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.

Barefoot in the Forest - Sunday 4-5-2009

From Casa Brian, I walk with six other people to a supposedly gorgeous, secluded beach known only to locals several kilometers south of Playa Samara. A tall cliff separates Playa Samara from this beach. We walk south to the end of Playa Samara, and then walk carefully on rocky outcroppings sheltering tide pools. These rocks curve around the point and open into a cove and small beach. Five hundred meters directly across the water from this secluded beach is an island with a tall cliff and its own tiny beach. Our guide points to a steep trail leading up a cliff at the end of the beach we are standing on. We start walking the nearly vertical trail. I lose my breath quickly and struggle to keep up with the others. The trail isn’t even marked, it’s just the only discernable path up the cliff. We step across roots and branches and fallen logs, holding tightly onto tree trunks when we can, and always careful of our footing on the pathway. The pathway is barely the width of a person’s foot. Two-thirds of the way up the cliff, the path bends along the cliff face so that I can turn my head left and look down the cliff. The path is terribly narrow here and there is nothing for me to grab onto if I lose my footing. I take a deep breath and keep walking.

The trail is so steep and the day is so hot. I stop to catch my breath several times. The trail leads us inexorably up, doubling back on itself, cutting through the trees and bushes. The trail finally ends at a fallen tree. We carefully climb across its length, reaching a dirt road near the top of the cliff. I’m breathless and drenched in sweat. We follow the dirt road to the right. The road ends at the edge of the cliff and we can look straight down on the rocks below and directly across the water to the island, 500 meters away. We stop for pictures and water, some of others also take a cigarette break. The strap on my left sandal separates from the sole, wrecked from the climb. My left sandal sole is connected to the rest of my sandal only by a bit of glue on the heel. As the group follows another dirt road down the other side of the cliff, I have a moment of clarity. My left sandal is so wrecked that it’s more comfortable for me to walk barefoot. If I walk down to Playa Carillio, I’ll have to do it barefoot. That means I’ll have to climb back up to the top of the cliff barefoot and then back down the narrow, barely-marked trail to Playa Samara barefoot. I cut my losses and tell the group that I’m headed back to Casa Brian.

I take my sandals off. It takes me several minutes to find the fallen log we climbed to reach the dirt road at the top of the cliff. I gingerly grab a hold of the trunk and slowly slide down. I think I find the trail back down, but it dead ends after a minute of walking. I go back to the log, but can’t find the trail. Part of me seriously wants to sit and wait several hours for the others to return. Instead, I make my own trail through the leaves, branches and fallen logs. After a minute, I think I find the trail and I start following that down the cliff. The path seems even steeper and narrower going down. I lose my footing a couple times, but catch myself before I slide down the cliff. It’s a weird rush for this suburban kid to be walking barefoot down this cliff, hemmed in by thick vegetation and worried more about spending $10 to replace my sandals than about getting bitten by some hidden snake. About fifteen minutes after starting my slow descent, I reach the hidden cove and the gravelly beach. It’s blazing hot today and my shirt is soaked with sweat. I put my gear down and wade into the temperate waters. The terrain changes quickly from gravel to rocks which are too sharp to stand on so I retrieve my gear and keep walking toward Playa Samara. I cross the sharp rocks and tide pools slowly because I have to pick my steps carefully while barefoot. Forty-five minutes later, I’m back at Casa Brian, sore but pleased that I didn’t freak out or give up partway down the cliff.