Three Showers

It has now been two years, two months and two weeks since I left New York for the Peace Corps. Just to write that sentence gives me pause. Has it really been that long? At times, my service seems like it has passed in the blink of an eye. Other times, I wonder if the Peace Corps hasn’t tricked us and secretly kept us here for seven years in stead of two.

A lot has happened during these years. When I left, George W. Bush still had a whole year in office ahead of him. The Yankees still hadn’t started their final season at the old Yankee Stadium. The economy was booming. The Michigan Wolverines had just beaten Tim Tebow and Florida in the Capital One Bowl. Things sure have changed.

I have about two more weeks left. As I approach May 16th, 2010, the last day of my service, I vacillate between two thoughts: “I will miss this place,” and “get me out of here.” I think a lot about what I will miss, and what I am looking forward to in my new life in NYC. But before getting too nostalgic, I decided last week to take one last trip across the Nicoya Gulf to one of my favorite places in Costa Rica: Montezuma.

Montezuma is a small, heady beach town at the tip of the Nicoya Peninsula. My friend Meaghan lives just outside of Montezuma in a small town called Cobano, so we often find ourselves meeting for beach weekends. Throughout my service, Montezuma has become comfortably familiar; I find myself saying hello to acquaintances whenever I walk down the main street. The town always seems available to me; each time that I leave, I feel that I will return. However, it dawned on me the other day that I only had one more chance to get out there. So last weekend, I called up Meaghan and told her to meet me there for the weekend.

After a hot, sweaty trip across the gulf and the peninsula, I stepped off the bus and found myself facing the endless Pacific Ocean. The smell of the salt calmed my nerves. I remembered why I needed one last taste of pure, clean Tico beach. Unlike Puntarenas, the sand is silky and wildlife abounds. I left the beach and met Meaghan on the corner where I gave her a swampy hug. We then walked uphill to where our hotel was tucked into the mountain.

Luna Llena is a beautiful half-hostel, half-bed and breakfast. The porch smelled richly of incense and was tastefully decorated. The German woman who runs the place exudes the spirit of “Pura Vida,” which is especially prominent in the town some call Monta-fuma. She gave us keys to our spartan room, and then pointed out the hotel’s best asset: the view. Beyond the porch stretched a slope of mango and palm trees falling into the village and ocean. We put or bags in our rooms and then sat for a while catching up and watching the waves crash below us.

I then took the best shower of my life. The shower that I selected was a free-standing structure at the edge of the compound. Two walls faced the rest of the hotel, while two were made of windows that overlooked the forest and ocean. The water was cold, which I relished as it relieved my overheating skin. I looked out past the trees into the setting sun and was glad that I had decided to make one last trip. As the rippling sea turned purple, I realized that this weekend was about more than seeing a nice beach, but about saying goodbye. The goodbye is not just for the village of Montezuma, but to the natural Costa Rica that I have grown so fond of. I looked out the window again to find a family of howler monkeys munching mangoes not twenty feet from where I was bathing.

That night, Meaghan and I had dinner at my favorite place in Montezuma: El Sano Banano. El Sano Banano is also a hotel where I have stayed several times with family and friends from back home. Behind the hotel, Meaghan and I dined on fresh seafood that was undoubtedly caught earlier that day in local waters. This was the very patio where my mother had an interesting experience with a hungry blue jay, and where my college buddies and I nursed hangovers. The memories were all around me. With only days remaining before my departure, I felt the need to point them out.

The next morning, I took my second nature shower. I saw the early morning sun dance across the face of the Pacific while listening to the morning birds. The shock of the cold water woke me up and felt great. I wondered if I would ever take cold showers back home. I once read that taking cold showers helps prevent depression. However, I quickly realized that on a winter’s day, cold showers would probably do more to depress me than cheer me up.

After a bit of breakfast, Meaghan and I hiked through the morning heat to perhaps my favorite place in Costa Rica: the Montezuma waterfalls. They look as if they were peeled off postcards. Surrounded by forest, the cool pools are like oasis. The first waterfall stands at about seventy five feet tall, pouring water over jagged rocks. Meaghan and I took a dip in the first pool to cool off, and then continued climbing to the second waterfall. It is the second waterfall that holds the fondest memories for me. I remember my college buddies and I gathering enough courage to stand at the edge of the falls, look down forty feet into the pool below and jump. It is a place that, as one tourist told me over a year ago, is “fucking paradise!”

I stood at the edge once more. To stand at the lip never fails to put butterflies in my stomach. As I pushed off, I recognized the metaphor in my act. I was taking the plunge: jumping into something new, leaving the past behind. As I sailed through the air, my mind emptied of all of these thoughts. My mind was clear, empty of all the apprehension that I feel regarding the closing of my service. For one second, there was no vacillation. No premature nostalgia. Just the feeling of weightlessness as my body hurled past the falling water, then splash.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing on the late afternoon beach. As I lay in the sand, I thought about the weekends spent in the library that this fall would inevitably bring. While I am really looking forward to law school, I especially appreciated the beach at that moment. God only knows the next time I’ll be able to just hop on a bus for the weekend and wind up on a tropical beach.

That night, I took my third and final shower. Sand fell off my body and gathered in the corners of the basin. So much of my life in Costa Rica revolves around sand, sunscreen, heat, sweat, open air houses and being outdoors. I thought about the enclosed showers I’ll be taking back home in the enclosed homes. Everything here is open: houses, doors, windows, families. Ticos live truly open lives. While this has oftentimes frustrated me and denied me of the privacy that I, as an American, need, it has taught me something. Ticos are open and happy. So as I stepped out of my open shower, I thought about my future in New York. I’ll be studying, working, and probably stressing way more than necessary. With all that going on, I should probably refrain from closing myself off. I’m going to try and be more open.

I am now back in my site, where the apprehension and goodbyes continue. Yesterday, I watched Casey say goodbye to the Albergue kids, then said goodbye to him myself. It really is ending. Knowing that only a handful of days separate me from my flight out, I’ve continued to take note of and appreciate the meaning in the little things, the way I did in Montezuma.

This very well may be the last blog that I write from Costa Rica. Knowing this, I must acknowledge the joy that writing the blog has provided me. I hope that you, my readers, have gotten something out of it as well. See you all when I get home.