Emily, Mikey, and I took a bus from San Jose to Limon, out here on the Caribbean coast. Ever since the drive Ive been feeling funny, excited, lost, alone, confused, comforted. 10 minutes out of San Jose I saw a crowd of people huddled around the side of the road, most holding one arm across their chest with their left hand supported by the other arm´s inside elbow, right hand covering their mouths. I saw the red cross huddled around a broken man, who lay in a ditch, head bleeding. From that moment I´ve felt weak and vulnerable, and haven´t been able to completely shake it. The ride continued and the terrain changed to Rain Forrest and the roadside homes changed to Adventorous Rainforest ranches with groups of tourists standing waiting for direction. Then came banana farms, for miles and miles. Humidity. Then Limon.

The random and decrepid architecture of the city is saddening, but simultanesouly you can´t help but think that the city was built with one purpose in mind, abandoned, then reinhabited using the previous life´s buildings for completely foreign purposes. Emily had volunteered three years ago at an Orphanage 10 minutes North of town, so we set our bags in something that was currently serving as a hotel, 3 dollars a night for each of us, and hopped in a cab up north. I´d never been too an orphanage, and the kids who snuck out from behind trees and hills and small buildings to meet us were humble and very shy. There is nothing where they are, they live in groups of 8 with one of a rotating set of house-aunts. Many kids remembered Emily and I was happy for that. We stayed for an hour, planning to return this Friday to share a meal and take the kids to the beach. That night, I was even more upset, wondering why in the hell anyone would build an orphanage on a hill with a glimpse of the Ocean, in something of a town that is not even a rest stop, on a stupid hill that no kid could play on, with only a basketball court, ugly, and way out of the center of town where there would perhaps be entertainment. Its fucking boring and it hurts my head and why would you put Orphans in isolation? Their type of hope is the wrong kind, and then you tranquilize them with boredom. Really, that´s what I see in this country. It´s not that people can´t eat and are struggling. For the most part, the biggest challenge for the majority of those who "need help" is boredom.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we´re spending the week in Puerto Viejo. The life here is a far cry from what I´ve seen in my first four weeks. It´s a carribean beach town, with a hippie bamboo strong flavor food relaxing surf vibe, where the locals surf impressive breaks and play soccer, and the tourists relax in authentic cofee jives and awesome restaurants. There is no boredom, but theres a strange sort of dissonance for the hippie backbacker tourists that this place attracts. The locals smile because they´re taking your money, and that´s that. We are, however, staying at something I never though truly existed in the world, and that is a hostel with exclusively hammocks and tents and mosaics made by those who stay there not to mention the most original and weed inspired chairs you could think of and a tree house. You can stay, for 60 dollars a night in a tree house. We did tents last night, and I think hammocks tonight, for 5 bucks a night. The place needs to be seen in photographs to be believed, with palm and coconut trees shading the beach, and in this the greatest hangout you could ever day dream, the gold and blue colors are strong and refreshing but totally appropriate. The owner has built a studio apartment in the back of an 18 wheeler, that opens up on the side right into the blue front desk, right below the giant map of the earth. And seriously more hammocks than youve ever seen.

I dont particularly feel at home here in hippie land, but its better than greasy gringos. Besides, the body surfing is out of this world.

In Puerto Viejo, nobody seems to think its at all special that Im teaching English down here. At least its not perceived as difficult and certainly not noble. Of course not. Costa Rica is fantasy land when seen through the security of food friends pot beer and waves. The locals have absolutley no interest in speaking to us in Spanish. They think we are silly. Theres an unacknowledged selfishness in hippieland, and ill be happy to leave. I dont feel any challenge here, and for the time being, it leaves me feeling suspended.