Approximately 5 minutes after leaving the hotel in Costa Rica, I fall into a gutter... hard. Costa Rica's streets are lined with gutters a foot or more deep. Particularly during the rainy season, rainfall in Costa Rica can reach up to 25 feet annually, which is why they need gutters that I imagine swallow small children, little dogs, and apparently me. What they don't tell you before you enter the country is that the sidewalks are an obstacle course, and the streets are straight out of Mario Kart. The fall does not damper my trip, but actually adds some spice to it. What was briefly tears turned into laughter that was priceless. The reopening of my knee wound everyday was worth the memory forever ingrained in my mind. Most of my favorite and clear memories involve some accident that turns into a gif, replaying in my head for eternity.
One night is spent by the Pacific ocean at an inexpensive airbnb. Monkeys swing from limb to limb in the trees surrounding the house. That night it down pours, and the warm tropical wind sweeps through the screened-in windows all night. My body at first doesn't want to sleep, for the storm's energy is energizing me. Usually I can't sleep in warmth, but this night's heat feels like it carries life, perhaps because the concentration of oxygen is so dense because of the plant life and low elevation. I breathe the oxygen-rich humid air in and out with deliberation, sharply contrasting arid dry air I am used to in Wyoming. After a bit, I succumb to a deep sleep that feels restorative and cleansing, the type of sleep only had on rainy nights.
I wake up in the morning and tear into an overripe, juicy mango. There are no utensils, so I peel the skin back with my fingers, the tips of my fingernails turning bright yellow from all the mango underneath them. I take a big bite, and the yellow juice drips down my face. Even though I am a sticky mess, it is a glorious experience. In Indian cultures, many eat foods with their hands because it is believed to improve our consciousness of the taste of the foods eaten. I certainly feel very connected to the mango in this moment, and not just because it is all over my face. Somehow because this mango was bought from a man with a smiling face under some palm trees makes it taste even sweeter.
Later that day, I find myself at my favorite beach I've ever been to. The waves are strong, the water is warm, the sand is volcanic black, and there is green everywhere. Vines dip into the water, palm trees drop coconuts by the shore. There is a little hut where a man and woman sell coconuts with straws in them and fresh fruits. Puppies scamper around the hut, and one won't stop fussing around my feet. I think to myself that if I was to adopt this dog, I'd name him Toes. In the water, the waves push and pull me as I dive under them. I am used to the ice cold waters of New England's Cape Cod, not this warm seaweed lacking water. I dive under wave after wave. I could never be tired from this, I think to myself. The sky looks stormy over the jungle, and I think I hear thunder rumbling, similar to the waves. I look out towards the sea, and surfers are scattered over the turbulent waters. Floating on my back, I wonder what it would be like to trade mountains for jungle, glacial lakes for a warm ocean. Sometimes all the different possible paths in life make my head spin. So many options, and what a short amount of time. Then I remember that life can be long if you live in lush details, and one can make their path as curvy as they wish.
The first sloth I think I see is crawling over the median on the highway, about 20 minutes after landing in Costa Rica. After screaming with delight and almost swerving off the road, I realize that it is not a sloth, but a human. How on earth can I make this mistake, you may ask? After a long time of travel and sloth fever, that's how. This human is wearing a grayish brown sweatsuit of sorts, and is crawling at a very slow pace over the metal barrier between lanes. With such a quick look, I saw what I wanted to see. I found this happening throughout the trip, turning various logs or rocks into a variety of tropical organisms. I think about the condition where people can't recognize faces, prosopagnosia, and I think that I have the opposite of this. I see faces and animals in things that when given a longer look don't nearly resemble a face. Perhaps it is that my desire to see animals is so strong at times that my brain tricks me into thinking they are there. The first sloth I actually see hangs from a tree like an adorable wet rag with the face of an angel. I stare at it, and I find it hilariously wonderful that this sloth is starting to gain a crowd of spectators, and that we are all standing around captivated by this practically unmoving bundle of joy with a cheeky grin.
I drink mango juice bought from a farmstead. There is nothing in it except blended mango. The sweetness and intense mango flavor is addicting, and I quickly suck down the entire cup in a few minutes. I feel so connected to the food here, knowing that the distance and time between harvest and consumption is short. Consuming foods soon after they leave the ground and eating them close to their home makes me feel like I am getting more than just a full belly from these foods. I feel like I am getting true nourishment. In many places, urban or rural, we can be so detached from our food. Much of it comes wrapped up in plastic, with a long list of ingredients and a factory seal. When we put our hands in the earth to plant seeds, or know the face of the farmer down the road, it raises our connectedness with our food immensely. We see the effort it takes to bring it into this world, and feel a gratitude for the harvester, the wondrous plant itself, and mother nature entirely.
A couple weeks after my trip, and my scab is still on my knee, yet it is shrinking. It is the only true signifier on my body from my trip. Sure, I got a little toucan figurine, but it didn't carve me up like the streets of San Jose. Just like well-earned bruises from an intense hike, I revel in the mark left on me from Costa Rica. I don't want to walk through life untouched, I want to be throughly shaped by the world. That could mean a scrape on my knee, or new opinions or ideas given to me by my current place or distant places. I want to be sculpted by life like glaciers crave out fresh mountains, giving them their beautiful valleys and glacial lakes. Let the scratches of sticks give me marks like brushstrokes, hikes give me firm muscles, sun give me wrinkles, faces give me new perspectives, cities give me new ideas, and horizons give me appreciation for the setting and rising sun.