Clement Part 2 - 5-5-2012



Sunset from Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

The sun touches the horizon and sinks beneath it. Purple and navy replace soft orange and lavender.

“Where do you live in Paris,” I ask. Clement smiles sweetly as she describes home. She lives in a picturesque quarter of Paris – a flower shop in the ground floor of her apartment building and a bakery next door. A grocer 100m from her front door means she doesn't need to leave her little city within a city. “There is a park 300 meters away from my apartment. It is very nice. In the summer, children run, people eat...”

“And sleep?” I tease.

She smiles again. “Yes, and sleep.”

The sky is dark now, the sun gone and Samara's lights blinking alive. I ask about the boyfriend she mentioned offhandedly at La Vela Latina the previous night.

“How did you meet your boyfriend?”

“I met him in New Caledonia. He was the friend of a coworker. We were friends for one month, just friends, and then we decided we like each other.” She sips her beer.

Clement fell in love with a New Caledonian local who was 20 years older than her with two kids aged 18 and 25. Clement and he professed their love for each other when they were in New Caledonia. “It's complicated,” she tells me softly. “He says he will come to France but I don't think so. His children are in New Caledonia. When we talked yesterday, we talked only about what we did in the day. I tell him I love him and he does not know what he wants. How can you be 50 and not know what you want?”

She continues, “there is another woman who is trying to come back to him. I don't like her, I am very jealous. I call and she pick up the phone and she treats me like his friend.” It's complicated,” Clement tells me again, softly.

She stares out at the night, her voice barely above a whisper.“I am on this trip for myself, not for him. So I do what I wish. I want to dive, so I go dive.” She is going to visit a few other spots in Costa Rica before moving onto Panama, Nicaragua, Belize and perhaps someplace else. She has two months before going back to France, two months to find closure on her trip.

She tells me more and I listen. The talks quietly of her love for her boyfriend, their past and the confusion of their future. She tells me about the diving she wants to do and I wonder if she'll find peace or an escape if she just visits enough beaches. When she stops speaking, we sit in silence together for a long while, sipping in our beers and the burgeoning night before departing.

Clement Part 1 - 5-4-2012

Ocean view from Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

Clement was French, from Paris. Her blond hair and blue eyes complemented her graceful body. I thought she might have been a dancer. She was a nurse. Clement most recently worked in New Caledonia (French Polynesia to Americans) for six months.

It was nearly sunset by the time she and I walked through town and up the hill to Barracuda on Sunday evening. Clement kept to herself at Casa Brian. She was self conscious about her English but was talkative once comfortable with someone. I thought she had a pretty accent. Clement went diving most of Saturday. We went for drinks at La Vela Latina that evening, then I walked her part way to the hostel before I went into town for dinner and to enjoy Samara's night life. This afternoon, Sunday, I invited her to Barracuda to take pictures of Samara with me. Our conversation drifted from empty small talk to childhood nostalgia to complicated heartache as the afternoon advanced to evening, then darkened to night.

Downtown Samara from Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

The sky is a palette of pastels, pink and lavender in the west, blue with a touch of purple in the east, as we arrive at Barracuda's upper patio. We both take some pictures then settle into stools across a glass table. "Cheers," I say and we touch beer cans.

“Do you have brothers or sisters,” I ask.

“I have one brother,” she tells me.

“Were you close growing up?” I ask the question a couple different ways because she does not understand, then she answers.

“We were very different when we were young, and he was three years younger than me,”' she explains between sips of her Imperial. “Now we are...” she gestures with her fingers, placing one far apart from the other, then bringing them together. “How do you say...not distant, but...,” she pauses.

“Close,” I offer.

“Close. Yes. We became closer as we got older.”

A gentle breeze drifts through the upper patio. “Did you have pets growing up, or now?”

“I had a cat before I left France. I love cats. When I move to New Caledonia, I gave my brother my cat to watch but he ran away. I was very sad.” She pouts to bring home the point. “My brother and wife's son, what do you say in English?

“Your nephew.”

“Yes, my nephew like to pet the cat and chase him but my cat like to sit and sleep. He did not like so he ran away.”

“Chat noir?” I ask.

“He was black in the body, and had white on his...she gestures to her hands and looks at me for help.”

“Paws?”

“Yes, paws. He had white on his paws.” She pauses. “I miss him. And you? Did you have cats or dogs?”

“I had fish and a couple parrots. I tried to teach the parrots to talk but they would only speak parrot,” I say. She smiles.

“Yes. I had fish too. All they did was swim.”

“What does your brother do?”

Clement's younger brother works in construction. “He builds everything...government, houses, he can build anything,” she explains. He married a Cambodian woman, a secretary in her home country. She speaks little French and so does not work. Their three year old, however, speaks some French, Cambodian and English. Talented kid.

Shortening My Trip - 5-2-2012

Pacific Ocean from Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica



Upstairs bar at Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

Upstairs at Barracuda, Jack Johnson was playing on the stereo and warm breezes touched my skin as I drank my frosty Imperial. I admired the baby blue sky and sapphire water interspersed with white caps. I felt peaceful, more peaceful than I had since the Canadians left two days prior. And that's when it started to hit me. On this trip, I wanted to learn how to love unconditionally. Well, if I am supposed to love my friends and my family unconditionally, then the best way to love them is to be with them. For my parents, that means being at home, or at least close to it. For my friends in San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York, that means visiting them. Me hanging out in Samara for six weeks does not bring love to the people who love me, though I do acknowledge that it took coming down here for me to realize that.

Up at Barracuda, I started thinking about this freedom that I've scrimped and saved for. For six years, I've put off living, and starting my own life in favor of working stressful jobs, commuting long distances and living with my parents specifically so I could get out of debt as quickly as possible and put together enough money to travel for a very long time. I have accomplished these things.

But here's the kicker: I didn't realize just how much I changed from my last trip through Playa Samara until I got back here. I see that I don't actually want to be a perpetual traveler anymore. I do still want the option to bail on a job whenever I desire and without financial concern, and I certainly want to be able to travel when I want. For the first time in my life, though, I feel like the next step for me is to set down roots, not collect passport stamps. I want to find a job that complements or serves my personal purpose rather than only putting money in my pocket. That might mean something corporate; it might mean a clean break from my corporate past. I also want to find a girlfriend who shares my values. I want to move out of my parents' house, and be a better friend to my friends by visiting them often.

 

Swimming pool at Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

That's when I decided, amid the warm breeze, postcard view and easy Jack Johnson songs that I have to go home. I have to go home and bring love to the people who love me by visiting them in NYC and SF and wherever else they may be. I have to go home and build a life, not run from things I don't want...but really build life that any man would love to live. Sitting on a beach in Costa Rica isn't moving me towards these things, even though I had to fly down here, sit on a beach (well...hilltop bar), meet a whole bunch of people, clean up loose ends and do lots of writing here in Costa Rica to realize this.

Later that Saturday afternoon, I changed my flight home and shortened my trip by two weeks. That gives me over two and a half weeks to get into random adventures here, meet more people, and gain further insights while also moving me two weeks closer to building an awesome life at home. Shortening my trip also pulls some pressure off me here. Now that I'm just passing through, I can just have fun without worrying that I'm not making friends with other folks who'll stay for a while. That's liberating too.

The Former Club Barracuda - 5-1-2012

Barracuda is a former dance club I visited several times on my last trip through Samara. The club even had a mechanical bull, which I never rode. Rosa, one of Brian's friends, mentioned that it's not a club anymore, but is still a cool place to hang out. Fresh from my closure regarding Irish Jane, and feeling better about the Canadians' recent departures (I'll do a separate post for them; they were awesome), I resolved to explore the former club on Saturday the 28th.



Forest path to Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

The path to Barracuda breaks off from the main road just outside of town; it's just an unmarked grass path that turns upward sharply on the left side of the road as you leave town. I missed it the first time, went back into town and got correct directions from a helpful hotelier, Julie, at the Tico Adventure Lodge. I spotted the grass path the second time and took it. The sounds of the road and town faded into silence beneath a green canopy. Only the sound of my feet on gravel and grass broke the morning silence. I followed the path up and spotted the gate.

A concrete path led further up past several small, white cabinas on my left to the former dance club. It was quiet, the cabinas empty. An older blond woman came out to welcome me. In quickly-spoken Spanish, I think she asked me if I wanted to enjoy the view or swim in the pool. I wanted neither but didn't know what to say. “Cerveza?” she smiled, and I agreed. I could use a beer after that climb. She led me into the outer patio, a white concrete area with shade tents, comfy wood and canvas sunning chairs and a small wading pool.



Cabana at Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

The club was built on a cliff; I could see all of Playa Samara from Barracuda's patio. Once, the area next to a big shade tent opened into the club. Now, though, a large bar with a sign reading “Beach Club” behind it sat in front of a wall that once led to a dance floor. "Pilsen? Imperial?" the helpful woman asked with a smile.“Imperial,” I answered. She went in the back and came out with a can. I paid her $2.00, thanked her and went exploring upstairs.

Pacific Ocean from Barracuda in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

Three years ago, the upstairs floor led back into the club's second floor. Today, a back wall sealed off the upper deck, preventing entrance to whatever happened to the rest of the club. The view, though, was still spectacular. Four tables with stools were spread across the vast, rectangular floor, with chest-high glass preventing people from falling over to the concrete patio and airy tents below. A high ceiling left plenty of space for the morning breeze. I had the entire floor to myself as I admired my 200 degree view.

Downtown Playa Samara, Costa Rica

My far left view was green trees and green hills. Just to the right, I could see the entire curve of Playa Samara with Punta Islita just off shore. Continuing right, I could see Playa Samara spread out before me on land, and white caps crashing against the coral reef offshore. Small figures walked or bicycled the straight main street leading to the beach. Further right, I could see the tide pools at the far end of Playa Samara, where the beached curved back out to the sea and ended. To the extreme right, I could see another cove open up with blue ocean beyond it – Playa Buena Vista. The views were stunning, and enhanced further by the springtime sun.

Not many people in Samara know about Barracuda now that it is a series of cabinas instead of a rowdy bar, but definitely make the hike up to the former club. And bring your camera; you won't be sorry.

Playa Buena Vista and a Birthday Party - Saturday 4-4-2009

All photos in this post are from Juan.

Mid-afternoon, six of us take Clark's rented SUV down a gravel road to Playa Buena Vista, a hidden beach that one of the locals who is friends with Brian takes us to. The road takes us past small houses and ranches. We pass cows standing by the side of the road unattended. Clark’s rented SUV crosses a shallow river with ease. We follow the gravel road through a dark forest, with large trees that block the sunlight. Large potholes and ditches make for a rough ride. Blind corners keep Clark’s attention while he curses about this ridiculous road cutting through the middle of nowhere. After twenty minutes, we reach a dirt parking lot. We walk to the beach. This beach is short, ended on each side by a steep cliff and rocky tide pools, but wide. The beach leads down to the ocean very gradually, where strong waves crash loudly. Small crabs skitter quickly across the sand. There are no people on this beach on this beach but the six of us. There aren’t even the footprints of other people. The local girl who guided us here leads us to the tidepools. We climb gingerly on the sharp rocks. We find starfish, urchins, and small fish that dart from pool to pool. We stop to take pictures.

Stepping off the rocks, I walk with the other five back to the beach where I put my things down and hit the water. Tall, long, dark blue, beautifully symmetrical waves crash around me. The strength of the currents surprises me several times and I stop body surfing, content to wade as deep as my shoulders. The water here is slightly cooler than at Playa Samara. The setting sun, casting its fading golden light, also cools things down.

Later that night, the hostel heads to Las Palmitas, a quarter mile east on the dirt road directly in front of Casa Brian. Tonight, Brian's friend is celebrating his birthday and we are all invited. On the walk over, I talk to Tyler from Boston. He's been in town for several months attending the local massage school and knows Brian and Leonie. The hostel folks combine several small tables into one long table and we all sit together at the restaurant. I talk with Tyler and Clark much of the night. Clark tells me that long-term travel will delay but not solve my problems. Getting away is a good idea, he concedes, but being away from months at a time might not lead to any important revelations. I start thinking about searching for a less demanding job in finance upon my return home instead a of the clean break from my past that I envisioned at the beginning of this trip. For dinner, I order Sopa de Mariscos, a spicy seafood soup with shellfish, fish, and squid for 4,300 colones (about $8.50)

After dinner, the group heads to Barracuda, a large, upscale, modern bar on a small hill at the opposite end of Samara's main street from the ocean. Barracuda is famous. Several years ago, Tracy Chapman played here while Sting was in the audience. The club used to broadcast musical performances by internationally famouse artists on Costa Rican television. Barracuda burned down several years ago under questionable circumstances (the cause was officially recorded as lightning, though Brian implied lightning wasn't the true cause) and then rebuilt. The club's current claim to fame is a mechanical bull that patrons can ride for 1,000 colones ($2). I don't ride it, though several other folks from Casa Brian do. I spend the night watching the bull riders, and talking to the people I know. At 2:00AM, I walk back to the hostel.