Life's Rich Tapestry

I came across this while organizing my computer, it’s something that I wrote about six, maybe seven years ago but it made me laugh out loud. Hope no one gets offended by this and takes it in the light-hearted jest in which it is intended...

I watch from windows as people meander through their lives; discuss the bad and the good and the odd at length with random strangers; find myself repeatedly surprised by the kindness or weirdness or rudeness of those who cross my path.

The more people I meet, the more bewildered; disappointed; humbled and overall; experienced I feel... and the more material I gather for my book, the eternal work in progress, that someday I hope to complete.

These character profiles below are derived from my observations of other travellers I have met in hostels, on buses, in boats, planes, trains, police stations... They are not meant to offend. I also realise that I make sweeping generalisations and for that I apologise in advance, but here goes:

Travelling Personalities:

1. Your hippy French: unshaven bodies, floppy hats, no money and yet somehow manage to smoke their way through 2 packets of Marlborough’s per day.

2. Brash Australians: always friends with EVERYONE in the hostel. Never speak a word of the local language. Turn relaxation into an art form; awe inspiringly relaxed over flight, train, bus timetables.

3. The tall Dutch guy: far too sweet for his own good, entertains every would-be scam artist that crosses his way, always good conversation.

4. Your giggly, gooey, chatty girls: Stick to themselves. Usually studying or volunteering in the country, often Swedish.

5. Your Jack-ass American: Laughs in the face of persistent questioning and harassing over politics in his country. Funnier and dopier than the class clown at school.

6. Your penny pincher: Can apply to any Nationality. Backpacker meanness turns frugality into an art form. Beware of this type of traveller. They will have you trek across every restaurant in the city, triumphantly saving 50 cents off a meal. Usually quibble the price. Usually single; often female.

7. Your over-loader: Usually girls. In fact, always girls. No ability whatsoever to pack light (I am this one). They will be carrying twice their body weight on their backs and have hair strengtheners and high heels with them, even in the jungle.

8. Your pack herder: Large groups who book out entire hostels. Make loads of noise. Have low respect for local culture. Often Israeli.

9. The "life's a party" people: usually English, or Australian. Will go all the way to Cairns without seeing the barrier reef, or to Cuzco without going to Machu Picchu. They argue it’s too expensive, and yet will prop up the bar at the local watering hole night after night.

10. Your "I don't belong here": skulks around the hostel with an unfortunate expression. Gets up before everyone else. Always occupies the kitchen. Often older, often resident in the country.

11. Your "please be my friend": another to be avoided if possible. Stray dog syndrome. Will readily change the whole point and plan of their trip to travel in the company of others.

12. Mr. "I have nine lives": The blessed traveller who leaves their wallet or camera or backpack in a bar and somehow gets it back the next day. Often Italian.

13. Your "one better than you": Highly obnoxious; avoid at all costs. No matter the 100s of places you have been in a country, they will always seize upon the one place you haven’t and tell you how you missed out. Another favourite of this vicious traveller is discussing places you have in common, out-trumping you by saying that they went there at sunset; or the only day of snow in 100 years, or the day that Silvester Stalone went, or whatever.

14. The "I AM A GRINGO AND I'M PROUD": Recognisable a mile off for their Jesus style, oh-so-practical sandals. I will wear Khaki combats and jungle shoes even though I'm in a city!!!

If anyone has anymore, drop me a comment on my blog (unless it’s mean) - I would love to hear other people’s experiences!

Swimming With Nemo

I think my favourite noise of the day is the whooshing sound of skype as I close the program down and turn off my over-heated laptop for the day. There’s no point in surfing now as the ocean is flat and the tide is out. I hate it when low tide coincides with the end of my work day and I can’t lose myself in the waves.

Normally not being able to surf renders my day somewhat mediocre and a little lifeless, like eating a plate stacked high with unsalted potatoes and no ketchup. But today is different - we’re heading over to Playa Conchal, a stunningly beautiful and quietly sheltered beach where the shells crunch underfoot and the water is turquoise and still.

I hop on the back of the bike and as the engine purrs into life and we get moving, the gentle air blows in our faces soothing the afternoon heat. I haven’t had the chance to travel much around Costa Rica this time, partly because my work requires that I have a base with a reliable internet connection and partly because everything I want at the moment is right here and the pull of the waves is a force so much greater than me.

As we leave Tamarindo behind we pass by cheerful-looking sodas (Costa Rican restaurants where every dish on the menu is served with rice and beans) and small pulperias selling fizzy drinks and over-priced groceries, platanos and papaya hanging up outside.

When we reach the main road and gather speed, the warm wind against my skin and freedom of speeding through the wide expanse of fields makes the smile on my face slowly widen. The pastures are florescent green and cows sleepily munch upon the thick, tall grass, banana trees and sugar cane swaying in the breeze.

We slow down to a stop at a one-way bridge to let a couple of trucks come past and a bright blue butterfly with yellow spots flutters by, resting for a moment on the wing mirror and opening and closing its wings a couple of times before it takes flight again and drifts off into the undergrowth.

We cross the narrow bridge and take a left down the dirt road towards the beach. To get to Playa Conchal you have to drive across the sandy beach of Brasilito and then up a steep track, ripped open by roots and rocks and potholes, interesting on a motorbike. When the bumpy part is over and your teeth have stopped chattering together, the path slopes back down and the breath-taking beauty of the pinkish shell-covered beach comes into sight.

The water is transparent and there are some people snorkelling close to the rocks, while others enjoy a beer under the shade of a leafy mangrove. We gather our things and walk along the beach until finding a place to hang our helmets and lay out our towels in the sun, with just a small patch of shade for the water bottle.

Heading straight for the soothing water, I float on my back, eyes closed, sun on my face for a few moments until curiosity gets the better of me. With my goggles on I can swim for some distance and I am anxious to see what ocean life there is by the rocks. I front crawl strongly until I reach them, enjoying for once the flatness of the bay and being able to see underwater.

It’s a little too close to the shore for any seriously cool fish though – no sharks or rays, or barracuda –but, diving down a little I feel a surge of excitement as a large, flat, wide lipped fish slithers past. I follow it for a while until I can’t hold my breath any longer and surface for air. Plunging back down, a speckled puffer fish is gently blowing bubbles by the rock, unconcerned by my presence.

A mini school of Nemos brushes past me, orange and white with black stripes. I can’t help but smile under water as I think of the children’s animation we all love so much and Dory’s voice, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming”. I hold my breath and dive down as low as I can before my ears throb from the pressure. There are caracoles, sea urchins and a couple of oysters suckered to the rocks.

I swim back the couple of hundred meters without taking a break and stride out of the ocean, making sure my bikini is still safely in place first – there is nothing worse than emerging from the sea unwittingly flashing a nipple at an ill-prepared family playing into the sand.

The storm clouds are gathering on the horizon and it won’t be long before the rain comes crashing down, but we want to stay and watch the sunset here and have a beer in the little chiringito whose fresh fish is renowned in the area and whose owner comes out to greet us with a beaming smile and a firm handshake.

We huddle round a table under a canvas and wait for the worst of the rain to pass while the deliciously cold beers go down so easily and we devour little appetizers of ceviche as the thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain drops begin crashing down refreshing the heavy air.

I look around at the sea and the sand, at the palms and the brooding sky, at the locals huddled under umbrellas, squealing in delight as the rain lashes their cheeks and a feeling of total contentment washes over me. I’m riding the wave at its highest point again. I had forgotten that life could be like this –a smile from a stranger, the smell of rain on the air, a breath of wind in my hair and swimming with Nemo. Every day should be like this.