Life After Death, Winter to Spring

The lotus flower emerges out of murky, muddy waters, rising up from the darkness to bloom in it's all remarkable beauty.

Sometimes, we too bloom from our own dark, muddy waters.

I am coming out of a season of death, the most prominent mark being the loss of my mom on February 16, 2018. She died from lung cancer at the age of 64 and there was no way for me to go through that loss without everyone knowing about it.

But losing my mom was just one event that took place during my season of death. For me, that season began on March 7, 2015, when I suffered a miscarriage. I was only 11 weeks along, not even far enough along to have had an ultrasound here in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. I had been to one doctor's appointment and was scheduled to have my first ultrasound in the hospital in Limon after my 12-week mark. I never made that appointment.

I lost my baby and at that moment I entered a very dark phase where I ended up losing everything that I had thought I had known about my life and where it was going up until that point. I didn't tell many people that I was pregnant—I was waiting to pass my first trimester since I knew the odds of losing the baby before then and I didn't want to go through the process of telling people until I was "out of the woods". But I never made it out of the woods, instead, I got lost in them.

Because I hadn't told a lot of people that I was pregnant, I didn't tell a lot of people about my miscarriage. I can't say I regret the decision because it was the one I made and there's no looking back. But it made grieving the loss of my child that much more difficult because I didn't allow myself to grieve openly. I wasn't a very open person at that point in my life and I tried my best to just move past it, get over it. I mean, I hadn't even been very far along, so why be that upset, right?

But the veil had been lifted and as the sadness of that loss overtook me, other parts of life began to fall apart. My partner of eight years cheated on me. The pain that we both suffered after losing our baby was too much and neither of us knew how to handle what was happening to us. Our relationship suffered and in the end, we couldn't reconcile what had happened.

I lost my baby, then my best friend. I was devasted. But my season of death wasn't done with me yet. More loss was to follow and with each part of my old life falling away I thought it couldn't get any worse. Until it did.

I ended up walking out of my job one night, on shift. Something I had never done and most likely will never do again. I had worked at the same bar and restaurant for four years and the friends and co-workers I had through that job had become my family here in Costa Rica, except I started to lose them too. Not because of malice on anyone's part, but because change is messy, it's painful, it's awkward and when things fall apart, they tend to shatter.

So, no baby, no boyfriend, no job. But we weren't even to the worst part yet.

Before I walked out of my job, I lost my grandmother, my mom's mom. I got the news while I was at work one night and though we'd known the end was coming soon, it still rocked my world. Grandma Kennedy had been the reason I was living in Costa Rica after taking me on a trip to South Africa when I was sixteen and showing me that the world was a big, magical place and that I could live any kind of life I wanted. So I had. And then she was gone from this big magical place. And there was one more loss to add to my list.

But it didn't end there. Shortly after my Grandma Kennedy died in April, my Grandpa Duncan passed away in May from prostate cancer. The cancer was aggressive and it was so painful to watch this lively, vibrant man waste away to nothingness. Death was persistent in my world and it seemed like everything I loved was slipping away from me.

What made it all the more painful was the one person I had grown to used to calling on when I was sad and going through difficult times was no longer in my life. I missed my partner and with each loss, I felt more and more alone. Like a darkness was circling around me and I couldn't stop it from consuming every part of my life.

May of 2017, just after my Grandpa died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery, chemo, and she'd be fine. That's what the doctors said. That's what my dad said. That's what I believed. Because no fucking way I was going to lose my baby, my boyfriend, my job, my grandma, my grandpa, AND my mom. No way.

Way.

From diagnosis to death, my mom had nine months. And it was a terrible nine months. She had surgery to remove the tumor in her lung, followed by chemo. She had a horrible reaction to the chemo that landed her in the ICU for ten days. After that, the doctors suspended chemo, but she never really recovered. The cancer was there the whole time. I went back to help care for her three times and each time it was more painful, more difficult to watch the woman who had raised me not be able to walk on her own, not be able to shower on her own, to use the bathroom by herself. Her hair fell out, she lost weight, and in the end, she died, in a hospital bed, in our living room, as me and my dad helped the hospice nurse change her diaper. I was holding her as she took her last breath. And just like that my season of death reached a new low.

But death wasn't done with me yet.

Everything dies. Everyone dies. All cycles end. It's necessary for new beginnings, but when you're in a season of death, it doesn't feel like anything good can possibly come from all the loss.

I returned to my home in Costa Rica after saying goodbye to my mom and I thought that I was finally out of the shit. Only I wasn't.

I decided it was time to move out of the house that I had shared with my ex. I had been there for four years and in that time I had lost so much and the house held too many painful memories for me. So I moved. I moved to a house up a road, into the jungle, with no neighbors close by. This was my dark night of the soul. The place where I could fall apart, cry, scream, grieve as loud as I needed to with no witnesses and I did just that. And nature played her part in helping me hit rock bottom.

I lived in that house, deep in the jungle with no neighbors for two months, June and July of 2018. During July, Costa Rica experienced one of the craziest storm cells with thunder and lightening, rain and flooding that wiped out homes, knocked down power lines, and caused landslides, crippling the country. I was without power, stuck in my house from a mudslide, with two old, neurotic dogs, falling apart emotionally and physically. And as if that wasn't enough, my last living grandparent, Grandma Duncan, the matriarch, the most vivacious woman I've ever known, past away from old age and a broken heart.

And then, that was that. I still had things to lose obviously—my dad, my sister, my nephews, my dogs, my friends. But it felt as though Death had taken so much from me I was split open, torn apart, nothing left to give, no deeper hole to fall into.

And then the season began to change.

When I first lost my baby and my relationship ended, my friend Connie told me that I was in a dark season. She said it happens to all of us at some point and we can never know how long these seasons will last. Mine lasted four years.

I moved closer to the main road in August of 2018 and I slowly began to live my life again. I started salsa dancing, making new friends, going to events in town and little by little the coldness of my winter started to thaw. I learned how to ride a motorcycle, how to surf, I said yes to anything new and I did my best to remember what it felt like to be alive, to enjoy living.

The thing is, when so many things die, fall apart, leave you, you start to live in fear, knowing that everything will eventually end, so why bother getting attached? There is an anxiousness that life takes on, a mistrust of anything that seems enjoyable, knowing that sadness is waiting on the other end of that happy moment. And as much I did my best to enjoy the happy moments, I was still waiting for the sadness to come back. I didn't realize how hardened my heart had become. Like a stone wall had been built around it to keep any more sadness from creeping in. But that stone wall was also keeping the happiness out as well.

In March of 2019, just a few months ago, I was invited at the last minute to participate in a women's retreat here in Costa Rica. Two women that I had known for the past several years were leading it and they had had a last-minute cancelation. Last-minute as in the night before the retreat was happening. They thought of me. They asked if I would be interested in participating at no cost in an eight-day intensive. Sticking with my theme of saying yes and doing my best to actively live, I said yes. My wonderful friends took shifts watching my thirteen-year-old dogs so that I could spend eight days on my other friend's amazing permaculture farm deep in the jungle. And even though I knew I was being invited to participate in an amazing experience, I couldn't help but feel out of place, like I didn't belong and that the other women participating were going to realize that I was out of place.

That intensive broke me open. That stone wall that had been keeping my heart safe cracked open one night after a ceremony that we did. I thought I had cried all my tears, that I had done my grieving and had finally moved on from my season of death, but the truth was I hadn't, and I probably never will. I lost so much in such a short amount of time and I still acted like I was fine. But nothing about what had happened was fine and no matter how strong I tried to make myself seem, I was hurting, and I was hiding it. Until that ceremony where I feel apart and cried on the floor, in the arms of my friend Ivana for so long, the platform empty except for us, the other women all gone to dinner. Just the darkness of the jungle, the murmur of the insects, the sound of my sobs, and the arms of my friend holding me, as the stone finally crumbled and I realized it was okay to be sad, to be weak, to be soft, to be broken, to be a mess of a human being. I didn't need to hold myself together anymore. And in that epic breakdown, I was finally able to start putting myself back together again.

I still get sad about all that I've lost. I still think about what my life was like four years ago, before I took a sudden left turn that put me on a completely different path. I wonder who that woman would have been, with a baby, with a partner, having my mom come to Costa Rica to spend time with her grandchild. That version of my life plays out in my mind sometimes. But then I come back to this life that I'm living and while it's not the life I thought I'd have, I do love it.

While I was participating in that women's retreat—a true gift from the universe—I had an idea. I messaged two of my best friends, women who helped me get through all of my loss and transformation and I suggested that the three of us do a retreat as well. That the three of us help other women get through their own murkiness and bloom. Just a message one night, an audio clip sent to our group chat on WhatsApp. Nothing more than a passing idea. But like the lotus rising up from the darkness, this idea bloomed.

This October, me and two of my best friends, Mel and Dannie, two of the most amazing, fierce women I know will be leading our own retreat in the jungle of Costa Rica. This same jungle that has seen me fall apart, crack open, turn to seed and bloom again, and now I can see how this season of death is finally turning into spring.

With that, I thank you for reading and I'll simply leave you with this quote by Mary Oliver:

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift."

After The Fall

When I was 21 years old, after graduating from college, my boyfriend Corey and I traveled for three months. We visited Costa Rica, Guatemala, Peru, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos.

During our time in Nha Trang, Vietnam we decided to rent a motorcycle one day and explore the Palace of Emperor Bảo Đại as a day trip from our beachside hostel. Growing up, my dad had always ridden motorcycles and I can remember going on one ride as a young girl and being terrified. I didn't know until this day in Nha Trang that my boyfriend could drive a motorcycle. We'd been together for three years and motorcycles had never been part of our life in Santa Barbara. But rent one we did.

We drove along the coast, breathing in the smell of fermenting fish. Nha Trang is a major production center for fish sauce, an ingredient as important to Vietnamese cuisine as salt is to the Western world. In order to produce fish sauce, hundreds of barrels are filled with fish and left to sit in the tropical sun as the fish dries out and the liquid drips from the carcasses. You can imagine the odor as you pass through this production site.

We drove through the rotting fish and made our way to Bảo Đại's Palace, toured the site and started back for our hostel. We had to stop and get gas before returning the moto and there was a little roadside stand selling gasoline in plastic bottles close to where we were staying. It started to rain as we drove and just as we turned to stop at the gasoline stand, the bike spun out and we fell over.

In hindsight, the accident wasn't anywhere nearly as bad as it could have been, but my leg did get stuck under the bike with the tire still spinning and the result was a very nasty case of road rash. Seeing as we were in a small fishing village, didn't have great skills communicating in Vietnamese, and had no idea where a clinic or pharmacy was, I walked back to the hostel while  Corey returned the bike and to I set to handling my injury.

My 21-year-old way of dealing with the rocks and debris now burned into my flesh was to take a Vicodin that we had brought with us, open a bottle of wine, and get into the shower with some tweezers to remove as many stones, pebbles, and dirt as I could. Afterward, I slapped some gauze on it and called it a day.

My wound healed just fine and our trip went on unaffected except for me swearing that I would never ride on the back of a motorcycle again.

And I didn't for 11 years.

Years later, I moved to Costa Rica when I was 28, new boyfriend, new trip, new experience, but still, I refused to ride on the back of a motorcycle. I swore them off completely, terrified to get back on one of those metal beasts.

Seeing as motorcycles are a convenient and affordable way to get around small, beachside communities, it was no surprise that many of my friends in Puerto Viejo had them. After a couple years of getting up the nerve and some encouragement for a couple trusted friends, I decided to get on the back of a moto again and that started a chain reaction.

The more I rode on the back of other's motos, the more I wanted to drive one myself. My fear turned into curiosity, which turned into determination. It didn't happen quickly. In fact, it took almost two years of riding infrequently on the back of other's motos for me to get up the courage to ask my friend Stacey to teach me how to ride her moto.

After three lessons and a lot of confidence coming from her end, I was riding her moto and determined to buy my own.

Thirteen years after falling off a motorcycle in Vietnam, I bought my own Suzuki 125cc here in Costa Rica.

Today, I rode that motorcycle into town to put an offer down for a house that I want to buy. This is a sentence that I never thought I would say, ever in my life.

Sometimes when we fall down, it can take a very, very, very long time to get back up. Months, years, decades can pass before we finally are able to face those fears that take hold of us. Sometimes we don't even realize at the moment just what kind of ripple effect those falls can have on us. Seemingly small events can paralyze us from acting in areas of our life without fully understanding the connections between what happened and what we are afraid will happen.

But this is life. Trying something new, falling down, and eventually, when we find the strength, find the courage, find the support, WE GET BACK UP.

We may not spring back up into action. The older we get the more timid we become, having been hurt, again and again, having been let down by life, by others, by ourselves, we can become hardened, overly cautious, convinced that the next fall will be more painful than the last, and that we might not recover from it.

But as long as we are still alive, we must get back up. When a toddler is learning to walk and inevitably falls, we don't focus on the fall, we focus on the successful steps taken before the fall, and the next steps that will surely come. As adults, the falls seem to take more of our attention and those baby steps that we take, every day, do not get the credit they deserve. Our recoveries from our falls are small works in progress, day by day. Asking for help, crying, making mistakes, these are all steps to getting back up, and they are all important.

I have a very dear friend here in Costa Rica who consistently reminds me to praise myself and each other for our small victories and for that reminder I am eternally grateful. For each day that we decide to get up, out of bed, and face our fears, no matter how silly or insignificant they may seem to others, we are choosing to live in love, not in fear. We are choosing to get back up, no matter how many times we fall down.

I have fallen a lot over the years. And the falls are never graceful. But each time I get back up with a new scar that marks my attempt at living a full life, I am reminded of the times I have succeeded, of the moments when things have gone right, worked out, and ended up so beautiful that I am motivated to continue on with this wild ride.

I don't know if this offer on the house that I want will go through. It might not. I might be crushed, disappointed, and unhappy with the result. But what I do know, is that if I fall down after taking this chance, I will most certainly get back up again.

Livin' The Dream and Waking Up Sweaty

Livin’ The Dream and Waking Up Sweaty

Part 1: Na Zdravie!

My new-found Slovakian friends, painting Na Zdravie on the wall.

It’s true, I live in paradise. The jungle is my front yard and when I wake up some mornings to the sounds of howler monkeys in the trees above me and exotic birds of all varieties singing songs as I make my local, shade grown, fair trade Costa Rican coffee which I buy from my coffee shop that is a one-minute walk from my house, you may get the impression that my life is heaven on earth. The sun illuminates over a hundred shades of green on the thousands of leaves that fill my vision in any direction and while the air is always warm, the canopy of trees provides a cool shade that makes it almost the perfect temperature, all the time. And yes, I live here. Yes, I am livin’ the dream.

But there are days, weeks, where reality comes in a whole new form, and the dream starts to look more like a nightmare. Where large spiders and scorpions take up residence in what I imagine is my home, because the truth is, the jungle is not my home. I do not live here, no matter how much I think I do, no matter how much time passes, I am not of the jungle, I am merely a long term guest. Snakes, bullet ants, cleaner ants, and about 50 other species of ant that can leave a bite almost as painful as a snake, rats, toads, cockroaches of all shapes and sizes, mosquitoes, bats, and other creatures which I cannot identify may all find their way into my house, any day or night. I share this space with them. This is one of the, at times, harsh realities of life in paradise. Another is the rain.

We’ve just finished a 5 day rain spell, which my friend will tell you was due to the full moon. I realize there are parts of the world in serious drought and I understand the predicament of the situation, after all I grew up in California during one of the driest times the state has seen, until now. But, when it rains, and not just your average rainfall, but tropical-downpour-rains for 5 days at a time, life can become challenging. The roads flood, mud covers everything; the storm can knock down trees and branches which in turn take out the power for hours at a time. All of this is normal life for me now.  And while at times it is challenging, I do love living here. 

To know what it’s like to live in the jungle, you’d simply have to live in the jungle. There is no amount of reading or preparation you can do to feel as though you have a grasp on this scenario until you arrive and stay for awhile. Not just a two week or two month trip, but really stay, long enough to know when termites are eating your house, long enough to change your own gas tank, long enough to identify the sound of death at night and sometimes the lingering smell of death if the event took place near or even in your house. If you stay that long, you might start to have a feel for what life is like in the jungle.

So, yes I am livin’ the dream, but at times I am waking up sweaty, uncomfortable, scared, and out of my element. Luckily there are reminders of why this place is so special, why I dreamed of living here for so long, and why I am still here now.

The other day at work, while the rain fell and I stared at a mostly empty street outside of my bar, I was counting down the minutes until I was off work, dying of boredom. Less than 10 customers had come in during the first 5 hours of my 6 hour shift and I couldn’t wait to be released from my liquor-filled cage. Around that time my British friend, Aisha, stopped by. She’s lived here for some years now, has built her own house here and is now pregnant with a child who will soon be born here. As she sat waiting for some food, she and I discussed various bits of nonsense when a car pulled into the driveway. The car had been by earlier in the day, filled with 4 men of Eastern European origin, although from where I could not say. The first trip had been for 4 beers for the beach and nothing more. Now, returning from the beach, the men were back and with only 45 minutes on my shift I was ready to ride it out.

The men came into the bar and ordered 4 beers. Aisha and I continued our conversation and the men drank their beers, speaking a language that, to me, sounded Polish or in that realm. Four more beers, and then 4 more, until finally the inevitable shots of guaro were requested. The men offered to buy a shot for me and now with only 30 minutes of work remaining I accepted but under the condition that they teach me to say cheers in their language. Well, it turns out the men were not speaking Polish and were not from Poland, rather they were Slovakians, speaking Slovakian. In all my travels around the world in the past 15 years, I cannot remember ever meeting a Slovakian and with this first encounter I was excited. I leaned the cheers, Na Zdravie!, after much practice and vocal coaching from my new-found friends. After several rounds of guaro (they wanted to make sure I had the pronunciation just right) my new Slovakian friends asked if they could play a Slovakian song on Youtube. I set them up on our iPad and they found the song and video they were looking for, leading to a whole new strange and small world.

The song they played is by a Slovakian band and the theme of the song is home. The video shows different small villages throughout Slovakia and references these locations as great places to call home, a la 2Pac and Dr. Dre's  “California Love”. When each man’s home town was referenced, a celebration ensued. The video also shows the Slovakian band performing at a festival, the largest festival in Slovakia. Well, remember my British friend Aisha, who is still sitting at the bar with us? It just so happens that when she is not living in Costa Rica, she is building festival stages throughout Europe and she built the festival stage where this music video is taking place! Talk about a small, fucking world. 

So here we are, a Brit, a Californian, 4 Slovaks, at a bar in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, drinking guaro (Aisha has water, come on now, she’s pregnant) saying Na Zdravie to reinforce our new-found and of course, short lived friendship and I remembered why I wanted to live here in the first place. While it may seem in-congruent with my current profession of part time Caribbean bartender, I actually hold a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Global Studies with an emphasis on Socio-economic and Political Issues in Africa from the University of California and there was a time where I believed my path in life would lead me to work at The United Nations or with an international NGO such as Oxfam or Doctors without Borders. While things didn’t quite go as planned (but really, how often does that actually happen) my desire to surround myself with people from all over the world, to constantly learn new customs, new cultures,  and new ways to say cheers, did  not fade away. I have an unrelenting passion to know more about this world we live in, to meet more of the people who live here, to ask them where they are from, what’s it like there, to understand the billions of different possibilities for life that are all happening simultaneously at this very moment. And that’s why I first fell in love with this place.

When you travel you are exposed to new places, new people, new experiences, but to constantly travel takes a lot of money and can start to get lonely. For me, I can be on the road for about 2 months before I long for a familiar bed and some shelves to set my belongings on. But, by living in a place that continuously has travelers passing through, I can continue to meet new people and have new experiences while standing still, at least for a while. 

The experience I had at work the other day was so strange and beautiful and hilarious that it had to be real. There is no way to make up a scenario like that, I don’t care how good you are at writing fiction. Something like that is unique and I got to live it, the perfect moment of worlds colliding, a brief glimpse of connection, a reminder that we all do share something that unites us, that makes us partners in this human roller coaster of life. 

As I lived the event, I was happy, truly happy. As I told the story of the event to my friend last night, I was laughing at the absurdity of it all. And as I write the story now I find myself crying a bit because I know I will never see those men again. And it’s beautiful and sad and poetic all at the same time to know that these fleeting moments are what make up life. Each moment is like a butterfly, passing by you, beautiful and right in front of you for just a moment, and then gone, forever, unattainable, unique, and mysterious.

So, while the men are gone now and the moment has passed, I am left with the memory. Another to add to the archives of this strange life that I’m living. This life that so far, has taken me to over 20 different countries, introduced me to people from all over the world, taught me that you never stand still in the jungle for too long, you never cage a river minnow, and you never know what’s coming next. 

At some point today, take a moment, raise your glass and say Na Zdravie (just try your best) to honor this weird little thing we call life. 

Here’s to livin’ the dream and waking up sweaty!

Travel Tips For Costa Rica

Or, How To Not Be A Douche Bag While Traveling In Costa Rica

I know, the subtitle for this post seems harsh, and it's meant to be.

Not because I want to insult you, future, past, or repeat Costa Rican traveler, but because I want to offer some guidance and support so that you can get more out of your time in Costa Rica and not come across as a turd. I'm mainly referring to visitors from the United States, who bless their souls, are some of the few who do venture out of the U.S. and see for themselves that other countries actually have paved roads, cell phones, toilet paper, and cities, and see that not all brown people are terrorists who hate the U.S. and want to destroy us. For that, I commend you. You have broken free from some of the shackles of the U.S. media and you are discovering that the world is not so frightening, that other countries can be quiet enjoyable and that people in these other countries are not all illiterate, would-be enemies. 


But, while venturing out of the homeland is a great start, there are a few steps that you can do to avoid being a complete and total ass while in Costa Rica and that's what I want to discuss today. Also, I would like to make it clear that it's not just people from the United States that come across as douche bags during their Costa Rican holiday. Other international citizens can suck, in a major way. So, whoever you are, wherever you're from, you too can learn from my travel tips.

We're going to dive right in with an easy to process list of Do's and Don'ts, which should be suited to the short attention span of people alive in 2014.

• "Panama (or Nicaragua or Guatemala) is so much cheaper!" Tip #1; stop saying this. I realize you may have just entered Costa Rica from one of the other Central American countries, and yes they are all cheaper than Costa Rica, but you must realize why and stop being shocked that a country in Latin America might have a strong economy or a high standard of living, making it not quiet dirt cheap compared to your standards. Consider this, Costa Rica is the only Latin American county to have been a democracy since 1950 or earlier. While it's neighbors were bogged down in civil wars (Guatemala Civil War 1960-1996), revolutions (Nicaraguan Revolution 1960's to 1990), and dictatorships (Panama's Dictator Noriega 1983-1989) Costa Rica enjoyed a more or less peaceful transition into the 21st century filled with tourism, thus strengthening the economy. And while Costa Rica may be a little pricier than it's neighbors who are just know seeing the benefits of tourism in their recent peaceful states, I still think a $2 beer, a $1 shot, a $10 dorm bed, and $10 dinner is pretty damn cheap. Maybe that's just the California girl in me, but really, are you going to complain about price when you're in paradise? The beach is free folks.
• "There's not a lot of good tequila here" No folks, there's not, because this isn't Mexico. Again, I think we need to realize the distinct culture of the different Latin American countries before visiting them. Tequila comes from Mexico, the glamorous Guaro is the national drink of Costa Rica, and they don't have much in common. You see, tequila is distilled from the agave plant, which lives in the desert. Here in Costa Rica, we have rain forests, cloud forests, and tropical dry forests, but we don't have deserts. So before you tell me how much you love Mexican culture, take a minute to remember you didn't buy that plane ticket to Cabo, you chose Costa Rica instead.
• "How do you like island life?" Ok, before you ask this question, let's go over general geography. Costa Rica is not an island. It is part of Central America, a narrow strip of land that connects North America to South America. This piece of land is a bridge between 2 continents, creating a unique situation where species from the 2 continents meet. It was one of the most bio-diverse places in the world. I know, especially on the Caribbean side, it can seem a lot like a Caribbean island with Rastas puffing on mary jane and Bob Marley playing at every street-side stall selling birds carved from coconut husks, but trust me, it's not an island, so don't ask anyone living here how they like island life.
• Put the toilet paper in the trash can, not the toilet. This may seem very strange to people coming from the U.S. and parts of Europe, but in the majority of the world sewage systems and water treatment plants either do not exist or operate at a much lower standard than we are used to. You can't flush your T.P. here folks and as weird as it may seem, it is the truth, so get on the band wagon. I realize you may have to recondition your habit when it comes to going through the motions, but please try your best and stop clogging up the toilets in all the bars, restaurants, and hotels you come across. 
• Follow the customs. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. This is not so hard if you bother to pick up a guide book, go to a few travel sites, and read something about the customs of Costa Rica. Learn a little bit about what they eat, what they drink, how they greet each other, if tipping is expected, you know, things like that. It may be your first time here, and you're going to have a lot to learn, that's OK, but try a little bit folks. Don't just show up, not knowing geographically where you are, what you're going to be eating, what the climate is going to be like, and then be totally shocked that you feel out of your element. Yes, it's a tropical country but there are different climates throughout the different regions. Figure out what the average temperature is like in the parts of the country you're going to visit. Yes, we have a rainy season and a dry season and in the rainy season, it can rain, a lot. Don't be shocked when you visit in the rainy season and you don't get to see the sun for 5 days in a row. Check the weather, plan your trip at the appropriate time of the year. And oh yeah, if a hotel doesn't say they have air conditioning, it's because they don't. If you can't deal with the heat, don't visit the tropics. 
• Put down your smartphone. Sure you want everyone to know what you're doing in Costa Rica. Who wouldn't want to update and check in every time they see a sloth or drink an ice cold Imperial while a band plays calypso music, but if you spend all your time Facebooking, Tweeting, Instagraming, and Snapchating you're going to miss out on a lot of things. You don't have to get on wifi at every bar or restaurant you stop in at. Play a game of dominos instead. Strike up a conversation with a random stranger. Or simply watch the ocean dance for a while. You're on vacation, slow down, put the tech toys away, and enjoy the slow pace of life.
• Speak the appropriate language. The national language of Costa Rica is Spanish, although many Costa Ricans also speak English. If you visit Costa Rica, it is polite to learn, at the very least a few Spanish phrases. Buenos Dias, Como esta, Gracias, Como se llama, Donde esta el bano, Una mas cerveza por favor. Use these if you like. Ticos like to hear gringos try the local language. But, if you do not speak Spanish, or if you barely speak Spanish and the person you are speaking to, whether Tico or Expat speaks better English than you speak Spanish, speak English! Ordering in broken Spanish to a native English speaker is a sure way to mess up your food. I know you're trying and that is appreciated, but use some common sense and use the appropriate language at the appropriate time. 
• Slow Down! You are on vacation. You are in the tropics, where the heat alone forces everyone to relax a bit. And if you are in Puerto Viejo, or the province of Limon, then you are in the Caribbean and things take time here. Food is not ready before you order it, a cook has to cook it, it's going to take time. Cocktails need to be made and what's the hurry, all you're going to do is sit and enjoy it, so why rush it? You have nowhere you need to be, and while that is a hard rhythm to get into, it's why you wanted to come here in the first place, to unwind, to relax, to take a break from the rat race to the bottom that is life in the U.S. Don't get grumpy when you have to wait for things, for your room to be ready, for the taxi to arrive, for your food to arrive, for your server to bring your bill. Just relax. It might be hard at first, but you can do it. Take a deep breath, watch the waves roll in and out, and remember you wanted to come here, so enjoy it. 

I know this is a bit of a rant, and I'm sorry if I offend anyone, sort of. It's just that after a year and half of working in a bar in Puerto Viejo it's getting a little old the whole people not knowing anything about where they are. Sometimes I'm shocked that people actually made it because they really don't seem very together when I encounter them. I almost think that nations should start making tourists take a small test about the culture and history of their country before you're allowed to purchase a plane or bus ticket entering the country you wish to visit. That way, at least all of the tourists would have a basic understanding of where the hell they are. Instead of being on Facebook all day, use that smartphone to look up some facts about the place you're visiting and actually get a little smarter.

Remember, this is not just for U.S. tourists to Costa Rica, but anyone visiting. And the tips can be applied to other countries as well, not just Costa Rica. Figure out a little bit about where you're going before you get there, and you too can avoid being a douche bag while on vacation.

Happy Travels!

Party Puerto Viejo: A Guide to the Nightlife Scene in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica

Party Puerto Viejo: The Ultimate Guide to Puerto Viejo Nightlife!!!!!

Puerto Viejo, Party Vortex, Permanent Vacation

After a year of living in Puerto Viejo, Jahsiah and I had an idea. We wanted to find a way to
remember what was happening on any given night of the week. When we first moved down here to Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, we didn't go out much seeing as we lived pretty far from town in our jungle mansion. Our main event each week was Trivia Night at Tasty Waves, which takes place every Thursday, but other than that we couldn't tell you what was happening anywhere in town. As friends came to visit we realized just how little we knew about what was going on in Puerto Viejo in the way of nightlife.

Once we moved closer to town and could suddenly bike around, rather than drive our big ass Yukon, we started going out a bit more and enjoying all of the great things that this town has to offer. We started to learn about deals like two for one Bloody Marys on Sundays at Mango's, or two for one cocktails and live music every night from 5-7pm at The Lazy Mon. By this time I had started working at Tasty Waves Cantina, and as such, we both knew the nightly and weekly schedule of Tasty Waves, but when customers would ask me what else was going on in town that week, or what they should do since they were only going to be in town for a few nights, I would draw a blank. I could only tell them a couple of things to do and places to be, not a very good resource as a bar tender. When someone comes to the Caribbean and wants to know where they can go to hear reggae or see live music, as a bar tender, I feel as though I should be able to help that visitor out.

So, combining our personal need to know what's happening around town, plus wanting to be able to help travelers and visitors know what's happening in the way of nightlife in Puerto Viejo, plus wanting to help our friends who own bars and restaurants in Puerto Viejo stay busy during the low season, we decided to launch Party Puerto Viejo! As of now, the site only represents The Lazy Mon, Mango's Sunset and Tasty Waves Cantina, but over the next few weeks we should be adding the rest of Puerto Viejo's bars and some of the restaurants to the site as well.

You can use Party Puerto Viejo to help plan out your time in Puerto, or if you live here, you can use to it to find out about specials and events that you might not know about. We'll also be featuring special events in the area as they come up, like the Chocolate Festival that took place a few months back and the surf competitions that happen throughout the year. Visit the site to see what's happening in and around Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, and find us on Facebook for daily information and updates.  Please feel free to send us messages about anything that you know of that's going on in Puerto Viejo that we may not know about. We really want to make this site a resource for travelers, expats, and locals so that we can all connect a bit better. It's not just about finding the best parties or the strongest drinks, it's also about meeting cool people, people from all over the place that have been drawn to our little funky corner of the world.

So, let's grab a beer, let's drink a cocktail, let's do a shot, let's tell some stories, let's dance the night away, let's laugh, let's celebrate, let's Party Puerto Viejo!

Puerto Viejo Nightlife Part 3: Tasty Waves Cantina

For this blog, you now gotta go here, and read all about Tasty Waves Cantina on my new website, Party Puerto Viejo! Stay up to date with Puerto Viejo Nightlife and Enjoy!

Puerto Viejo Nightlife Part 2:The Lazy Mon

To read this blog about all the awesome stuff happening at The Lazy Mon please go here, and while you're at it, check out the rest of our site, Party Puerto Viejo to stay up to date on Puerto Viejo Nightlife