It is a good thing we are going back by boat to Manzanillo, I for one am not up for another 5 mile trek through the jungle. Little fishing boats with out board motors arrive and we wade out to them through the surf, getting mostly wet in the process. It isn't lunch time yet when we arrive in Manzillo, so everyone has free time on the beach. It the last leg of the trip and mostly everyone is well behaved and reasonable. I ask Patrick if he will keep an eye on my group with Annette so I can walk down the beach. Warm ocean to my right and rows of palm trees on the left, I walk and walk, the ocean licking feet, ankles, calves. I could go on like this forever.Wanderlust has taken over. I wonder if I would be missed if I kept walking, what would Dexter do if I failed to show for lunch? I walk and walk. I remember another time I wanted to just keep going. I had borrowed the family car for a road trip with my college housemates, my mother had given me $200, I had it in my back pocket. As I drove through the night I wondered what it would be like to just keep going and going. But I do turn back, just as I did decades ago, and arrive in time to gather for lunch. No one has noticed I was gone I think. I feel like I have been far away for hours and hours. I have a large fried fish for lunch, it is immensely satisfying. We bundle onto the bus for a last push back to San Jose and La Rosa American.
The roads we take seem more curvy than anything we have experienced yet. I get nauseous and develop a tremendous headache. All I want to do is lay down the dark and die. Somehow I get to the room and tell Annette I won't be going to dinner. I regret missing coconut flan , they are going back to that restaurant. Vaguely aware of goings and returnings I sleep fitfully and awake in the morning pain free and joyful to be alive.
6/07/04 San Jose, Costa Rica, San Francisco, California
We do return home. Though not without incident, one of the kids tried to "smuggle" food stateside and got busted by a dog. Our seats are all over the plane making actual supervision impossible, but it is not necessary, the students are intent on behaving like the seasoned travlers they have become. Mr. S, the teacher is complimented not once, but several times, on the excellent behavior of his class. One of the girls sits by me, M., she is truly a seasoned traveler, her father is Brazilian so the family often go south for the summer. She notes that I really don't like flying, then to soothe me adds "I know we act horrible, but we really do love you, all of us." And that's what I love about teenagers, full of surprises, all the time.
There is not much more to tell. The aerial view of the salt flats coming into SF is a spectacular- abstract-earth work-accidental-art piece. Do look down next time you fly in. The air back home seems dry and thin, not as lively and full of life as in the jungle. I miss being surrounded by the sounds of the jungle; that complex audio tapestry of animals, insects, and water. The feeling of life cycle being constantly played out in every nook and cranny. The jungle is strange, it gets into your blood. Despite all the bugs and difficulties, even now, five years later, I long for it......