After a short, Imperial-infused night of rest in San Jose, I made my way to the bus station a little after five o’clock yesterday morning. Destination: Nosara. A walkable distance from my hotel in a less than pristine neighborhood, the station and surrounding barrio is frequented (inhabited?) by some characters.
San Jose’s homeless population is no joke. It’s a sad, eccentric group and membership is booming. One unlucky Tico—but don’t tell him I said so, he looked happy as a clam—was prepping for the day in what I can only assume is his morning routine. Razor in hand, I watched him taking down the stubble on his face. Sure, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a homeless man shave, but here’s the real kicker. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a crack-pipe and a lighter. Seconds later he lights and puffs, all without losing focus from his shave.
This is the kind of guy that can rub his belly and pat his head without missing a beat, and you know that if he had blond hair he’d be walking and chewing gum like a pro. I don’t mean to make light of a bad scene, but when you see that kind of expert multitasking you can’t help but be taken aback and, yeah, a little impressed.
I missed the direct bus to Nosara—which runs once a day at 5am NOT 6am as the airport, hotel manager, tourism office, and bus schedule will try to fool you into believing—but I found an easy enough workaround and made it here yesterday in time for a late lunch. So for now, I’m typing in a hammock and staring at the 200 feet of jungle that separates this balcony from the beach.
I’ve got books to read, waves to conquer, and a mustache to grow. My boss is a nice lady, but I don’t miss her yet. This is going to be a good week.
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