Symptom: Socks, even formerly clean ones, have a bluish tint and strange odor when taken off at night.
Explanation: Inside of shoes has become moldy.
Solution: Throw out shoes & socks when opportunity presents itself.
Wednesday I awoke early and shlepped to Dave's hotel to go sport fishing, something I'd never done before. We drove to Quepos, while Dave quizzed our driver about local conditions and the details of the boat, and I smiled and nodded and pretended I knew what the hell they were talking about. We embarked on the 31 foot long Bluefin III, with twin 315hp engines and a brace of local fishermen. It was grey and drizzly the whole day, which (while annoying) seemed appropriate, and was more fun at sea than it would have been staring at the windows in my smelly cabin.
I stared at the water and thought about islands and boats, long romantic sailing adventures with Katy, eating fresh fish and fruit and exploring remote islands. I watched with great interest the details of our trawling, the way the lines were set, the hooks were baited. Deep sea sportfishing is a whole different kettle of fish than the placid lake variety I am used to. The fish are much larger and stronger, and put up a long, tiring fight - so much so that there is a special rotating chair in the back of the boat where the fisherman can sit and battle, winning by endurance.
We only caught one all day, but it was a huge one, a mahi-mahi that leaped out of the water as it grabbed our bait, and fought Dave and I (taking shifts) for half an hour. I had pictured boring grey fish, but it was yellow and blue and exotic, like a thriving aquarium escapee. It weighed 80 pounds and was almost as long as I am tall. Hearing the snickers, may I remind the audience that while that ain't much for a guy it is plenty for a fish! We took the standard smiling-while-holding-huge-fish pictures and I watched in fascination as one of the locals skinned and filetted our catch.
While we sighted sailfins a few times (Quepos is the #1 sailfin area in the world), we didn't manage to land one, and returned home, slightly disappointed but generally feeling that one is a whole lot more than zero. We took the fillets to Dave's hotel, which had a fabulous restaraunt, and had fresh fish for dinner.
My clothes (including my single pair of pants) were soaked, and when I got back to my cabin I hung them outside, but in the humid air they stayed wet. I set off for San Jose in the morning wearing swimming trunks over a pair of camo long underwear. It had rained all night and it rained all day, causing several mudslides which reduced the road to one lane. The rivers I crossed were brown and swollen, flooding some nearby farms, and I mentally noted that elevation and drainage would be important when choosing land.
I didn't stop for gas, so I when I got to the rental agency in San Jose I asked for directions. They degenerated quickly into hand gestures and "uhs" because of the difficulty of navigating in the city, and I asked the agent to hop in the car and navigate for me. He locked up the shop and did so, and while filling up we had a good conversation about 9/11, the US reaction, and the close-mindedness of some american patriots. His cousin, who lives in the US, believes the US can do no wrong. I cited the events in which a past Costa Rican president recieved the Nobel Peace Prize for diplomatically settling a major central american conflict which the US wished to "solve" through the escalation of force ("maybe if we keep giving rebels arms and money, these incessant wars will end").
After dropping off the car, I found a nearby hotel, where I got a nice room away from the street and negotiated with the maid in my minimal spanish for the washing and drying of my clothes ("Mi pantalones tiene mucho agua. Tienes un...uh...uh...", "Si, un [word I've already forgotten]). My room has a dehumidifier, so perhaps my shoes will finally dry, although I'm still throwing them out when I get home.
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