Giving thanks

The introspection I’ve been able to indulge in over the past 4+ months has reaffirmed that my life is full to the brim with a profusion of good fortune.  I give thanks now every single day, not just once a year.  The list of entries in my new gratitude journal is too long to itemize here, but know that you, gentle reader, are among them.  

What I am most grateful for is the unstinting support and understanding and love of my three phenomenal children.  They are so very generously and graciously allowing me this journey of healing and growth even though it is often difficult for them.  They have not expressed one iota of anger, resentment, or regret. Sadness, yes, of course; nobody expected our lengthy separation to be easy, and I would be devastated if it were.  Each tear they shed is like a needle in my eye and every expression of wistfulness is a tough punch to my heart.  But they are meeting the challenges with an aplomb and impressive maturity that leave me breathless with pride. 

Sophia, Luca, and Raphael are such strong, self-assured, empathetic young adults – and fun and funny, too! – and I am truly blessed to have them in my life.  

 Happy Thanksgiving to all! 

Central America recap

Traveling is a brutality.  It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.

--Cesare Pavese

The Central American chapter of my journey is now ended.  The past six weeks in Costa Rica and Belize saw a marked slowing of pace and easing of expectations, and generally more unfamiliarity and discomfort. In my cabinas there was no Internet, only mosquito nets; no AC, only ceiling fans; a regular struggle with fragile septic systems, weak water pressure, and unstable electric provision.  It was hot, humid, sweaty, sandy, salty, sticky.  Put me off balance for sure, and yet it was invigorating.  

 
And simple: It was primarily an existence that was indeed dominated by essential elements (air, sleep, dreams, sea, sky) and my partaking of them in a daily routine that more closely followed the rhythm of a farmer: up with the sun and down with the sun.  Finished with FOMO (at least for now).

And soothing: I had finally made it to the coast and was able to gaze my fill of the watery horizon, first the Pacific and then the Caribbean.  Rough surf and dark depths to the west, easy breakers over the barrier reef to the east. Slept and woke to the constant sound of the waves coming ashore.

In CR I was delighted to make some very small contributions by planting trees, thatching roofs, releasing baby turtles.  

  








 








In Belize I was a responsible diver, taking only pictures, leaving only bubbles, and killing only time -- and jumping into water full of (very large nurse) sharks despite my lifelong fear of these creatures.  

Wildlife played a huge role in the adventures, first in the jungle:

 and then underwater: 

 

Throughout the continent, these annoying buggers were my constant companion -- that was the brutal part! 

  
There is indeed truth in Cesare’s statement above, and the past four months of travel have had their difficulties – and I still miss my kids something awful! – but I have found solace in the kindness of strangers, made many new friends, and feel that a definite lightening of the emotional baggage is discernible. On that note, let me share another of Signore Pavese’s quotes with you:

If you wish to travel far and fast, travel light.  Take off all your envies, jealousies, unforgiveness, selfishness and fears. 

Unbelizeable...

…the workaday world of Ambergris Caye in November:

The Autobahn 

Commuting

Rush hour

 Belizean e-cars

 

 My desktop 

  

Fall foliage

  Business lunch (lobster ceviche) 

 

 Job stress  

Holiday decorations

 

Coffee break 

 

 Quittin’ time 

 

Jungle Fever

Well, it’s happened: jungle fever has gotten to me. 

Help!

After three weeks in this tropical microclimate, I am starting to lose it…and am most definitely losing the battle against the constant heat and relentless humidity. 

The temperature of 28 to 32 degrees C (82 to 90 F) + relative humidity of 90% = a heat index of 40 C/ 104 F.  Am always hot and sticky and a sloth-like torpor is beginning to set in. 

Get me...

Everything is damp.  Clothes, shoes, bath towels never dry completely and have a musty smell reminiscent of my Grammy’s attic.  Even the “solar dryer” is only somewhat effective; the air is simply so saturated with moisture that there is nowhere for the dampness to go. 

 

The sheets and pillows are clammy. 

My nylon Prada bag is growing mold.

My razor blade is rusting. 

...outta...

I am entirely bug-bitten – even have itchy welts on my scalp and in my armpits and on my arse – no amount of DEET-laden repellant seems to work. 

 

There is an odd musky odor emanating from my body…all the onions they put in the food? 

My hair is impossibly frizzy and matted – even if I owned a brush, I wouldn’t be able to get it through.  

...here...

Of course I knew to expect precipitation in the rainforest but didn’t realize that the seasons here are defined by it: rainy, rainier, rainiest.  They call this current one the "green season" -- a euphemism for "the most rainfall you have ever seen"-- ever. 

 

I have had monkey poo hurled at me.   

When I asked Phil, the owner of the lodge, whether it really is safe to go barefoot everywhere on the property (which he does), he assured me it is.  “Just be careful where you step; the two most common accidents we have here are sprained ankles and snake bites.”  Great. 

...before I go...

Surrounded by black-haired, dark-skinned Ticos, I stick out like the gringa that I am. 

To make it worse, those Spanish lessons that I truly intended

to take before my departure never happened.  Although I’ve

managed the most rudimentary of phrases while here, I very

much regret not being able to converse with the locals. 

LOCA!

And the most pressing matter of all: Will my electronics

survive? 

What would I do without my iPhone?

Nature's Nirvana

Cabo Matapalo, Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica

And I thought Montana was remote!

This is by far the most exotic place I have ever been! Sitting here on my private dais 500 feet above the surf, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, I feel I’m at the edge of a bizarre otherworld, especially when the Panama coastline disappears in the haze on the horizon.  Yellow-billed toucans perch in the trees to the left and right of me; three pairs of scarlet macaws fly past at eye level; a squirrel monkey shimmies down a vine hanging not 20 meters away; hummingbirds hover at the hibiscus blooms so near I could touch. 
 

                                       

            

But I refrain from all movement, remind myself it’s important to just BE, and simply watch, listen, and sense the 750 acres of lush private rainforest behind me, an entire three square kilometers teeming with flora and fauna of the most fascinating kinds. I mean, how awesome is a place where ginger, cilantro, and ylang ylang grow wild and abundantly?!  And where such funky animals as these can be seen: 
  

Three-toed sloth

Anteater

Poison dart frog

Armadillo

Even more than photographs, I wish I could share the sounds of the jungle with you – the squawking, howling, screeching, chirping, whistling, hooting, squealing, buzzing, tweeting, chattering, trilling, cooing, warbling, whooping, croaking – what a riot of audio overload!

Also, I’ve had some of my most extraordinary wilderness adventures while here, including rappelling down a 100-foot rushing waterfall and releasing 200 turtle hatchlings into the ocean.

In my search for a tropical Latin American experience, Costa Rica was the obvious choice: safe, stable, a pioneer in ecotourism, home to an extravaganza of biodiversity.  Further delving, however, made me think maybe it was too developed, too touristy, packaged its natural gifts too slickly – and then I discovered the Osa Peninsula.

Its remoteness and the extra effort required to get here appealed to my fundamental desire to avoid crowds and my aversion to following the pack.  Even its geography sets it apart from the rest of the country.  Its superlatives impressed: the tallest trees; the deepest bay; the last remnant of humid tropical rainforest on the Pacific coast. When I learned that of CR’s 5% of all the world's species, 50% was to be found here (including 878 kinds of birds), I was sold.  The Osa sounded like the real deal and promised a wildlife immersion that was, in fact, wild.  

So here I am, 10 days in and finding my groove in this environment: geckos scurrying up the shower wall do not faze me; I’m nonchalant about the agouti scampering across the clearing; I’m inured to having to shake out my shoes before stepping into them; the possibility of a coati rambling into my cabina only slightly freaks me out.  But I must admit that knowing we are at the top of the food chain is scant comfort on treks where jaguars, ocelots, and fer-de-lance have been sighted regularly. 

Although the beaten path at times feels perhaps a bit too far away, this rich, authentic experience is what I came for, and one I will certainly never forget. 

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!