We were only together for three weeks but I loved that first group of 18 kids to the point of tearing up the last few nights before they left. I’d go so far as to say that they even made me start to question my preference about not having kids. It probably helped that I seemed to bond with those who would have been the troublemakers, the boys and those who had a more challenging time. Also, I’m sure, because they saw Chris and Jessica as such monsters which made it a lot easier to run to me.
The boy I bonded with the most was a jock who openly admitted to, and even bragged about, not being interested in most people unless he was manipulating them to get something he wanted. Finding it especially curious considering what a strong interest he seemed to have taken in hanging with and confiding in me about what was going on out of eyesight with the other kids, I asked him what he wanted from me. Puzzled for a minute his eventual response was “I don’t know…knowledge?”
Me. The wild and eccentric one who was used to the people in my life all to often telling me that who I was was wrong and that I needed to be different. He really did see me as a mentor. Those kids looked up to me. The adults (minus Chris and Jessica) even seemed to. I was used to living a type of life common to those with similar personalities where my free spirit and way of going about things was frowned upon as irresponsible, unrealistic and needing to change. Those things along with the way I loved were what made these kids and other adults think To them I, what I was doing and what I was all about was amazing. I had waited my entire life for a moment like that.
The young lady I was most proud of in the program was a 15 years old slightly awkward, shy, nervous and anti-social gal who had never been to a foreign country and yet had chosen to go to India for three weeks. Even though proud and impressed, I wasn’t at at all surprised when she started struggling with wanting to go home within the first day or two. During one of our first “working” days with the local kids the two of us stayed back when the rest of our group headed out to those placements and I took her to a place I liked called McLlo Restaurant for lunch. I was determined to remember, relate, look at it through her shoes and be as patient and compassionate as I could (“examples of basic psychological needs are: Belonging, Freedom, Respect and Fun”. As those efforts slowly seemed to make an impact, even if only giving a nudge toward her to find her own way, it felt amazing being able to get through to this smart young lady who so obviously didn’t let people in easily. It also came with an even bigger wow moment when I received a message from headquarters after they relayed a message from her parents that I had probably saved her from leaving. *tear*
There were so many kids I was in awe of. One of the young ladies, absolutely beautiful on the inside and out, hadn’t let her diabetes or having almost died from a mystery health scare within the previous year stop her. Another little lass came from a family of severe situations and mental health challenges that was shocking enough to cause me to struggle to hide a surprised and concerned expression when she confided about it to me and a few of the girls. One of our boys had Aspergers, which caused even more challenging situations for him as it wasn’t disclosed to the other kids. One of the other boys, a sweetheart of a young man, took him under his wing. I’ve never seen such a kind and strong care-giving personality in a fella so young.

All of those kids were so amazingly special and I love, love, loved them within days. Being able to see more of them, both through their records and what they confided in me, gave me a real-life example of how much we really aren’t alone in our struggles and pain. Also how much we really do need each other. One example being how many of the kids had recent suicide attempts. I don’t know if the program had somehow been marketed in a way that made parents think it could be utilized as a therapy program but I definitely found myself surrounded with kids who had much more immediate needs than I (or the company) had been made aware of.
The kids weren’t the only ones who filled my heart. Our local team (which included two twenty year old young men named Ahmad and Lalit) was amazing. Ahmad was an attractive Seek man with beautiful eyes and a shy disposition, though boy could he dance. Lalit was also attractive though had an opposite disposition in that he was outgoing, charismatic and funny. While young, he was already a natural leader and was sharp to pick up a bit on potential problems with the crushes the girls were developing. Ahmad had been more naive to it which sadly lead to his not working with the next group. A casualty of war, I suspect, because of all the hot water the company ended up in thanks to Chris and Jessica. Both boys, though especially Lit (his nickname), were all smiles and added to my own on the daily. Lit was also one hell of a support when the rest of the team came in short. I still smile when thinking of his calling me by the nickname he loved for me: Robbo Robbo.
Another fun aspect was the King of Kangra and his royal family who we were staying with at his home and property. Something I learned had become common was for royal families to use their properties as hotels. He was a jovial old man who loved drinks, women and socializing. Something proven by the servants that were sent on a constant basis to summon us for drinks, often causing me amused frustration as it was done around the kids when we were leading activities. So yeah, I was hangin for cocktail hour (after the kids went to bed) with a king on a normal normal basis. Oh yeah – and he loved my rhinestone cat ears as well as calling me kitty-cat since the first time we met when I had been wearing them.
His close friend Alexandra, a fiery expat from the Netherlands, was often there and we also developed a friendship. I think the strong smell of the Raat Ki Rani flowers that filled the air with the fireflies at night will always remind me of her. Also the impact of her knowing smile and comments about how I had the body of a mother along with comments of “yes you are, look at you!” when I claimed to not be a kid person. Those kind of constant remarks from her had an influence on my next step toward becoming an overseas ESL teacher. I can still hear the way she pronounced the name of those flowers.

Chris, and on a lesser note Jessica, had reasoned that it was better for me to stay behind to make and hang banners along with other menial BS while they went to pick up the kids in New Delhi. It was great to have a break from them but also meant missing out on part of the program and getting around to a little more of India than just (the amazing town of) Dharmashala. A little bummed but more relieved for the coveted peace I got during that time, what was even better was having the king’s youngest fur-baby Teddy all to myself. It was then that I made the executive decision that he with his cute overbite was to be our new mascot. All of the king’s Jack Russell’s reminded me of my Layla. Something I was both thankful and saddened by. Oh how I missed her…
It was the middle of the night when they all arrived at Clouds End Villa. Excited and proudly standing there in my EEK! staff shirt, they were too tired to notice me or anything else for that matter. I wasn’t though. Chris walked up those three flights of long stairs of flattened-boulders wearing the hat that he had taken advantage of his position to grab from the swag provided for what I had been under the impression was to be given to the local staff. He had done it right in front of Jessica and I without any shame or asking if we wanted one. Lame but not a big deal if it was a one-off but it was a behavior that had already started to show it’s ugly face as the norm. Flashback to my days in the subprime mortgage industry when my lover-turned-boss had, right in front of me, taken the laptop bag our corporate office had sent me as a reward for the kick-ass job I had been doing. Great leadership skills, huh?
Throughout, and even more so after my experience in India, I remember thinking about how in my twenties everything had seemed to meld together into one big experience. The idea of compartmentalizing was so foreign that I had no idea where to even begin trying. Funny how age and experience take us 180 around so many things, my experience in India being an extreme version of one of them. I knew from the moment Anna told me about EEK! that it was something that could provide the kind of experience that I had been looking for since I had started volunteering in my younger twenties. Even with the hardships the experience did prove to be true. In no small part, I’m sure, because I was too inexperienced to get frustrated and/or pissed at times when others would have. The situations instead just felt strange. When they did feel wrong I often found myself thinking that there must be components I was unaware of or that I was at the bottom of the totem poll and it wasn’t my place to take too much initiative by stepping on toes fix them.
Chris, Jessica and the other not great stuff that presented itself couldn’t hold a candle to how much the good stuff brought to my heart and soul. Dharmashala for sure, I’d love to go back there on a spiritual quest, but being a part of those most foundational years of the kid’s lives was something that has been one the most meaningful experiences I’ve ever had. Well, next to Burning Man. Naturally. )'(
One of the things that did manage to bother me pretty quickly was how the terrible two, especially Chris once again, would pull answers to questions the kids would ask out of their asses. None of us had more than the couple weeks experience in that town. I believed doing so to be irresponsible, arrogant and dangerous. It also triggered my agitated memory of the training Chris and I had been at back in the US where he had told me that there wouldn’t be mosquitoes when I was contemplating if it would be OK to skip my second $300+ Japanese Encephalitis shot. Well there definitely was and I got bit a bunch.
The first day to be way too intense. Poor kids…and poor me. Our local team grew up there and were right on par with billy goats getting around on that mountain terrain. They never looked back to see how the group was doing with keeping up as we made our way around the entire town stopping at the placements where we were going to be working with local kids. Everything was “five minutes” and when asked about difficulty level it was all easy no matter how excessively off the response. Great guys whose friendship I was thankful for but they hadn’t been anywhere to know any better and it was a problem. Personally it wasn’t great for my vertigo, knees or physical ability though I was at least happy to find out a few days later that my struggles and the short breaks to catch my breath that came with had helped those kids having a hard time with the terrain but too embarrassed to say anything. A painful reminder of how humiliating everything seemed to be as a teenager and what hell that age was. The five-millionth reason I’m relieved those years are over and cringe at the idea of reliving them.
Adding to the fun of the trek that actually did make it a great intro to the program was a scavenger hunt where we were to munch on some of the only good food I was to eat while there (Tibetan vegetarian momos = yum) thanks to only one day (but not night) off and there being way too many kiddos under my watch for me to be able to get away with sneaking off for an hour or two. In addition to the placements and scavenger hunt, we also made it to the local and harder to take Kotwali Bazar with all it’s trash, honking horns and hot pavement. Understanding why it would be too much for our kids on that first day, I was confused why the local staff would take us there, especially on that first day, until realizing too late that it had been when the kids were to buy local clothes and take them to a tailor. As was to become the norm with the actions of our local guys as well as Chris and Jessica, I took on a feeling of responsibility though I was proud of the laughs and lessons we turned it into about learning to go with the flow. An important must of travel. Still, having that traditional clothing made was to be such a big and fun part of their experience and it upset me that most of our kids ended up missing out on it. However, what they did get was to see the Dalai Lama and his entourage driving by. I missed it due to hitting my limit and taken a taxi back home just minutes before though I did get to live vicarionsly. Especially through one of the more serious girls who was so excited about his making eye contact and waving directly to her that she came back manically rambling about what had happened before even managing to sit down. Super cute but hard to follow as I was feeling pretty woozy from pushing myself too far past the limit of my physical abilities thanks to the local team’s “easy five minutes” and Chris believing that the well-being of the staff wasn’t his problem (as he told me many times). I was so out of it, in fact, that my head was bobbing as I tried to stay coherent during a Hindi lesson put on by our local guy (who was supposed to be running the local side under Raja but rarely there), Kapil, and had to sneak out to go lay down. I hadn’t thought it necessary to tell Chris since I wasn’t a part of the lesson and had been sitting in the back of the room (he was sitting in the middle of the group) and was too dazed to think about texting him. All things considered, it had seemed less disruptive to sneak out. That was until he showed up to my door so angry that he was shaking. Queue flashbacks of my violent PTSD marine vet brother. Take orders, get violent, don’t ask questions. Peas in a pod.
Back to compartmentalizing and the little things of that fascinating place I was so so happy to be experiencing. No matter how many countries I’ve been to it’s still seems so easy to forget what an impact the little things have. Bugs weren’t scared like in the US and would fly right into our heads, often going straight for the eyes. Locals didn’t turn off their cars when getting petrol, spiders were hand-sized, seat belts were discouraged as a nuisance and metal straws were used in the Illiterati coffee shop we frequented. Reality checks were everywhere. The straws being one of good vibes regarding how we can make an effort to help our environment Rougher ones included the garbage that had been tossed down the beautiful hills and how it sparked thoughts of how, just because we were spoiled by having it taken away by others in our countries, it didn’t stop the reality of landfills. Also how lucky we were to be born in places that were so much more clean and sanitary.While a less than appealing culture in regard to so many ways women were treated, the dazzling smiles of the men and beauty of how affectionate they were to each other put a light on how hard men in the American culture have it in regard to expressing their emotions. We were all both excited and sadden by the street dogs, though I found it interesting to see the difference in perspective between the kids and I as those dogs were in much better shape than what I had seen in other places. Something I was to find out during an outing (that I put a lot of work into making happen) was due to people like my kind of hero: Deb at the Dharamsala Animal Rescue.
Taking it back to Chris and Jessica as it will over the next post or two, yes, there were an over-all horrible experience, but I think it important not to bust out the pitch-forks just yet and to mention that we did manage to have some nice moments before everything turned to shit. When originally finding my way through the New Delhi airport, Chris and I had been texting back and forth with jokes about the bidet guns that I call butt blasters and love so much. His response had been to call them bum guns, ass splashers and pooper pistols. Another little moment I remember fondly was when Jessica, myself and our cook cracked up after staring at each other in confusion when he brought ketchup for French toast instead of the syrup we had asked for. Yeah, it had been super rocky, but have managed to do OK reminding myself that we’re all both heroes and villains depending on when we’re caught. I’m sure I have plenty to own up to that they could point out. Three sides to every story and such. Anyway, I never did luck out in finding much of the hero within either of them, and it was about to get a whole lot uglier, but I did manage to let my love of the kids and the place win. The storm then, though, was-a-brewin and wouldn’t totally hit until after Jessica got out of the hospital due to a bad stomach bug that was to take hold a couple days later. Just you wait…

It was finally time to put all that studying for the organization I was about to start working for into action (we’ll call the company EEK! for the Experience & Education the Kids would be getting) though in reality I wouldn’t end up using most of it as the job seemed to require more instinct and experience than book knowledge once there. Either way, it was once again time to hit the road. This time I was to fly out of LAX which meant either a 2 1/2 road road trip or 4 hours of Lyft trips and a train for around $80 all-told. As luck would have it, my mama was due for an overnight visit to check on my grandma’s secret garden in Glendale (an area of Los Angeles) with it’s vibrant red, pink and yellow flowers that smelled of spring and lots of different shades of green plant life to show just how much it had been loved over the years. A visit that provided an opportunity for the cheaper option as well as a warm overnight goodbye and reminder of the roots from which I came.
Hitting the airport after our mamma-daughter breakfast the next day, I grumbled as I made my way toward the China Eastern Airlines counter. Less than two years before I had sworn I would never fly that airline or through China again, though I had already known amidst that internal temper-tantrum (I get it from my daddy) even back then that my budget may prove otherwise.
Pleasantly surprised once in route, the two flights and one long layover didn’t end up being as bad as I had feared. I didn’t know it then but the rough stuff was apparently being saved up for the ride back a couple months later.
Arriving in New Delhi a couple of days later exhausted, disoriented and jet-lagged, there was one more puddle-jumper to Kangra that I would be taking with the other mentor I was about to start working with. Recalling my mention from the last post about already seeing flags regarding the director I was to be working with, I instantly saw the beginning of her own set the moment I walked up. An American expat living in Mexico, she seemed a little off: manic, immature and drunk. All of which I hoped was due to the large amount of travel we had been doing, lack of sleep and her having been drinking for hours, I was guessed, based on the copious amount of wine radiating from her pores that and that almost double knocked me out every time she opened her mouth. I like having drinks just as much as the next gal but I don’t think I’d ever want to show up drunk and smelling like booze when meeting a new colleague. Especially when we were going to be taking care of a bunch of teenagers in India together. Just saying.
Trying to make light of the warning signs and, in the spirit of bonding, we stopped to grab some Indian whiskey along the beautifully expansive and cloud-filled (though carsick-triggering) mountain views on the tiny Himalayan road that was taking us via a taxi that had been sent to pick us up. Clouds End Villa, our home for the next six weeks and a highlight of my time there (minus the always moldy everything), was a royal estate-turned-hotel. Something we were to find out out had become a normal source of income among royal properties in India.
I originally thought our boozy purchase would be used for an initial celebration only (I already sure knew we all liked to drink) but would soon regret it as Chris (no last names), our local director, and Jessica were to drink all day every day, pressuribg me to do so as well, while we were in “training” with his excuse being that we needed to get it out of our systems before the kids got there. A flimsy validation that I knew was a load of BS and made me worry about the potential problems in relation to how it was going to affect the program. Dun, dun, dun…

Saying a temporary goodbye to that sweet new litter of kittens in the quaint, royal blue hostel I was unexpectedly to call home over the next couple of weeks, I walked around the small town of vibrant nights and quiet mornings with sweat already dripping from my brow, surprised that so few places were still closed after 8 AM. Life of Pura Vida I suppose.
Finally finding a spot for breakfast on that, my first morning in Puerto Viejo, I was shocked when seeing prices on restaurant menus displaying California-level prices along the streets of Rastafarian vibes there at the ocean. Seeing the pricing trend continue the next day when grocery shopping, I was hit with the rude awakening that Costa Rica had become more on par with the expenses of home than the low cost of most of Central and South Americian countries. Lord knows why it hadn’t dawned on me before that things may have changed from the days of stoked-surfer comments about low cost had been what must had come no less than ten years before.
The reggae vibe brought over from the Carribbean people who had stayed in Puerto Viejo after building a railroad added an extra flavor to mix the two cultures. In addition to that, what I also loved was how many of the men I found physically attractive and how many of them also seemed to feel the same about me. Even down to my thick thighs; an area of my body I was used to being less than favorable in the US. What wasn’t so great was the first guy hitting on me, a thin but muscular Latin man with bright green eyes, going for one of my pet-peeves when giving me the back-handed compliment of telling me how most people say Americans are assholes but I’m cool. Uh…thanks?

There was an upsetting amount of cleaning that first day of “volunteering” in the two-story hostel and it was to continue every day. Also an infuriating moment when Hector, the hostel owner, came down on me for getting two check-ins with the same name mixed up. It was my first day with next to no training and I had been brought in under false pretenses. Dock it from my pay, dude.
I was also grouchy at the lack of bathroom butt blasters and instead, only super thin TP that couldn’t even be flushed down the toilet. Oh how I missed Thailand in those moments. Now, months later, I wonder why it hadn’t dawned on me to buy my own. *Scratching head*
The whole experience gave me a newfound respect and love for our protection in the US in regard to being exploited. Still, I liked Hector and even more so his tico (local) wife, Mary. It also became apparent by the end of my time there that their ethics when expecting next to free labor was not so likely a sign of who they were but more about falling into the “everyone’s doing it” category of their culture. Something I’m sure I’m ignorantly obliviously to in my own as well.
Mary, calm and cute with her long dark hair and one of the purest smiles I have ever seen, had an exciting history. The stories of who she was along with the way she thought and the life choices she had made showed her to be a kindred spirit among the crowd. A native Costa Rican, one would never have guessed she had so much worldly and career experience and had chosen that over being taken care of by men who adored her. Her laid back and humble way of living Pura Vida was an inspiration to show how we can have it all, as was her character that shown bright in moments such as when seeing me biking down the tropical streets full of tall lush green on both sides, whether from a car or a bar, and she was quick to call out a hello with that big smile and a wave or an invitation to join her and Hector. She was also quick to give reccommendations of places to go of which I was soon to follow.
It wasn’t the first time in another country, nor would I imagine it to be the last, before I quickly started being told that I talk too fast. Something I’ve noticed in Big Red (sister/Wendy) and I for years and have always been curious about given that our parents don’t and that we were raised in a multi-cultural place with many languages. If anything, I’d think that would create an environment that would teach us to talk slower. Or at least cling onto other Americans who can understand us better like a girl from Pacific Beach that checked into the hostel, the beach neighborhood right next to my own at home is San Diego, but nope. Most of the time I run from other Americans when travel. In fact, ans oddly enough, most of the friends I’ve been making the last couple of years have been French.

Sitting on the beach and staring out at a large, half-sunken sailboat during sunsets, I reflected new thoughts and revelations about all the things that were happening. How I enjoyed souvenir shopping for the first time, that I was getting to the next step in being ready to focus more on other areas in my travels beyond just beach location (good thing India was next on the list) and that I was at the end of my rope as far as traveling as a backpacker with no money. Also that I was ready to start taking tours at the beginning of my travels to show me more of the countries I go to before planting in one area. Still my preference but it was time to start focusing on getting around.
I love the things I learn about the communities and cultures I visit, not to mention the chance to establish relationships when staying long enough to make it happen. For instance, people would just leave their cars running, volcanic black sand is magnetic and the interesting fuachia fruit with it’s tentacles meant to be peeled before eating looked and tasted like lychee but was actually a fruit by the name of rambutan. While Puerto Rico was still in the lead for Mojitos, hanging at a chill beach bar while enjoying a two for one deal as I overlooked that same sunken ship from a different angle and listened to a Rastafari man selling souvaneers (as well as weed as announced by his larger-than-life shoutouts with the Alto voice of an opera singer) was pretty high up there.
My favorite experience while there had to be going to the Jaguar Rescue Center(please donate). A small and locally owned animal sanctuary that took in injured animals and set them free after nursing them back to health. Sorry to disappoint but there weren’t any actual jaguars there. The name had come from an injured cat that had been brought to the founders for help but had died due to their lack of knowledge. That loss was their inspiration for more education, resources and the small sanctuary. So cool.

A version of my heaven, there were animals roaming around everywhere amongst the green trees and accompanying small bodies of water. Monkeys and sloths with their babies, owels, crockodiles, other kinds of exotic cats and even a one year old color peccary by the name of Gentida that just strolled along with us for a bit. For once I was actually able to pay attention to the guide (hello ADD) and learn cool stuff. Did you know that howler monkeys are the loudest animal in the world? Or that they have been used for sounds in movies such as dinosaurs in the original Jurassic Park and dragons in GOT? Neither did I. What about how the holes in a sloth’s coats are meant to collect algae in order to turn them green and make them smell like the forrest for cammoflogue. Also that sloth moths lay eggs in their coats which allow larva to climb in and out, also helping them to cammoflogue. One more cool little tidbit was that their coat grows down so rain can run off since their body doesn’t produce enough energy to regulate temperature. A side effect from all the leaves they eat all day only providing around 800 calories. Also makes sense why they’re so slow. No calories = no energy. !Muy interesante!
Given the old and worn out rental bikes from the hostel “voluteers” were allowed to use for free, it never took long for something to go wrong. Case-in-point, a chain coming off or my yoni going numb after the first half an hour of riding. That combined with a daily work shift after the preserve meant that I didn’t make it to the twice as far Manzanillo beach as I had originally hoped to do after the rescue. What I did manage was to enjoy the more chill beach across from the preserve and another day later at that farther beach. A ride that would have killed me had that old rickety bike betrayed me on the longest and most intimidating of the downward slopes. Managing to survive that, I met a laid back local tico surfer dude with a cute little hut on the beach on my ride back. His chill energy was a relaxing change after all the hot but aggressive guys constantly hitting on all of us ladies. Especially considering that we were going out every night dancing until 3 AM to wherever lady’s night was going down. The only thing that was going on at night, really, given what a small town it was. My little Brazillian pal Andressa’s joke about those nights was how the bars were herding all of us ladies in to get us drunk before the guys pounce. Especially comedically ironic when we were out for Women’s Day.

In all honesty, I probably would have been a bit more naughty if the guys had chilled out. Well, and if it wasn’t such a small town for gossip to spread. Instead, I ended up in a brief backpacker-style fling with that guy I had met on my way home (who had mentioned noticing me in town before that, BTW) after one fun and impromptu double-date night (of sorts) with a lovely British bloke I met at a bar and two of the new French pals I had made at our casa as we sat around a rickety umbrella table in the yard while getting bit by fire ants.
The fling with the tico was sweet and romantic though the grand finale more that of comedy when it included getting devoured by Purrujas (sand gnats) while laying on the beach under a palm tree as we watched the sunset. Bites, mind you, that don’t show with their insane itchyness until the next day. After the yet-to-be-known bites that night, I was also faced with a long bike ride home though the jungle with my headlamp going dead and then becoming spastically nervous that an animal was going to get me. Wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a factor of hot mess, now would it.
Spending time with my temporary sweetheart, the Latin side of the culture and the similarities in beaches made me feel at times like I was in Mexico. That was until the reality of how expensive it was slapped me in the face again. Something that made me chuckle with thoughts about how I may have to start living on dates in order to eat. Like most travel, and I suppose most of life, I could be lonely at times, even despite the amazing romances and pals, but travel moments such as those was a big part of what was giving my life meaning, good moments and bad.
Other random moments of contemplation seem to pop up at the most unexpected times. Say when plans to go out to get some coveted free mojitos for lady’s night turned into staying in, sitting in the dark and listening to the rain while hanging with the kittens (thanks to friends crashing out once a bad storm had hit and I had run a wee bit too tardy for the party). The things that become clear during those moments are fascinating. In that particular instance, that I don’t always enjoy what I’m doing in my travels but I need them. Learning, loving, adventure, growing and turning dreams into reality. Especially because I didn’t do it at the younger age of most, even though my dreams had never changed (much) and I had wanted it even back then.
As is such with the irony of life, one of the things that seemed to create the most growth had been working through rough stuff like wanting to leave so bad after Envision and then almost crying in thankful relief for getting past it and staying. Real travel ain’t for the faint of heart. Another revelation that had been creeping up was the thought (and hope) that it was time to move on into more moments of rest, relaxation and experiences purely about enjoying myself during my travels. Also that I couldn’t believe how much I was starting to crave being around people my own age. A need for diversity probably also played a large roll in that one given that there weren’t too many of my age-related peers around.
Finally time to leave, I wondered why I had bothered to wash anything given how it all smelled like travel/mold. Something that was becoming a constant in the humid places I was visiting. Once having traveled back to San Jose with one of my new pals who was to room with me, I said no to a last night out as I was exhausted and the devistation of leaving Puerto Viejo had set in. A sadness that didn’t start to fade until getting on the plane the next day in my yoga clothes, socks, earbuds and had my charger hooked up below the TV on the seat in front of me.
Managing to enjoy the two meals served between attempts at snoozing (adding to my weirdo = I like airplane food), I began to feel relaxed and like way more of a pro with the last thought before finally dozing off being about how my bag had been so fucking heavy but I had used every single thing in it.
As I settled in, wrapped up in a blanket in that row I had lucked out in getting to myself, the sadness had all but completely faded as the next adventure took hold. I was on my way home to get ready for India.

With 5% battery left on my phone, it was surprising how relaxed I was given that I hadn’t realized during the 6+ hour bus ride to Puerto Viejo that I didn’t know where I was going upon arrival. A bit of a “whoopsie” moment though it turned out to be nice as I quickly found my smile during that extra time sitting there once pulling into town and waiting at the Rasta-themed bar/bus station next to the ocean. Soaking in the sounds of the surrounding palm trees rustling in the light breeze and taking in the smell of the blue water a few feet from me, I reveled in the sunshine of about 80° with mild humidity and knew as soon as I had taken note of all the stray dogs who not only looked as if in impressive health but also as if smiling that I had found my kind of place.
It was a nice couple hours though I was ready to leave once finally reaching one of the hostel owners where I was to be volunteering via a traveler networking website called Workaway. Fifteen minutes later, with my phone at 1%, a sweetheart of a man from Spain, on the smaller side and with a head full of black hair that reminded me of the slightly longer styles surfers wore back home, drove up flashing a dazzling smile and charming wide-eyed expression. A feature that I was to quickly find out always made it seem as though he was excited and paying attention, though the reality was that a lot of the time he was more caught up in his own intensity and thoughts. I instantly liked Hector and soon would also his darling and much more laid back (though worldly and experienced) tico wife, Mary.

Sadly, what happened from there in regard to the “volunteering” I was to do was upsettingly opposite of that first impression. As Hector gave me a quick rundown of what was expected of me, it became apparent that they had no interest in honoring the terms I came under in regard to food being provided and volunteering expectations set to be five hours a day, five days a week. Instead they expected six days a week, often for six hour shifts, and no food. Even worse, they had no interest in at at least meeting halfway when I pointed it out. I was instead told that they needed me to be happy and that if I wasn’t, they “understood” if I needed to move on. AKA: smile and take it or get out. No lube provided.
An unintentionally insulting comment from Hector about how there were plenty of volunteers who wanted the work was a lovely touch, as was the convenient ignoring of my comments about how I had already structured the rest of my trip around staying at that hostel and, as such, had already invested the time and money to get there, but did unfortunately prove to be true. Something I was quick to learn after asking around to other “volunteers” whose responses opened my eyes to how it really did seem to be a part of the lifestyle of how some backpackers traveled. Strange to find out given that the cost of a bed for the night was less than I’d make in an hour back home.
I did debate leaving. I had even gone to check out another cool-looking treehouse hostel down the street by the name of the Blue Butterfly Hotel with my tail between my legs. My bigger-picture goal of cultural immersion and to give back to the local community had been shattered. Reality at Kinkaju (and other hostels using free traveler labor) was that I was not only being taken advantage of but also taking much-needed work away from locals. Harsh reality check of my ignorance. Whoopsie.
I did end up staying there after all. The reasons being, besides the details I had mentioned to Hector above, that there was a new litter of kittens that had been born two weeks before. No surprise and nothing new that I’m a sucker for fur-babies. The second reason was friends I made starting with a wonderful French woman named Alexandra who was staying as a paying guest. Telling her I’d at least hang on as long as she was there, we soon made friends with many other Frenchies who randomly came to stay as well. I also bonded with a sweet little Brazilian chica named Andressa who was to come on as another volunteer a few days later to replace an Argentinian woman named Kinga whose hair was long and interestingly almost fully grey on top at 32 years old. A drawer and artist, on her last night we had the kind of refreshing chat over a bottle of wine (that is arguably my favorite part of travel) about the challenges in life of being an artist and traveler. Also about how she was supposed to leave a couple weeks earlier but aslo hadn’t wanted to take off on the mama kitty, Kinka, before the kittens were born and settled. Cute.
Reality from that point was that I just got comfortable.
Stepping back to that first day of my arrival, I had been exhausted and deliriously thankful when Hector had told me to take it easy before starting work the next day. A time I happily used to get out an (forever behind) blog post and to try to get a grip on groggy moments of sleep-deprived silliness such as momentary panic over incorrectly thinking I had lost all my makeup and sunscreen. A level of disorientation that made even more sense the morning after, as I had experienced a few of the strange episodes (focal seizures, anxiety attacks…who really knows what they are) in my sleep that always made me pretty fuzzy-brained the day before. An uncommon addition to those episodes was nightmares that included my dad taking over when I was trying to drive a motorhome and my sister taking the food I was trying to eat. Sister syndrome!
It wasn’t ideal but it was real. I was learning. And finally at a spot I could settle into for the next couple weeks. A time when I was to dance more, both metaphorically and physically, than I had in years. Especially after one of those happy stray pup’s crawled right up into my lap.