Some Time in "America's Finest City" and Playing the American Pastime

I can describe my flight back like this: s p a c i o u s.

The woman at the American Airlines check-in counter - the same airlines that crammed me into seats en route to Central America - noticed my height and asked, "Would you like an exit row?"

WOULD I LIKE AN EXIT ROW? Pshh, would Ben Rothlesberger like to go to a frat party?

The angel in American Airlines garb rearranged my seating so that I sat aisle seat, exit row from San Jose to Dallas while there was also no one in the center seat. Extraordinary. Then, from Dallas to LA, I sat first row of coach seating where there was no seat/wall/reclining asshole/nothing in front of me. Miraculous. It was arguably the single most comfortable commute of my life.

Uncle D (aka Unc Deez Nutz) picked me up at the airport igniting a glorious weekend of adult time. It was likely a much needed maturation period as I was on the heels of my alcoholic weekend with the New Jersey school teachers and needed to feel that I indeed was learning something beyond my beer intake abilities on this trip.

Sharing my stories and photos with my LA family was fantastic. I was able to continue my newly learned task of doing nothing, although the days never felt empty. I filtered photos and started exercising again. You know, not like constantly active, hiking and exploring a new town exercise, but rather good old fashioned tear yourself down to bring yourself up exercise. I tried running again and sat on runner's high for the first 10 minutes of a jog.

"I could do this forever," I thought to myself. Then reality set in and I knew that outside of 10 minutes/1.2 miles I was toast. It's going to be a long road back to recovery.

That said, there's really not much better than a run in beautiful weather and winter in Southern California is pretty nice weather.

Perhaps the highlight of my time in LA - outside of chit-chatting with the Aunt and Uncle - was filling in for Unc Deez Nutz's Temple softball team. The Emanuel Squad was sitting on a 3-4 record and the injury bug had really hit the team hard. I was filling in for Petzold. Mike Petzold that is. I played left-center field and batted 10th. Right behind Amanda.

Emanuel jumped on top early, carrying a 6-1 lead into the middle innings. From there, after a few defensive blunders and some sound hitting from the green opponents (I can't remember their synagogue's name) we headed into the seventh and final inning, tied at 9.

Amanda, our tenacious right fielder and 9-hole-slugger, came to bat with two on and no one out. After watching two close strikes whizz in, Amanda worked the count to 2-2. She then struck out for the third time that afternoon.

Which then brought up Petzold. Petzold had had a good game to that point, 2-3 with an RBI, but now was why they'd brought Petzold - a former college baseball player and All-State performer - to the valley: to win ball games.

With a 1-0 count, Petzold got ahold of one and drove it deep into the right-centerfield gap, a sure double if not inside-the-parker. One problem: in softball, there is no right-centerfield gap as there are four outfielders including a right-centerfielder. Petzold's drive was nothing but a long out. Mighty Petzold had failed.

But that's why baseball (softball) is a team sport. The ultimate team sport. You perform an individual task (hitting, fielding, throwing) for the good of the team. Emanuel had Petzold's back.

Another single and a green team error led to an Emanuel run and a 10-9 lead heading into the bottom of the seventh.

The green team promptly put runners on and tied the game at 10. With one out and runners on second and third, from left-center Petzold recommended an intentional walk; load the bases, create a force out situation where we could either turn a double play and get out of the inning or get the lead runner at home.

Thus, the green teams three-hole hitter came to the plate, bases-loaded, winning run on third, a tense situation.

Pop-up. Two down.

It was now time to face the green cleanup hitter, a monster of a hebrew who had already belted one home run on the day. The entire game clung to this moment. Minimal preparation and almost no blood, sweat, or tears had been expended getting to right now, the pivotal moment in a completely inconsequential game. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

After running the count to 1-1, the Emanuel pitcher looked in, got his sign (dramatic effect), and delivered.

Now, I wish I could sit here and write that Emanuel shortstop Don Spetner (aka Unc Deez Nutz) made a diving play up the middle, back handed it to second for the force, and we went home with a gutsy tie.

Or that there was a Luis Gonzalez-esque flair that Spetner made a running, over the shoulder, back to home plate, one handed snag of to send us home with a ballsy ending to a great game.

The reality is that the green cleanup hitter rolled the 1-1 delivery into the gap at short Spetner made a good effort to get to the ball and square up to it, but ultimately bobbled the ball in an effort to get the force out at third. The green team secured the victory with on the E-6. 11-10, Green Temple.

Emanuel took the loss well. We knew we'd battled hard and, by all reports, Green Temple had beaten Emanuel pretty soundly the last time they'd faced off. We consoled Spetner, who was in surprisingly good spirits, and reminded him that we wouldn't have even been in position to tie if it weren't for him.

I promised not to tell Unc Deez Nutz's children of the play. But, failure builds character and you're never too old to learn a lesson. Love ya Uncle D.

That afternoon I took the train to San Diego. It was an easy two hour train and I was greeted by a paternal sibling, Aunty Jon Lea.

San Diego was defined by long walks with Aunty, glorious weather, movies, and grand-er attempts at running. I had a fabulous time with my Aunt while I was there and enjoyed discussing the various, and sometimes down and dark, films we watched. We saw Greenberg which wasn't as funny as I'd expected, but had tremendous dialogue and very interesting characters. A well written movie, decent story. We also caught the Oscar Nominated Animated Shorts at the (possibly) historic La Paloma Theater in Encinitas. Those are worth checking out.

From San Diego I was off to Coachella, the three day Music and Arts Festival that was an absolutely amazing experience. I documented my time there at WC Homer and you can read all about it here.

Coachella was a microcosm of my adventures as I travelled there really only knowing one of the five other people attending. We left, however, a small family who camped together on a 10x30 plot for three days. Again, it was an experience best shared with others.

By the end, we likely smelled bad as the peak hours shower line was usually around 2-3 hours long and we were crammed in there with 75,000 other concert goers. We won the self proclaimed Green-ella Award by reusing melted ice water in empty water bottles for "brief showers".

And then it was back to San Diego, passing a little more time in America's Finest City before I was on the road again; this time en route to Frankfurt, Germany (more to come on that).

It was nice to be back in the States and with people I love. I miss my folks, I've seen all of their siblings though and it's been nice. The NBA Playoffs have not fulfilled my athletics appetite and I'm still reveling in the end of the Madness. But it's back to traveling again (sort of).

More. To. Come.

Costa Rican Photos

Here is a link to 125 of my 846 pictures from Costa Rica. You run the math, but that means I took 721 photos that were either crap or inappropriate. Enjoy, I certainly did.

http://picasaweb.google.com/103867330515943770058/GoodCR?authkey=Gv1sRgCPT06or1o4Picw#

Science Geek Alert!

Seeing as how I was “professionally trained” to create lab or scientific reports, I concluded that I would do exactly that for my Costa Rica Adventure. Here is my Lab Report.

A Visit to Costa Rica and the Subsequent Findings

Question/Hypothesis:

What is the Central American country, Costa Rica, all about? What does it look like? What does a month long journey through the country look like? How does an oversized uber-Gringo fit in?

Procedure:

1. Contact Costa Rican contacts (Tara Michelle Ruttenberg) and accept invitation
2. Purchase airline ticket
1. This process should take less than two hours
3. Obtain free tickets to basketball tournament
4. Board plane
5. Apply sunscreen
6. Speak Spanish
7. Take photos
8. Experience

Results:

• 25 days
• 10 consecutive days without underwear (boardshorts)
• 2.8 million grains of rice consumed
• 3.1 million beans consumed
• 6 ATM visits
• Innumerable bug bites
• 5 separate monkey sightings
• 3 species of Monkey
• 8 Naps
• Lotsa Pilsen
• 3 good hangovers
• 11 bus rides
• 2 rides in an original Hummer
• 0 phone calls (apologies to my parents)
• 846 photos
• 2 oceans
• 1 lake
• 1 volcano
• 2 cloud forests
• 75 total feet jumped off
• 0 shaves
• 5 Yoga classes
• Accommodations:
• 1 – Puerto Viejo
• Turquesa – Amatierra 1
• 3 – Hermosa 1
• 12 – Hermosa 2
• 6 – Malpais 1
• 4 – Malpais 2
• 18 – Monteverde
• 8 – Arenal
• 20 – San Ramon
• Amanda’s Room – Amatierra 2
• 6 different roommates
• 8 New Jersians
• 6 Angelinos
• 5 Texans
• 2 Baltimorians
• 2 Coloradans
• Many Ticos
• 1 Oregonian
• 2 Germans
• 1 guided tour with no one else
• 2 hours of surfing
• 118 falls off a surfboard
• 2 rain storms
• 1 sunburn
• 0 tan

Conclusion:

If green is your favorite color, go to Costa Rica.

And Then There Was One.

Approximately 12 years ago, my family and I took Esapnol classes in Monteverde, Costa Rica. Twelve years later, I returned to find that....the streets were paved.

This is a moderately quiet mountain town renowned for it's cloud forests. A cloud forest is like a rain forest but its wet nature is sustained by rain and cloud moisture. I extensively hiked each of the cloud forests and was impressed by the green. There was green everywhere. Green leaves on green branches from green trees covered in green moss snacked on by green bugs. Unfortunately I didn't get to see a Quetzal, the beautiful and rare national bird of Costa Rica.

I took residence at the first hostel I came to when I was dropped at the adjacent and more accessible Santa Elena. I could research and obtain the hostel's name but I wouldn't be doing justice to the fact that the entire time I was there I didn't know its name.

The staple of my stay in Monteverde/Santa Elena was "The Common Cup." The CC was in its 24th day of existence when I meandered in for a free coffee roasting class. What I didn't know, is that The CC also gives free cups of coffee and is evidently a gringo magnet. I suppose that's what signs in English will do.

The CC is run by a fast talkin' Georgian named Ken who has lived in Costa Rica for five years, is married to a Tica, has Tican step-kids, owns a coffee farm, and now The CC. His motivation for The CC was to provide a hub for travelers and locals to freely enjoy a cup of Joe that had been freshly picked, roasted, and brewed in town. The CC makes its money from selling bags of coffee for $8/pound, 40% of which goes to fund youth programs in town. Somewhere in the monetary equation of The CC the farmer sees a 400% increase in what he usually would get for a pound of coffee beans. I'm unsure of the mathematics, but Ken said-so.

I used The CC as my own hub-o-friendship. I met a Minnesotan teaching at an international school in the Dominican, an aspiring filmmaker from Philly, a post-grad traveler from LA, and some medical missionaries from Portland. Basically I was the creepy regular at the coffee shop there to pick up friends. It only moderately worked.

My greatest friend success was while pa-rousing the streets, a favorite pastime of mine. I overheard English and slowed my gait to allow the Gringos to catch up. Andres and Nick were from LA and traveling with friends. We had no real destination so I suggested we visit my brother and my hangout from Monteverde circa '97: a small park at the bottom of a dirt road with hiking trails and a waterfall. We completed a hike which turned out to be far more difficult than any of us had anticipated. But we survived and I scored a dinner date with the five Los Angelians. During our hike I discovered that Andres' girlfriend was Jewish so when I arrived for dinner I brought a box of wine and the most Jewish bread they had: bagels. I later realized that it was also Passover and bread's a no-no, but it was the thought that counts.

All-in-all, Monteverde was a success. I didn't have much of a social life but I got lots of hiking in, tons of pictures (I took advantage of the auto-timer on my camera for self-portraits), caught the Final Four, and slept miserably as I had the creepiest room in the unnamed hostel, not to mention the Costa Rican snoring champion next door.

A note: don't sign up for a tour unless you know for CERTAIN there are other people going. For a friendless traveler to take an adventure tour alone with just two Costa Rican guides is uncomfortable, moderately embarrassing, and dull.

Off to Arenal, Costa Rica's most popular active volcano.

I took the Jeep-Boat-Jeep shuttle service (lack of a better term) to drive, float, then drive to the lava. As fate would have it, three young school teachers from New Jersey were making the same multivehicular transfer. Slowly, conversation between the four of us grew and I was invited to have lunch with them. Then we found a hostel together (or rather it found us as we were pitched the appeals of Cabinas Jerry four times over). Then we found a tour together (again, courtesy of a multiple sales pitches). Then we shared 32oz beers together. Then we took the tour together.

I'll take a break from the together lines and describe what our $35-a-head tour got us: transport to a resort's free volcano observation deck, a guided hike through the resort's gardens, a swim under a waterfall (cool), a hike across and immediately back across a hanging bridge, 1.5 hours watching the volcano at night (yes we saw lava but overstayed our desire to be there as our guide, Julio, watched an important soccer match - and yes, I did just call it soccer Julio, suck it), a borrowed flashlight trek to the natural hot springs (which seemed to be runoff from the adjacent resort but we'll give Julio the benefit of the doubt), and a whole lot of drawn out stops for animals including a dead snake and bad canibus jokes. Needless to say, the Julio Tour Company, sucks.

But, as every cloud has a silver lining, I found mine in bonding with Steve, Megan, and Kelly of the Garden State. Traveling on their spring break, they found it in them to take in this ginger bearded loner from Arizona. We added one more, Steph of Santa Barbara, to the Wolf Pack and called ourselves the Buellers or members of a traveling circus. The Bueller thing doesn't make much sense and probably doesn't merit mentioning but there is a white bearded man in San Ramon, Costa Rica who may or may not believe that we were all traveling separately and coincidentally found one another each with the same last name.

Upset with the scam we'd just had pulled on us we decided to get out of dodge. We headed to San Ramon, possibly the least tourist friendly city in Costa Rica, but with a diverse bus system that would allow each party to conveniently travel on. But before we parted ways, there was beer to be drank.

After finding and price pointing each of San Ramon's three hotels, we settled on the nicest, La Posada, which offered us a cash only, tax-free room for $85 for three guests. That's right, three guests. We slyly pulled a quick one and slept five to that room. Booyah.

With a place to stay it was time to belly up to San Ramon. It was remarkably difficult to find a restaurant/bar but when we did and we made it last. The five of us sat and drank and ate for a good two-hours before we left to do the same thing at the park, this time with more 32's. When those were gone we needed ice cream and ran into another La Posada guest, Bill from Alaska. An extremely interesting and warm man, he bought us all cones and offered Steph and me a ride to San Jose in the morning. After free ice cream, it was on to 30 beers. Followed, much later, by a beer run for one more sixer.

All-in-all my solo travels were not so solo. I met fun, like-minded folks who were simply enjoying an adventure of their own. Whether it was seven days or seven months, everyone had stepped out of their box and into a little discomfort, something new. While traveling and meeting these discoverers, I couldn't help but think of Chris McCandless, the mysterious post-grad and subject of "Into The Wild." McCandless died alone, only to discover that life is best lived when shared.

We said our goodbyes and after spending an afternoon with Steph in San Jose I found myself all alone again. As I stood waiting for my next bus, I noticed something written on my ankle: "HOLA!" the penned message read. I'd never been so happy to realize I'd drank too much the night before.

Thanks Tara. Thanks Buellers. Thanks random others and those to come.

Good Times in Bad Country

The boat ride from Hermosa/Jaco went something like this: iT wAs ReAlLy BuMpY. The wind was terrible and we felt each and every bit of the ocean. But we arrived safely in the quaint, Pirates of the Caribbean looking town of Montezuma, which we promptly left. We were headed for Tara's favorite place in Costa Rica: Malpais.

Malpais is another surf town but not as hardcore on its surfing as Hermosa. There are only dirt roads at the end of the peninsula (where Malpais and other beach towns exist) which, in my own construction of the History of the Peninsula, is why it's called Malpais (translation: Bad Country). Walking through what is supposed to be the green forest is actually painted with dust, giving the effect of a black and white film.

But Malpais had the Sweet 16 thru Elite 8 games on so it will get no dust complaints from me.

Our first evening in town was deserving of rest after the boat ride and an early beach day that morning. Tara listened to her body. I listened to Jay Bilas and Dick Enberg call the Duke-Purdue game. After a lovely Italian dinner, I paid the price for not resting and crashed, hard, by 11pm. Tara was a rock star and stayed out 'til 2am.

Now, if Tara was a city council member in Hermosa, she is undoubtedly the Mayor of Malpais. On every street corner, in every shop, on every wave she knew someone. Bless her heart, she always made me feel welcome and paid attention to.

The next morning, my hungover travel companion was a trooper and surfed a long session. We followed that up by cooking an epic meal of very traditional American taste. We feasted on beans and eggs and salsa and avacado. It was good ol' fashioned breakfast burritos and we ate like good ol' fashioned Americans: fast and a lot of it.

The highlight, for me, of Malpais was our day hike out to the waterfalls. When our ATV rental plans fell through, a friend of the Mayor's invited us to tag along with them. Once there we found ourselves overlooking three cascading pools, each higher than the last. We made some warm up 2-4m jumps and some rope swings (note: don't ask Tara for rope swing advice unless you enjoy face planting). Then it was time for the Big One. The Big One, as I've named it, was a 45m leap performed by the locals and scrutinized by the visitors.

Tara did it first and I quickly followed. I knew that the longer I stood over the jump, the less likely I would do it. But I did it and lived to blog it. We rewarded ourselves by feasting at a resort overlooking Malpais where we ran up too high of a bar tab and probably over-stayed our welcome. But we were high diving champions so screw them.

One of the main reasons for staying until Tuesday - in fact the only reason we were staying until Tuesday - was Monday's Raggae night. This is just a huge party and Tara's favorite in Costa Rica, the theme of Malpais.

But, Monday was also the first night of passover. Fear not. We did a little internet research and were set to have what was likely Malpais' only Seder. Our Seder Plate had as follows: chopped apple with a sprinkle of wine (marror), an egg (the egg), parsley (the parsley), a lime (bitter herb), and a sea shell (the bone). The used our brows for salt due to the hot humid climate. It was quite a site. We shared the Passover story, recounted the 10 plauges, asked the four questions, and I hid the aficomen. And, of course, we did not forget the traditional four cups of wine (boxed wine, standard), especially not with Raggae night fast approaching. Our matzah was a tortilla and you all should be glad to know that Tara indeed found the aficomen. Amazing girl that Tara Michelle.

Well as best night in the country go, Tara and I had the best night in the country. So much so, that neither of us heard my alarm go off for our respective 8:30am buses. We casually awoke at 10:00am, chuckled at our tardiness, spent a zealous hour ignoring the hangover and dealing with our absenteeism, then settled into the reality of our hangovers. We dealt with it by watching 4 hours of television in our miserably hot room. We were a spectacle that Tuesday but managed to catch a sunset.

Missing the bus meant one more day with my perfect travel partner. She prepared me well to spread my wings and fly solo and has been a great guide and a better friend all along the way. Another close friend of mine said that good travel partners are hard to come by. Well Tara is as good as they come.

My solo travels will encompass the mountains of Costa Rica as I am no surfer and that's what they do at the beaches here. I did, however, very much enjoy my time with the ocean. No complaints. Pura vida.