Monteverde: Amidst the Clouds

After a climb up what is (hopefully for the sake of the country's inhabitants) the worst road in all of Costa Rica, we arrived in Monteverde. The clouds must hang a little lower nearer the equator, for despite the fact that the area is only 4600 feet above sea level, the feathery pillows of the sky were all around, above but also below us at times.
The rain was not like the steady showers we received in Tortuguero, but a light misting, quickly broken and followed by hours of sunlight before the precipitation returned. The odds of sighting a rainbow were high and we even spotted a double rainbow, which have been known to cause fits of endless spazzing in the uninitiated.
The natural bounty of the land continued to astound me, especially the colorful fliers known as aves to the locals. Never much of a bird nerd before, I was hit with a fever that was fortunately not cowbell-related or even malarial in nature. Or not yet anyway -if I keep forgetting to take my pills that could be next. Oh well that's just another fun part of the experience when traveling in the rain forest right?
Where was I? Oh yeah, I was admitting to my new found love for the birds of Costa Rica and there was plenty to feed my need in Monteverde. I saw the Motmot, the official bird of Nicaragua and the resplendent quetzal, the national bird of Guatemala, both spectacular birds with long tails and a regal bearing. I also saw about ten million clay-colored robins, Costa Rica's representative, perhaps the most boring bird in the world.
I was reminded by our guide Paulo that we almost picked the turkey for the same role in the United States. Well Paulo, Benjamin Franklin was a senile and no doubt syphilitic old man and the founding fathers wisely didn't listen to his incoherent, cracked-out ramblings, so suck it.
Even the insects were interesting in Costa Rica, as we discovered after being suckered into the Butterfly Garden, only to find out that much of the tour was about spiders, millipedes, beetles, and even roaches. I guess "Roach and Tarantula Garden" didn't have the same ring to it. I shortly forgave the dishonest bastards who are going to hell because of all the interesting information they gave us about the smallest of the nation's wild life - outside of the wonderful assortment of intestinal parasites also available there, of course.
The garden also eventually delivered on the butterfly pledge, giving us the chance to see the Blue Morpho, one of which was famously killed by Time magazine in order to hold the insect still enough for a cover story about Earth Day. The postman butterfly, known for always ringing twice, and the clear winged butterfly, known for the transparency of its lies (pictured above weaving a web of deceit), were two of my other favorites.
Although we also met a monkey and a pack of coatis in Monteverde, I tire of discussing smelly animals (reminder to self: take a bath sometime this week). One of the new experiences my mother had planned for us in Costa Rica was a chance to do something called zip-lining.
Zip-lining is great - unless you are scared of heights, so I pretty much spent the whole time pissing my shorts. Once I ran out of urine, however, I was able to settle into the experience and really enjoy the thrill, knowing that the equipment was safe and reliable and our guides were professionals who had been doing this job since they were eighteen (they were now grizzled twenty five year olds). At no point did our two helpers attempt to kill us, although the intent to injure my brother and I was clearly there on a couple of occasions.
I also recommend that you turn down their idea of rappelling, which involves being dropped from a great height at the speed of gravity until you are convinced you are going to die and have a heart attack. At that very moment, the guides stop your fall and you land gently on the ground alive, if the paramedics arrive in time to treat your cardiac arrest. Hopefully the ambulance doesn't have to drive to Monteverde.
Seriously though, I really enjoyed zip-lining quite a bit, as did my brother and my mother. I highly recommend that you give it a try, especially if you are a total ass hole of whose presence the world would be well rid. Sorry, I didn't mean that, just a little edgy from a lack of caffeine. Unfortunately, I don't drink caffeinated beverages anymore so sadly my state of mind is unlikely to change any time soon.

Sadly, our time in lovely Monteverde came to an end all too quickly. Another jaw-breaking, teeth-rattling journey lay ahead, as we left the cloud forest and headed to the live and very active volcano of Arenal. Don't worry about my safety, I brought my own virgin.

To Monteverde: Relocating the Kidneys

After leaving coastal Tortuguero, my family and I headed via bus and van to our next destination, Monteverde. After passing a road sign reading only 30 kilometers (20 miles or so) to go I felt relieved, knowing that a long day of travel was almost over. When the driver announced there was still an hour left to our hotel as we moved from tarmac to dirt road I wondered how the road could be that bad. The Costa Ricans behind the wheel of previous rides had never been scared to drive fast and aggressively and our current pilot was no exception. I was quickly educated as to the source of the problem.
There are two roads to Monteverde, both of which I had the opportunity to bounce up and down upon. They are without doubt the worst paths I have ever experienced. The ground was more often a pot hole than flat earth. The way was winding and steep, the shocks on the van had been rendered useless by the relentless pounding. There were no lights and at times the fall off the side of the road was hundreds of feet with no guard rail present to correct a driver's error. At one point our vehicle had to pass a Mack truck around a corner, with only inches to spare between us and the long plunge to the valley bottom.
As for my poor body, the internal organs were spinning like the numbers in a slot machine, shuffling into disorder. There were no seat belts in the back of the van (a common feature I noticed throughout the week) and had there been I probably would have suffered from whiplash anyway, as the auto bounced from pothole to pothole like a whack-a-mole trying to escape the hammer wielder's death-blow.
After a beating Rocky (aka a boxer who does not use his hands to protect his face) would be proud of, the visibly shaken driver (who had to go back that same night on those hellish roads to his family in San Jose!) parked at the Cloud Forest Lodge on the outskirts of Monteverde. He got the biggest tip my grateful family dispersed to a driver that week for managing not to kill us all despite plenty of opportunities to do so.
In summary the roads to and from Monteverde are not recommended for those with heart conditions, loose teeth, or a will to live. However, as in Tortuguero, Monteverde was worth the adversity and the terrible terrain proved a smart bit of protection for the area. From what I found the next day, if the place was easy to reach everyone would want to live there.

Next: In Monteverde

The Rain Forest: Truth in Advertising

Rain forest: a two word term which leads one to expect two things - rain and forest. Tortuguero National Park, with a yearly rainfall of about twenty feet and a seemingly impenetrable jungle canopy filled with enough green to make the Lantern, the Giant, and envy all jealous.
I spent two full days in and around Tortuguero National Park and only on the last day, as I prepared to depart, did the bashful sun make an appearance. Rain was a constant, barely letting up for much more than fifteen minutes at a time, killing my camera battery and drenching even my supposedly water-proof clothing. The sky's only variation in color during the day consisted of slight changes from one shade of gray to another. The Park, located on the Northeast coast of Costa Rica near the Nicaraguan border, boasts sandy beaches, but the ocean currents are so powerful there swimming is not allowed.
Maybe to you all of this sounds like a prescription for a dull and rather wet vacation, but Tortuguero was one of the most worthwhile destinations I have ever visited, for here I found the real heart of Costa Rica and the two keys to the country's recent popularity as a tourist destination: the wildlife and the tico (the word Costa Ricans use when they refer to themselves) guides.
Even for a place whose economy is largely based on ecotourism, the nation's biological diversity is astonishing. I had never in my short life seen such variety in so short a time outside of a zoo. We took three separate excursions while in Tortuguero, one through the jungle and two in an open boat down the rivers and canals that cut through the Park. At times it seemed as if there was a new species of bird, reptile, insect, or mammal waiting around every corner of the path and every bend of the river.
To list each animal I saw would be almost mind-numbing - with the help of my family (whose cameras survived), I took a picture of everything I could. There was really no other way to possibly remember the cast members of the vast menagerie of different species constantly crossing our path.
The oropendula, sloth, howler monkey, poison dart frog, great curassow, and Jesus lizard are just a few of the characters I saw that make up Tortuguero's star-studded cast. With 250 mammals, almost 900 birds, 225 reptiles, 175 amphibians, and over 500,000 total animals species living in Costa Rica the mere hundred or so I personally saw are just a drop in the bucket. The tremendous variety and uniqueness of the fauna alone give me an excuse to return one day. The elusive tapir will one day be mine.
The privilege of spotting so many of nature's wonders would have been impossible without the other key to the success of my travels in Tortuguero and elsewhere - the guides. The Costa Rican government has managed to make use of their natural wonders like no other country in Central America. They have concentrated much of their educational resources on training an exceptional group of people knowledgeable about every facet of the nation's flora and fauna.
All of our guides were also quite fluent in English, meaning that not only did they know the answers to our questions, they could communicate their knowledge to those of us whose Spanish consists of Hola, gracias, cerveza (fun fact: the Ticos say birra for beer instead of cerveza), and maybe a few curse words.
At Tortuguero our tour group was especially lucky, drawing the services of Jorge Luis, who grew up in the nearby rain forest and had spent many a day and night tracking through the jungle as a hunter in his early years. Now working full-time for the Tourism bureau, Jorge proved to be a Costa Rican Renaissance man with an encyclopedic memory of native medicine and a child's excitement for the various forms of life that kept appearing as if on cue.
Most importantly though, Jorge (and our other guides and drivers throughout the trip) had an extraordinary ability to spot camouflaged animals hiding in the thick jungle canopy. Without his keen eyes (aided by our also quite capable boat captains) I would have never been able to find some of the participants in the rain forest's version of "Where's Waldo?". On a couple of occasions I couldn't see organisms located only several feet in front of my face - and I was not alone. The Jesus Lizard and the caiman were two of the more ingeniously hidden reptiles whose discover by Jorge left myself and others stunned at what appeared to be his superhuman eyesight.
On the third day our boat left Tortuguero on the hour long ride to our bus for San Jose. A car ride of four hours lay beyond our planned noon arrival in the capital. Monteverde was next on the agenda and the trip there would be a challenging one, mainly in regard to the integrity of my internal organs, some of which are still situated in the wrong places.

Next: Bouncing all the way to Monteverde.

Costa Rica: An Act in Three Parts

As a traveler the process of passing judgment on a country's merits can be a hard task, especially when the time available to compile the case for and against is as measly as one week. For this year's trip to Costa Rica, the flimsy evidence would be based on short excursions to Tortuguero, Monteverde, and Arenal, as well as a quick stay in the capital of San Jose.
My first day was spent in Costa Rica's largest city, San Jose, where the main airport and an entire quarter of the nation's population is located. I wandered the streets of downtown San Jose encountering a variety of interesting products like Bimbo bread and Darky chocolates, although I sadly missed my opportunity to purchase a Darky (yes I am going to hell).
I was able to sample some of the other culinary offerings, however, and I greatly enjoyed my first tastes of the local versions of ceviche and beef churrascos. Also, patacones, fried plantains served with black bean dip or guacamole, are an excellent side dish.
I had been forewarned by several people that Costa Rican cuisine was somewhat bland, but I found that was true only of the food offered in some of our hotels, the local establishments put out some tasty products, although I will admit diversity is somewhat limited. Costa Rica will never be confused with Paris, but that doesn't mean you won't enjoy some very good meals there.
The beer was also quite tasty after the insult to the art of brewing that I was presented with during my trip to Spain last year. The Spanish should stick to wine and leave beer to the professionals in England, Belgium, Germany, Czech, etc. The Costa Rican strengths were Pilsen and Imperial (pretty much the official national beer) both of which proved to have a very crisp flavor, not too sweet and too bitter with an easy finish.
San Jose, although the central organ of commerce there, is not the heart of Costa Rica, it is a dirty, crowded place and I don't recommend spending more than a day there. Thankfully, the capital is not indicative of the country as a whole - as I would discover on my subsequent journey.

Next: an excursion to Tortuguero

Deep Thoughts with Alastair McCandless

Author's Note: I've noticed that many of the people who use google to find the site end up on this page. The post below is very old and pre-walk, although you can see some of the stirrings toward that future in my mind. For the recent Wilderness Walk for Wounded Warriors posts just click on the Thoughts Askew banner atop the page and you will be sent to the newest stuff. Cheers!

As I count the down the days until my trip to Costa Rica I have been in a reflective mood. Mainly I have been reflecting on how I am sick of my job, but I won't go into that right now (unless you are hiring, if so let me know -seriously). When my mind has left the travails of working life it has settled on a grander notion - togetherness.
I don't mean that you must root for the Cubs just like me (I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy - apologies to Tedo and Ken, I should have never dragged you along on that doomed ride). In fact, sameness in thought or deed is not to be celebrated at all, one of the greatest features of our human race is the differences we have. Instead, I mean that we need to get a grip on the petty bullshit that divides us. Male/female, black/white, gay/straight, Christian/Muslim, or American/Mexicans (or Chinese, French, Senegalese etc.), none of those differences should matter in the way we treat one another.
When we allow ourselves to be divided by these separate categories we split ourselves into we serve the interests of people who gain power by playing on these pointless hatreds. I know my Aunt Edith would be disappointed in our behavior. She was born with down syndrome and she loved everyone equally (except for a vendetta she had with one other woman at Friendship Village where she lived, must have had to do with a man) and unconditionally. She taught me the importance of unconditional love and I hope one day to be able to meet her standard. I definitely still hate more than one person, but I'm working on it goddamnit.
Of course there is a point somewhere amidst all of this rambling and it is this: don't put up borders or fences between you and other people and don't let the opinions others may have of certain people effect your beliefs - find out for yourself in each and every case what the truth is about a person. Happy Holidays and fuck you Bill O'Reilly I love Christmas, but I will use whatever greeting I deem appropriate. Sorry Aunt Edith, I am will try to get better at this love thing :) Just don't tell me I have to hug Bill O'Reilly.

Cheers to you all! - Alastair

The Name Game Part 2

Welcome back sports fans, the time has come to reveal our second list of great names from baseball's past. Round two will cover gents with last names falling somewhere between the unstoppable pitcher Omar Daal, whose name always makes me yearn for Indian food, and Mike Fyhrie whose name is reminiscent of the digestive repercussions resulting from the spiciness of said cuisine. So without any further ado, here is my team - suggestions for improvement are always encouraged.

1B - Babe Danzig: Sadly, the Babe had only a short stint for the Red Sox in 1909. After his release he threatened the Red Sox with a hex involving vampires, serpents, as well as the shedding of the blood of the non-believers. His curse proved less effective than Ruth's and may have long been forgotten, but the goth metal greatness of his progeny will be remembered forever.

2B - Boob "Gink" Fowler: Apparently the original name Fowler (who played for a few years in the 1920s) went by wasn't funny enough so someone decided to give him the nickname Gink. What does Gink mean? According to my Google machine, gink is a man or boy considered to be odd. If your first name was Boob I think a certain level of oddness would be forgivable.

SS - J.J. Furmaniak: Thanks to two brief major league stints with Pittsburgh and Oakland, J.J. makes our list solely for being such a major fan of my alma mater. I am a staunch believer that our mascot should be named in his honor.

3B - Bob Dillinger: I can't have one of these lists without including a celebrity and public enemy number one just happened to play six years for the St. Louis Browns among other teams shortly after his death. Now that's dedication to your sport!

OF - Johnny "Ugly" Dickshot: By far the MVP of this motley roster, I will let Ugly speak for himself. Just follow the link if you don't believe that a human being could actually go through life with this name.

OF - Jack Daniels: A Boston Brave in 1952, "Sour Mash Jack" as he was called, will patrol a spot in the outfield next to Ugly Dickshot, and in fact Ugly will likely blame his poor performance on Jack Daniels, as many a man has from time to time.

OF - Steamer Flanagan: Despite rumors to the contrary, 1905 Pirate Steamer is actually from Kingston, Pennsylvania, not Cleveland.

C - Pickles Dillhoefer: Dillhoefer's lack of success for three National League teams during the years of World War I and after could be contributed to the simple fact that he was a grown man whose teammates called him Pickles. With the dill last name I suppose it was unavoidable, but goddamn it man - maintain some small shred of dignity!

P - Bull Durham: Born Louis Raphael Staub, Mr. Durham realized that he would never become a professional baseball player with such a silly moniker. One name change later and the former Louis was able to enjoy a six year career from 1904-1909 with perhaps the most appropriate name in the history of the game (although Matt Batts would surely argue this question).

P - Cy Fried: A name like Cy Fried conjures up thoughts of the pitching greatness of his namesake, Cy Young, after whom the most coveted pitching award in baseball is named. Fried, whose career lasted all of 2 innings back in 1920 was unable to reach the level of Young's success, falling only 511 wins short of his win total of 511 (while appearing in 7,354 less innings). Fried also boasted a terrific 16.20 ERA. Note to those who are not a follower of the game: 16.20 is the opposite of terrific.

P - Frank Funk: I am so jealous of the stadium announcer who, when calling Frank from the bullpen, got to say, "We want the Funk, got to have that funk..." during the all too brief four year stint the pitcher spent with Cleveland and Minnesota in the early 1960s.

P - Roberto Duran: By the end of Roberto's 1997-98 career as a reliever his 6.58 ERA had Detroit Tiger fans screaming no mas, no mas!
Editor's note: I couldn't figure out how to insert the accent so think Spanish there, the joke has nothing to do with anyone's mother.

P - Emerson Dickman: I couldn't leave you without one more opportunity to be brazenly crude and Dickman, pictured above, was nice enough to pitch five years during World War II for the Boston Red Sox.

Honorable mentions: Joe Frazier as in down goes Frazier (on strikes), Whammy Douglas, Buttercup Dickerson, Charlie Frisbee, and Kosuke Fukudome.

See you soon for our next edition and make sure to thank your parents over Thanksgiving for not giving you such a shitty name (assuming you are not on this list).

Throw that Money Honey

Conservatives, since they are usually devoid of any ideas of their own outside of cutting taxes, tend to deride most efforts by Progressives to solve problems as "throwing money at the problem." I have tried for years to become a problem myself so that people would throw money at me, but so far to no avail.
There is one issue in South Carolina politics where I feel the tossing of a few thousand Benjamins would be an integral part of the solution (yes only part, but enough to get people jumping up and down in defiant anger). I speak of the realm of education, where there are two linked problems that could be solved with an influx of green: low teacher quality and crowded classrooms.
First year teachers are paid a salary of 28,000 dollars a year (varies slightly from county to county, sometimes from district to district) with the possibility of earning more if you gain national accreditation, a masters degree, or a PHD. Lawyers and doctors routinely earn six figures a year. Where do you think talented people tend to go? Sure as hell not the barely able to feed yourself, much less your family salary, not if they have a choice in the matter.
Only the crusader type of person, who believes above all in the value of education would chose the field of primary education over one where they could make actual money. Outside of these holy warriors you get people who just need a job and go through the motions, doing enough just to not get fired.
There are, fortunately some great teachers nonetheless and many of us even in South Carolina were blessed to sit in their classrooms. I can think of a few myself, but there just aren't enough and they exist at an even lower rate in the poorer rural areas of the state (like the Corridor of Shame) where the low salary is combined with lousy working conditions and the exciting nightlife that goes along with living in places like Jasper County.
A fairer wage would draw more applicants and allow for a higher caliber of teacher, lowering classrooms sizes and giving the children of South Carolina a much greater chance to succeed. Study after study has shown the import the correlation between individual attention and student success.
So rear back and start throwing those dollar dollar bills ya'll. I think we owe it to our young people not to short change them - I can think of a lot worse things for my taxes to be spent upon.

In honor of Drs. Amy and Peter McCandless, my parents, who have over 70 combined years of experience in the field of education. I love you Mom and Dad!