspapers and a weekly newsmagazine, watched at least one nightly news show, and followed countless Internet feeds.  But I was too distraught and wrapped up in the trauma of my own life and had no capacity to cope with the woes of others.  

Wouldn't it be wonderful...

 

Now, ten weeks later, it has been a relief to be spared the constant barrage of information we are subject to in the so-called civilized world.  And have I missed that much?  I am aware that Ebola and ISIS are decimating populations, and that George Clooney got married.  Anything else I really need to know?   And even though my load is getting lighter and I am in a good place, my focus of attention has been and will remain unabashedly on ME.

Road Trip, Part 3: Cruising to a Stop

Today was the last and longest day of driving in my seven-week road trip: 6 and 1/2 hours all the way from Montana through the entire eastern flank of Idaho to Salt Lake City, Utah, stopping only to fill the tank and empty the bladder. 

The first 200 miles was an easy drive on straight roads through potato fields left and right. The kind of unremarkable landscape you’d expect in a state best known for this lowly tuber, though really I should not scoff, for the diet of an average person in the first decade of the 21st century included about 33 kg (73 lbs) of potatoes per year, and it is the world's fourth-largest food crop (after maize, wheat, and rice).  So the citizens of Idaho are justifiably smug about their spuds: 

The state motto adorns the license plates.

                                     

Of course Idaho has a potato museum!

 

I am thankful that my red chariot, though very simply equipped (not even cruise control), carried me safely the whole 3,094 miles (4,979 kms) I put on the odometer.  There was no run-in with a large mammal or law enforcement; no speeding or parking ticket; no fender bender or mechanical failure.   She and I savored the freedom of the open road and the simple life. 

Until now: The 8-lane heavily trafficked interstate highway into town was a shuddering wake-up call: You’re not in Oz any longer!  Salt Lake is by far the largest city I have been in since leaving Zurich.  These are the first buildings over three stories high, the first European-made automobiles, the first men in suits and women in stilettos that I have seen in 10 weeks.  There’s the noise, the bustle, the neon, the crowded spaces, the exhaust fumes, and worst of all, the light pollution -- the stars are gone!  Of course they’re still there but obscured by all the manmade edifices of your typical metropolis.

  

I have always considered myself a true-blue city-phile but am now experiencing a slight case of urban heebie-jeebies and maybe beginning to give some credence to the claim that you can take the girl out of the country but not the country out of the girl…. 

Home on the Ranch

My hostess here on the Mission Ranch in Livingston is my newest heroine. I have met so very many incredibly awesome women on my journey thus far, but Jaimie is a unique, dazzling combination of tough and tender. 

She is one badass cowgirl who can ride horses, herd cattle, rope a heifer, shoot an elk, skin an antelope, slaughter a deer, inseminate a cow, birth a calf, brand a bull, castrate a steer, and drive a swather.  She owns a .38 special (for protection) and a Winchester 270 (for hunting) and kicks butt in rodeo barrel racing. 

Besides all this intimidating competence, she’s also compassionate, empathetic, loving, loyal.  A dedicated wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.  Bakes the best chocolate chip cookie this side of the Continental Divide.  And her lanky 5’9” frame looks dynamite in chaps.

Jaimie has been ranching in Montana together with her husband for 6 years -- now on 4500 acres with 350 head of black Angus in the heart of Big Sky country -- maintaining a way of life in danger of disappearing (ranches often end up sold to corporations as a result of inheritance feuds).  They are part of the younger generation of an increasingly rare breed keeping alive the pioneering spirit so romanticized in American folklore. 

Their energy goes into sustaining livestock, crops, family on and by the land; the demands on their time are dictated by the seasons, the weather, and the unrelenting circle of life. Undaunted by an often harsh reality where there is not a lot of money and no guaranteed vacations, they are hardworking, determined, resilient, and self-reliant.  Jaimie thrives in this environment, it suits her temperament the way no office could.  And her life on the homestead enables her true calling in which she offers her gorgeous quarterhorses to those struggling with difficult personal transitions.

Riding since a toddler and training horses since a teenager, she has an intimate connection with these animals.  She doesn’t “break” them the traditional, violent way using fear, whips, and spurs to force servitude; rather, she believes the horse should be a partner with the rider and emphasizes a relationship of trust, respect, and unity.   This kinder, gentler method together with her intuition and inner serenity make her such an effective equine coach (what some would call a horse whisperer). 

She put me in the corral with an über-sensitive buckskin mare and after just a weekend a whole lot of emotional muck had been dealt with.  I then saddled up and the healing continued.  Am feeling so content these days that I wonder: Could there be a li’l cowgirl in me?

Jaimie: beautiful inside and out

Power couple: cowgirl & cowboy

The 1890s ranch house, my home for the past month
  

 

Life is good on the back of a horse! 

 

America's Coffee Culture

I know many of you would claim this to be a contradiction in terms, that America has no such culture, but fortunately for me, there is indeed good, strong coffee to be found in this country – and I don’t mean the overpriced, gussied-up, frothy, calorie-laden Starbucks products that taste more like a milkshake.  (By the way, the chain is not to be found in any of the small towns I’ve visited over the past month.)  Granted, there is often only a pot of stale drip coffee available in which case I choose my caffeine in a different form – or go without.  But just when I’m really jonesin’ for a proper cup of joe, a little java joint appears seemingly out of nowhere to answer my jittery prayers. 

Hooray!

 

And what I love best about them is their tongue-in-cheek attitude toward their wares as witnessed in these signs and posters: 

 

 

And sometimes you don’t even have to get out of your car to get your fix; leave it to the Amis to come up with the concept of a coffee drive-thru: 

However, I am still missing my Nespresso machine….