a very long post indeed

there is so much. i have to make peace with not being able to give a full account of each day, of the feelings and thoughts and images that remain from them. i am flipping through my journal and even here i just find a skeleton of the past ten days. the day so much fuller and alive than words can make out.

well, i will just say some things of this and that, never meaning that or this, just as things are, were and never have been. hmmm.

i was in cornwall for a week. exactly a week. i boarded a train from paddington station in london to penzance, a five hour train journey after too many hours on a plane. but i felt fine when i arrived. Adele and her two daughters, Caitlin, 15, and Duana, 12, picked me up from the station. Then we picked up David from their land at Lamorna and went to their home. I got settled, drank a cup of tea, and then went for an hours walk around the hamlet of Treen where they live, near Penzance. The next day the work began. 6 hours of weeding and hoeing...after just a few days of work, no muscles in particular were sore, but my whole body was weary. i am not cut out for farming! not that i thought i was of course. i have hoed more potato fields than i ever thought i would. and ever will again! oddly, what i loved most, besides looking up from whatever i was doing to breathe in the landscape, was carting turnips in a wheelbarrow, to feed the pigs. it was so novel, so 'farm chore', so telling of where i was. it made me burst with happiness. that sounds corny, but i loved it.

They live a very simple life, in a small home, in a small hamlet. I slept in the small living room on a sofa bed that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, as sofa beds go. the clock in the living room tick tocked tick tocked tick tocked very loudly. quietly glorious, my evening walks along the coastal path near their house, bumblebees buzzing among the wildflowers and the cold fresh air filling my lungs, the blue sea, endless, eternal, infinite.

when adele had shopping in town she would take me in to penzance and i would get to wander about for an hour and a half,which was lovely. the first day i was there i was knocked about by a very cold wind while walking down to the harbor, back up to market street. i nipped in to a cafe to warm up with a cup of tea and a scone. there was a pot of yellow daffodils and i could see the street from the window. but life is always lovely when there is tea. i tried my first cornish pasty in penzance, vegetable and cheese, savory and heavy on the pastry. one day adele drove me to land's end, which is touristy, but the rugged cliffs and the views of the sea were beautiful. i talked on the phone with my great grandmother before i left, and when i told her i was going to cornwall she happily informed me that her mother (or her grandmother?) had been born in Pendyn, a place not 15 miles from where I stayed. Is it not strange to think I may have been working on land my ancestors worked on? It made me feel more connected to, everything. I dont know.

evening meals in their small kitchen, getting to know absolute strangers by simply joining their life for a short period of time. the necessity of loading food with salt, butter and cheese to make it edible, such is english food, notoriously and fairly reputed as bland. cottages built of great granite blocks that held the warm colors of the setting sun.

there were standing stones in the fields, a ring of standing stones called 'the merry maidens' that we stopped to wander among after work one day. stones the height of my waist perhaps, but you could walk in to the circle, unlike at stonehenge. persistent dirt under my fingernails. i was offered tea at least eight times a day, with a look of shock each time i said no thanks. we walked through the fields and the woods near their home. the english countryside. everything was green. cows were out to pasture. we climbed over fences and ducked under tree branches, crossed small streams and pushed our way through wooden gates. bluebells mean spring is here, adele said. you don't just see the seasons change, you feel it.

i was happy to learn that life without facebook, at least for a week, is possible.

it felt like time was moving too slowly, but now its gone, i dont know where it went.

then i was on a train again. then the english countryside, cornwall and devon and places that for me are nameless green places dotted with sheep and charming country homes and fields and farms. then i was in london again. and there was my cousin, danielle, waiting for me at the station at East Putney, near Wimbledon, with her baby son, Nate, four months old. so amazing to me, that almost three years has passed since i stayed with her before the asa oxford program i did after my junior year. how different our lives are now, to what they were then. she is a mother now, and a wife! i fell in love with london when i was here, those days were perfect, such heady freedom i felt, at having the day open before me, no one else to answer to, no one to pass plans by, just a Tube pass and my desire to see and explore. i knew i would be happy to be back, and i am.

i love watching danielle with the baby. nate is a picture perfect baby, incredibly adorable. and i say this not just because we are related! it makes me think of what my mom must have been like with me, so loving and attentive and caring. i wish we could retain memories of those years. then again, dali said he remembered being in his mother's womb.

it has been so nice to stay with danielle and her husband, russell. i am so glad i had the WWOOFing experience i did, but of course its nothing like staying with family. I can leave my toothbrush in the bathroom. I feel more at home. I really enjoy the mornings, waking up lazily, slowly, with no work to get to! and the domestic cozyness of making breakfast, watching danielle with nate, and leaving the apartment when I feel ready to greet the day.

this is getting so long. i dont know about sentences anymore.
the day after i arrived in london was my birthday. my 20th birthday. i am 20. Twenty. a brand new decade.

it was rainy and sunny on april 24 in london, sometimes rain, sometimes sun. i had a perfect morning, which to me is a cup of tea and a delicious scone. i went to the national gallery and the national portrait gallery. i love art. i love it more than poetry! but not more than novels. i loved van gogh's sunflowers, canaletto's views of venice, a portrait of emily bronte. i loved seeing the famous portraits of the tudors! i was happy to be walking around in london, people watching in trafalgar square. i had dinner with danielle and russell--pasta with a fresh (as in made by me) garlic, tomato and basil sauce and garlic bread, ie my favorite dinner, simple but always always delicious. for dessert we had chocolate cake and lemon cheesecake...the cheesecake was perhaps the high point of the day. ian, a friend of theirs, was also born on april 24, so he came for cake and we watched 'Knocked Up' afterwards. It was a good night.

I love the parks of London. Ive spent many happy hours in Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, St. James' Park. The soft green grass is so friendly after the pavement. There are swans, graceful. ducks, waddling. ponds, peaceful. there are so many pathways. so many great big trees and cool, shaded places to rest my tired feet.

Yesterday night I went to the theater with Danielle. It was fun to be in Piccadilly Circus on a Friday night. We went to a pub nearby for drinks before the show, '39 Steps', written by Hitchcock I think she said, I could google it but Im too lazy to at the moment. it was funny. the theater was small and charming. i love going to the theater, love the experience, the live show, the actors.

(Lisa will be happy to know that) I spent the morning at Borough Market, wandered among the stalls before it was busy trying cheeses and olive oils and jams, ogling the breads and decadent brownies before deciding on a cheddar and bacon quiche, a little bucket of strawberries and a scone for my lunch, which i ate on a bench by Southwark Cathedral before a leisurely afternoon stroll along the Thames. and then a spot in the shade, under a tree in a park, sitting on my coat, reading Mrs. Dalloway.

it is wonderful to know myself better and better with each passing day. i keep thinking of the me that walked these same streets three years ago. well, i have known 'nikki' for three more years! so it is not strange that we have become better acquainted in that time. twenty. yes. i like this age. i think ive been twenty since feb or march actually. it is a new me. a very confident, assured me. a comfortable with who i am, was, will be. with all of the coexisting and evolving and changing and staying the same in this one person that is me. with my current understanding of life.

It would have been crazy if I had not come home early from Costa Rica. I have been planning my trip to Europe since I got home. I don't know if I'm just doing things differently this time, or if traveling in Europe requires much more planning than travel in Southeast Asia or Latin America, but I have been working on a real itinerary (whereas in the abovementioned places I just knew a general route I would follow). The more I am planning right now, the more I am glad that I'm planning BEFORE the trip, and not during the trip. I think having an itinerary will allow me to not have to think too much while I'm there, not be flipping through a guidebook constantly. And of course I won't be one of those people who are slaves to their itineraries either. What's the point of being in Paris if not to get lost wandering down sidestreets and into hidden courtyards?

Which trains need reservations, train schedules, which days certain museums are closed, which days certain markets are open, opening and closing hours of historic sights, which museum passes are a good idea to buy, hotel/hostel reservations that should be made, which podcasts to upload to my ipod, do I take the white pashmina or the maroon? ...it's overwhelming to plan a trip in such a short time really.

Being home. Oatmeal and tea in the morning. Meeting mom for lunch, at Thomi's Cafe on the corner of Main Street, Motherlode Deli (where pictures of miners from the 1850s hang on the walls), at the park for picnics (it was a beautiful day, but we had to eat quickly because mom had to be at court). Yesterday I made a pesto chicken pizza. and it was delicious. I got the recipe for the pizza dough from Tonya, mom's friend who taught us how to make scones. The miracle of rising bread dough was the highlight of my day. Baking stones are amazing. Kitchen appliances are difficult to resist, they all seem so nifty. mom and I looked through one of those Pampered Chef catalogs and we wanted EVERYTHING. and i mean everything. We saw "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day" in the theaters. Everything you needed to know about that movie was in the previews. Movies like that make me very angry that I lost ten dollars on them. because movies are now ten dollars. How did that happen? I'm going to hit enter now, for no reason.
The first rule of a blog is to take the material of your life and make it interesting to the reader. Oh well.

We've also been looking at houses because we are looking to move over the summer. We've lived in this house for ten years. mom is actually making an offer on a house soon, a house i liked a lot. so, we'll see. It's strange to think that if friends visit, they won't be visiting this house, the yellow house on the top of the hill, home.

Tomorrow we are celebrating my birthday since I'll be in London on the 24th! We're going to Daffodil Hill in the morning. It's a beautiful place that I haven't been to in years, a 4 acre privately owned farm that is carpeted with 300,000 daffodils. Afterwards we're going to Fat's, an upscale Chinese restaurant in Folsom, because we've never been and I probably won't be eating Chinese food in Europe.

In other news, I got married to Noa. my blushing bride, I hope that our facebook marriage will last.

Anyways, right now I'm going to watch a movie while I pack and then finish my itinerary.

I am home, having changed my mind about the yoga/surfing program. Who knows "why"? I certainly don't. It felt right. And this unexpected extra week at home proves necessary, as I now have to figure out what I'm going to do with my summer...

During my last days at the beach I fell into a routine; in the morning, walk along the beach, bare feet in the waves, thinking of nothing else but the glimmering of the rising sun on the ocean, until reaching Ylang Ylang Beach Resort where I'd have breakfast (the most satisfying french toast drenched with syrup and topped with tropical fruit) while looking through palm trees at the sea. There I would read/write for a few hours, then make my way to a place on the beach in the shade under some trees, vegetate/muse/revel in the warmth of mid-day, then escape the afternoon heat in an air conditioned internet cafe, after which I would buy a can of pringles at the supermercado and head back to the beach by 2 to read and pop pringles in my mouth, sitting in one spot until sundown...

I would sit and observe people having breakfast at the resort. It is impossible not to wonder about everyone. Is this the life they imagined for themselves? What do they think happens when we die?

At beach resorts the women are bored and beautiful. The men are on the phone doing business with their clients in Dubai and Hong Kong. The couples are fighting under their breath, each secretly wondering why they can't smile blissfully and frolic like the happy, sunkissed couples in travel brochures. 

These solo journeys are stones thrown in the waters of my soul. The ripples have yet to be seen, yet to be measured. 

-------------------------

Here follows some timely notes about airports (mostly me bitching):

The last two days of my vacation in Costa Rica have been spent not lying on the white sands of Playa Montezuma but in the ever modernizing but still savage airport jungle. What strange places are airports, the Starbuck's every 20 feet, the fat people at the food court sipping 32 oz sodas and finding respite in cheeseburgers and Dunkin Donuts, the shameless people who cut in front of you in lines, and the bastard ticket agents who tell you they can do nothing for you though your flights have been canceled, smiling all the while. Flying from Costa Rica to California really should be quite simple, but being the frugal backpacker, I chose the cheapest flight I could on the way home, which always means being on the worst airline that manages to cancel all your flights. So I booked a flight from San Jose to Florida to Dallas to San Francisco. It's sort of complicated, and obviously boring. The point is, I was meant to arrive in S.F. at 12:45 yesterday and instead arrived in Sacramento (which was nice at least) at 10:30 last night. 

I arrived at the San Jose airport 3 hours early, and if I hadn't, I would have been screwed, because my 4:30 flight had been cancelled and the flight they put me on instead was meant to leave 20 minutes after I arrived at the airport...but then it left 2 hours late, of course. 

As we deboarded the plane in Miami, it was a tangle of arms and legs as everyone reached for their bags and rushed to get ahead of everyone else. The race to customs after an international flight...nothing pleases me so much as seeing the same guy who sprinted past me only a person ahead of me in line, breathless and pissed off that there are still 57 people ahead of us with the slowest customs officer in the history of customs officers. I always imagine being pulled into a dark interrogation room which makes me answer their questions nervously. This time I managed to forget the name of the city I was born, though I have no idea why he asked anyways. It must look suspicious though, for someone to forget the name of their birthplace. All the same, he let me through. 

When I went to ask about my flights for the next day, the ticket agent in Miami gave me meal vouchers and a hotel voucher. I was expecting to sleep in some empty boarding gate in a gray plastic chair, and now this man was talking about a shuttle to the Holiday Inn. Rather than screaming with delight at the prospect of a hot shower I played my part as the surly traveler who could not believe this was happening to HER. But I was pretty thrilled about a free night at the Holiday Inn. After numerous hostel beds in Costa Rica, the clean white sheets seemed like they were meant for royalty. Of course, as soon as I sank into these heavenly sheets I ran to the bathroom and threw up the entire contents of my stomach, which happened to be ten sun chips and half a can of ginger ale. But even as I was leaning over the toilet seat I was thankful I was there and not in an airport bathroom stall. I had been nauseous all day, but really I must say it's good to travel alone while you're sick. It's character building. Because no one gives a fuck, and that's just a good life lesson. The world is cruel and no one cares that you would like to faint, and no one thinks, ahh, poor girl, shouldn't someone carry her heavy bags for her, usher her to the front of every line and speak in soft voices? No. You just have to suck it up. 

There is just nothing so terrible as wanting food but having no appetite. It was midnight, I'd had almost nothing to eat during the day, I kept dreaming of ordering pizza but I just couldn't imagine actually masticating...and so I watched some excellent coverage of celebrity news and fell into a semi-blissful sleep, waking 4 hours later to get a shuttle back to the airport. 

I arrived in Dallas at 10 am and spent the next two hours dreaming about the first class flight they had put me on, visions of being catered to like a princess floating in my mind...but the 12:30 flight was delayed and then cancelled. There would be no warm towels for my hands, no roomy chair and solicitous inquiries about my well being, I was back to coach and not leaving until 7:50.  By that time I was the surly traveler who couldn't believe this was happening to her. How many others, I wondered, were suppressing the desire to scream? I was so saturated with airport and ready to be home. 

But then a rather miraculous thing occurred. I got my appetite back. So I joined the fat people at the food court and tucked in to a carton of steaming white rice with loads of soy sauce. Now, traveling alone can be wonderful, but there are times when you rue your solo status, and such a time came when I desired more soy sauce. When you're with others, you just get up for a moment, grab what you need, and return to your seat, no big deal. When you're alone, you have to grab all your bags, close your carton up, and walk back for more, hoping on your way back to your seat that a family of eight has not snagged every last seat while you were gone (because those little brats are sure to linger over their Happy Meals). However, after securing some more soy sauce packets, I decided to start walking to the gate of a flight that I was hoping to get on stand-by. (Which of course was not going to happen, and didn't, but I had to try). I also acquired my fifth magazine and some animal crackers around this time. 

I did learn another important lesson--when the airline fucks up, ask for a voucher. As I knew I wouldn't get on the earlier flight, I started contemplating where I might use my dinner voucher...perhaps I should sample the dizzying array of pseudo-Chinese food at Manchu Wok? Fill up on cornstarch and white flour at Au Bon Pain? Indulge in that pizza craving at last and get a slice of grease at Pizza Hut? The possibilities were endless...sort of. 

When I got to Sacramento, my bag wasn't there, naturally. So we spent another thirty minutes with a woman whose mind I think was a little slow, at least the words coming out of her mouth were. They will send me my bag, they say. 

My vacation in Costa Rica was great. It was. You should really go. Just book a direct flight home. 

-----------------------

My mom baked chocolate chip banana bread for me to have when I got home. We warmed some up this morning and had it with a cup of tea. I am showered, fed, cozy in my pajamas. and the books I ordered from Amazon were waiting for me. Yes, there is nothing like coming home. 

On my last night in Monteverde I composed some notes on the war between bugs and myself that has been waged (in which, because I am in their territory, the forest, they are winning). These notes shall be posted when I have my other ntbk with me, and who wouldn't look forward to reading a blog post entirely devoted to bugs?
Anyways, that night I was just feeling a very deep seated need for company. As much as I miss friends and family, this was a primal need that could be satisfied by just about any somewhat normal human being. So when I got to the bus station at 5:30 am I was thinking that I might find someone else traveling to Montezuma. At Panaderia Jimenez, a little bakery with flies just as interested in the food as you are, I got an apple turnover, a croissant (which was really just basic white bread in the shape of a croissant), and potato turnover for later, and a cup of decent coffee to wake me up. On the bus I saw my first prospects, people roughly my age who looked nice. But alas no, just rude Berkeley students. No matter, sunrise was spreading over the low mountains like a pale pink veil shot through with gold threads and the white moon still hung in the sky. I was happy to bump along on the bus by myself, without chatting to others. Although the rude Berkeley students, and later some disinterested Brown students, were a disappointment, because Americans are usually so genial to one another while abroad. It's a very redeeming aspect of Americans I think, this automatic niceness, somewhat false but reassuring, comforting, nonetheless. On the ferry from Puntarenas to Paquera I saw a woman who looked like she was traveling alone, and I wanted to talk to her but I had been cornered by an old woman who was busy telling me her life story and latest romantic prospects...quite strange. I sat next to the other woman on the bus, and we started talking. She was also traveling alone, from Switzerland, the usual traveler chat (how long have you been here? where have you been? where are you going? how have you liked it? have you been here before? etc). As we were getting off the bus in Montezuma we decided to look for a room together, and ended up sharing a room in Pension Lucy for the night. It was just exactly what I needed. We enjoyed each others company, and I think we also both derived that great benefit of traveling with someone else even for a short amount of time--a renewal of joy in solitude.
When we got to the pension I was telling her about the sunset horse ride and how I was forced to speak in Spanish for three hours, and she said with glee in her voice, "so I can speak in Spanish to you then" and from that moment on we have communicated almost exclusively en espanol. She traveled in Central and South America for a year so she is more comfortable with Spanish than English. And, I don't know if I'm crazy, but I swear we get along better in Spanish than in English.
After we'd got our things settled in the room, we went to a cafe to get some lunch (and mango smoothies!) and then went down to the beach. It is tropical paradise. The white sand sparkles in the sun, azul water, azul sky. How I love late afternoon warmth over noonday heat!
This morning I was up at 7 am and walking down the long stretch of sandy white beach, broken up in parts by black rocks with tidal pools. Breathing deeply, releasing salty sighs. Estoy tranquilo.
Monica and I decided to just share the room for the one night, so today I moved to Hotel Los Mangos across the street. It's out of my budget, of course. I am really bad about budget accomodations...I always want to splurge! But I'm on the second floor and have an ocean view when I step out of my room. And there is a wide balcony with comfortable rocking chairs that are perfect for escaping the mid afternoon heat to read in the shade (or nap, as I did for an hour before coming back in to town for water)
What else is there? I'm at the beach.

I have free internet here, and am spending probably too much time on it. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Montezuma.
When you're in the middle of exams, the laziness of vacation sounds like the height of happiness. I feel bored, restless, today. You forget how comforting the purpose found in work and routine can be. But I think that this will dissipate by the sea. At least I hope.
I took a taxi to a restaurant called "Moon Shiva" for lunch, since I'd been to all the places near the hotel. I thought I'd walk on my way back, forgetting that distance is much shorter when viewed from a car. It was a long, hot walk under the hot, hot sun. But I bought an ice cream cone to keep me company, cookies and cream. Being ever unprepared, I was not wearing sunscreen...exposed skin has darkened, my chest is a little red.
Time alone sometimes allows for too much time for thinking and re-thinking everything. I'm not sure I want to go to summer school in Spain anymore. But then, I'm really not sure about anything and that also worries me. I think I want one thing, the next day it's something else.

im waiting for answers to unformed questions to wash over me.

The breakfast at the hotel is so good: homemade yogurt that I topped with a little honey and granola, toast with homemade jams, banana bread, potato pancakes,fried plantains, pineapple, mango, watermelon, cafe con leche...the perfect amount of energy for an early morning hike in the cloud forest yesterday...or for a lazy morning sitting on a lawn chair as I've had today.

The three hour hike was nice, not very strenuous as it was more about trying to spot wildlife than covering miles of ground. I saw different kinds of birds, a sloth, howler monkeys (the leader of the group is easily spotted by his white testicles...) etc. The elusive quetzal eluded our group, but I was not so disappointed. For me, I was just happy to be in the cloud forest. A very nice French couple, Aurelie and Alex, gave me a ride from the hotel, and after our hike we had a cup of coffee in the cafe near the hummingbird gallery where hummingbirds gather to feed on the nectar in hanging feeders.

After the hike I relaxed at the hotel, walked in to town to buy some lunch and conditioner (I was having a bit of a hair crisis, I brought two shampoos with me instead of conditioner. lesson:always read the bottles carefully before packing! you can't imagine the difficulty of curls without conditioner...) and then signed up for a sunset horseback ride. The tour company that the hotel usually books through was full, so the woman at the front counter said she knew another place she could call, but that they would only go if there were two or more people. She called, they said yes, Carlo picked me up at the hotel at 3:30.

Riding in to the sunset. It was always a girlhood dream of mine, a recurring dream that I visited in my unconsciousness on many nights. And so, my dream was fulfilled, although in the dream I was riding off on a white unicorn, not a lazy white horse, and I was alone and not with Carlo, escaping into a fantastical world of fairies and lost lands. Still, it was magical.

Carlo is now my idea of a Tico cowboy, in jeans and striped shirt, weathered and browned by the sun, smiling and proud of his land. He didn't speak a word of English, so I had to make myself understood in Spanish or not at all. Under such constraints, my speaking abilities suddenly increased tenfold! My mind was working in Spanish for three hours, it was incredible, daunting, but immensely satisfying, to be able to communicate, even with difficulty and constant "Puede repetirlo, por favor".

When we arrived at the farm, which is owned by Carlo and his family, I realized I was the only turista. I was incredibly lucky, having a private guide and a very untouristed place to ride, with no tourists spoiling the quiet magic with their, "Looook at thaaaat Bob, isn't that gorrrrgeous". It was personal, lovely, perfect. We rode from four until sunset, maybe 6 or 6:30, I didn't know the time in numbers during those hours, I was absorbed in la naturaleza and observing the light as it changed from late afternoon brightness to early sunset burnt orange to its final, glowing pink and red radiance.

When I can upload photos, later, they will tell the story, the flat version. They capture something, but not the roundness and fullness of experience itself, not the dappled light in forested areas, light that fought its way through treetops to illumine patches of the ground, the late afternoon light painting the tops of the trees as th sun began to set, the climbing upwards and descent downwards in the saddle. Words fail as well. String them together but still they are not round, full, charged with magic as those hours were. We rode through green valleys, hills, mountains. Across streams, rocks, through trees and coffee fields. We stopped at vistas and smiled at each other, murmuring "Que bonito" and then just pausing, pausing.

The dirt that was kicked up by our horses' hooves was like the blue mist shadowing the mountains. It inevitably made its way into my eyes. From the highest point on the ride I could see Guanacaste in one direction, "Es el mar?" I asked in surprise, pointing. "Si, y Arenal" he said, pointing in another direction, "y Monteverde" pointing in yet another.

caminada a caballo. tardecer. fue magico.

**********

I've decided to stay at Arco Iris another night and leave Monteverde on Tuesday for Montezuma (I think). It just makes sense to plan an intinerary more on the road than in the living room. I was planning on a lazy Easter Sunday, but have decided to go on a coffee tour this afternoon, plenty of time for laziness afterwards.

monteverde

Through an e-mail from Emily I was introduced to a new word, a new concept, that I had to google to learn more about: Imponderabilia. Here is what I found (on another person's blog of all places, I suppose it is something that is dear to bloggers), and wanted to share:
"...there is a series of phenomena of great importance which cannot possibly be recorded by questioning or computing documents, but have to be observed in their full actuality. Let us call them the imponderabilia of actual life. Here belong such things as the routine of a man's working day, the details of his care of the body, of the manner of taking food and preparing it, and of passing sympathies and dislikes between people; the subtle yet unmistakable manner in which personal vanities and ambitions are reflected in the behaviour of the individual and in the emotional reactions of those who surround him." From Argonauts of the Western Pacific, by Bronislaw Malinowski, 1922; pp. 18-19.

Estoy en Monteverde.
The sky is clear and blue, late afternoon light is coming through a tall window, warming my back and bathing the red tiled floor and wood pannelled walls with soft and buttery golden light.

As the van rumbled over and up unpaved dirt roads this morning, I felt one of the great thrills of travel--the thrill of changed plans! I was not meant to be on my way to Monteverde yet, but I changed my mind and changed my plans and felt free again, the re-realization that I can be wherever I choose at any time. What is it about transport, about a moving landscape, that inspires, that allows thoughts to crystallize and take new shape?

My mom generously offered to pay for my lodging for three nights at a more upscale place, Arco Iris Ecolodge. It's not the Hilton or anything, but it is farther from the dorm room I was just in than I can even fathom. When I walked into my private wooden cabin, saw my cozy bed and the little writing desk by the window that looks out at a small garden, I put my bags down so I could do a happy dance and proceeded to briefly wave my arms in the air like a lunatic until I regained a measure of self-control. My joy further increased by the novel luxuries in the bathroom-towels and washcloths, handsoap, a toilet that you can actually flush toilet paper down! There are walking trails on the property, a hearty breakfast offered in the mornings, free internet (let us hope i am not sitting here, drawn by the lovely light, more than i am out there!), and chairs in the garden for lazy sunbathing.
Weather permitting, I am looking forward to three very charmed days.

This afternoon, after I checked in and went loco over my room, I went to the Selvatura Park and walked through the cloud forest canopy for two hours. There's a walking trail and 8 different suspension bridges that vary in length and are 5 feet in width. Incredible, indescribable, wonderful. At times I walked quickly, and felt like an adventurer on a jaunt through the forest. At other times I would pretend it was walking meditation and would walk slowly, deliberation in each step.

When I got back, I was enchanted by the light (and serene from the walking), so I sat in the lobby reading magazines, well, really just looking at the photos in travel magazines. More inspiration. A reminder, which I needed, that great photographs often come from seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary, in every day life.

Before the sun goes down I should make my way in to town for dinner.