Ciara & Danica - 4-28-2012

Springtime in Playa Samara, Costa Rica

Ciara, the Italian, grew up in Milan. Danica is Serbian and grew up in Kosovo. She had painful stories of going to university during NATO's bombing campaign. They both work for UN aid organizations and have worked amid natural disaster, large scale death, civil wars and other things that are just stories in the news to me and the folks I know back home. Ciara & Danica met in Haiti, one of the biggest humanitarian disasters in the Western Hemisphere. "The living conditions were terrible in Port-au-Prince," Ciara told me, "but at least I had my own apartment; not like in Libya where we all lived in a secured UN compound." Both women were in-country before the earthquake and stayed for its terrible aftermath; Danica is still stationed in Port-au-Prince.

We had dinner together at La Vela Latina, a mellow beach bar here in Samara with expensive but good burgers. Prior to arriving in Samara, they had gone to a seven day yoga retreat near Nosara that wasn't anything like the vacation they expected. They had to put up with four hours of yoga per day, no drinking (which they disobeyed anyway), no smoking (Ciara chain smoked, like many good Italians), and no meat; both women made it a point to order hamburgers for dinner the night we ate together. But it wasn't all bad. They're certified yoga teachers now. Yay!

Over dinner, the conversation strayed into their work and life in Haiti after the earthquake. The two women were adamant about how the earthquake changed their outlook on life. Danica survived because she was unable to attend a meeting. Her contact was in an office building during the earthquake, the same one Danica would have been in. Danica's contact did not survive, nor did anyone else who attended the meeting Danica missed. Ciara survived because of dumb luck also, though now I forget the exact details. Surviving an earthquake that killed tens of thousands, and by dumb luck no less, humbled them greatly and caused them to reprioritize their lives. Both forcefully stressed to me how fragile all our lives are and how little control we have over them, despite the near complete control many of us assume we have. Danica especially told me how she sees that status, opulence and consumerism are a waste of time. “You can't take those things with you,” she admonished me between drags on her cigarette. "And besides, so many Hatians have nothing but each other and they find joy in that." Danica also mentioned how the earthquake made her think about starting a family because children meant part of her would continue after she had passed away. Both women told me they don't make big plans anymore because life really can't be planned. They had plenty of friends, locals and aid workers, who had plans but will never see those plans to fruition because those friends died during the earthquake.

One of my best friends back home told me to make sure I live in the present during my trip. They thought that was good advice for the trip and for the rest of my life.

Old French Canadians Have Awesome Stories - Thursday 4-2-2009

Michel and Nicolas Roy

Nicolas' father Michel is one of the most interesting people I have met on my trip. He has been a professional golfer, a restaurant owner, a bar owner, a golf teacher, a golf course manager, a golf course owner, and traveled through Costa Rica 17 years ago in a van, never once paying for a room during that time and meeting countless characters along the way. He has lived in Florida, Quebec, Costa Rica, and, for 18 winters, on the sun kissed coast of the Dominican Republic. His stories stand beautifully on their own as tales of youthful self-indulgence and adventure, but his passion, body language, French accent and liberal use of the f-word and the m-f word put his storytelling over the top. He also has more stories about whorehouses in Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince than any man should. This story was my favorite:

When Michel was about 20 years old, he and his friend from Quebec traveled to the Dominican Republic. While there, he was told that Santo Domingo was such an amazing place that he would never want to leave. In fact, not only was Santo Domingo amazing, but a brothel there called Armenia had so many beautiful girls that it was the happiest place on Earth for the customers. Curious, he and his friend traveled to Santo Domingo. After checking into their motel, the set about finding the brothel, but no one would admit to knowing its location. In those days, Santo Domingo was a devoutly religious city and locals just did not talk openly about brothels, especially with two men as young as Michel and his friend. Frustrated, they begin asking for directions to street that the brothel is on. People answered this question and soon Michel and his friend find the street. It is a long street and they do not want to drive all of it, so they ask a 12 year old boy, “donde esta Armenia.” They twelve year old boy excited offers to take them there himself, calling the brothel the “best place in the whole world.” With the boy’s help, Michel and his friend arrive there about 10:00PM. Michel and his friend pay one peso (about $.80 at the time) to enter. The walk down a long corridor. On one side is a bench with dozens of beautiful women just sitting, waiting for a client. On the other side is a large bar and several other huge open spaces, each with its own bar and its own live band playing salsa and meringue underneath the night sky. Michel and his friend go from bar to bar. The women walk through the open air rooms, but do not approach the clients. Finally, Michel and his friend each find a woman they like and negotiate $10 for the night for each escort. Michele takes his woman, and drives to a motel room. The room has only a bare bed, so Michel’s escort orders sheets, pillows, and such. In the morning, he takes her to breakfast and then drops her off at Armenia. She and her pimp demand $100 from Michel and his friend, who is also there dropping off his escort. Michel and his friend look at each other and ask in French if the other has $100. Neither man has the money. Then they ask each other if their negotiated price was $10. Each friend tells the other that it was. Michel then tells the pimp and the women that they do have the money with them, but they can easily pay if the women would just accompany them to the nearest Royal Bank of Canada branch. The pimp and escorts agree. When Michel and his friend arrive at the bank, they ask in French to speak with the manager. The manager comes down and listens to Michel and his friend explain the situation. When the bank manager fully understands the situation, he looks over the escorts and tells them dismissively to go home. Seeing they are not going to get $10 much less $100, the escorts leave.

That night, Michel goes back to Armenia and all the women start yelling at him and pointing. He finds his escort from the previous night and says this: “I am sorry for not paying you $100, but the negotiated fee was $10. So here is $10. You treated me very well last night and so here is another $10. And I wish to spend tonight with you again, so here is $10 more.” The escort thanks Michele, and soon dozens of escorts are swarming the wealthiest John in Armenia.

After six months of nightly visits to Armenia, Michel and his friend finally left for the coast.