Seniorita Muerta

Just over two years ago, thanks in no small part to the generosity of a dear friend, herein referred to as "Fantastic," I spent a week in Costa Rica. Today, I found the pocket-size notebook I took with me on that trip. I never did anything with the notes, observations, questions and lyrics scrawled as Fantastic and I traversed Central America.... other than a few notes I jotted down for a play called "Remembering Audrey"... which would later become "Unshelved." So now, with the bonus of a few of the photos from that lovely trip, here are just a few excerpts from my Costa Rica journal.


Our first few days are here at Renconcito lodge. There are animals everywhere - birds and livestock, but mostly frogs and dogs, including one tiny little puppy that I intend to kidnap and take home with us. (Sofia will love him!) There is also an adorable little girl who sits in the dining area, playing, drawing, sucking on her fingers, and I fear that Fantastic has plans to kidnap her and take her home with us, too....

....Our guide has taken to calling me Seniorita Muerta due to my Michigan-in-December alabaster skin. I do not realize how pale I am until I see a picture Fantastic snaps, my hand alongside our tico guide's... I had to agree: Seniorita Muerta's, well... kind of accurate. It's already my second Costa Rican nickname: "Beth" was difficult for our first guide to pronounce, so Fantastic told him my middle name, and his face lit up: "Like Dora El Explorador!" Dora the Explorer. Yep, that's me. So these are my current choices, moniker-wise: Dora or Death!

....Fantastic and I went zip-lining through the rain forest, which was incredible; soaring above the trees, exhilarated and terrified. Slightly less intense was our trek through the rain forest on horseback. Well - less intense for me and my calm, even-tempered steed. Fantastic's caballo loco was another story. We stopped at one point to walk on foot through the forest as monkeys danced above us; an older man our guide knew was there and began singing us a song about the monkeys - which, after struggling through some translations, we fell apart laughing at the lyrics, which centered around the golden rains the monkeys bring....


.....At the bus station in Liberia, no one seems to speak English. In our broken Spanish, we managed to purchase two tickets to Tamarindo. The tickets clearly said Destino: Tamarindo. Having crossed this hurdle, our next test was to determine which bus line was for the Tamarindo-bound bus. There are no numbers on the tickets, no numbers on the buses.

Like mosquitoes buzzing in sweaty ears, Fantastic and I flitted through the dusty terminal, asking people in the various lines: "Tamarindo? Tamarindo?" They would slap us away, irritated: "No, no."

Finally, someone responded "Si, si, Tamarindo." We joined her in line and stood sweating with the ticos, awaiting our bus. Sweat poured down our backs as we waited patiently in line. Finally, the bus arrived. Upon its arrival, however, we were dismayed to witness the disappearance of the line. People in line behind us shoved us out of the way in a mad dash to secure a seat. It took us a minute to catch on, but Fantastic and I recovered and swiftly elbowed a few smaller, weaker people out of the way and fought our way into seats...

... sort of. I couldn't take notes at the time, but we ultimately had to transfer from bus to truck... and we didn't exactly have seats. At one point I was half-sitting in a truck driver's lap, half-leaning on the exposed dashboard (no front window), and briefly even holding a chicken for another passenger. Thus on that trip, I was struggling with each bump in the road to not a)drop the chicken, b)fall off the bus, or c)become overly friendly with the bus driver... Fantastic, who had more of a seat than I did, was mostly struggling not to wet herself laughing at me...

Not-From-My Journal-Postscript: we finally arrived in Tamarindo, where hikes along the beach, seeing giant tortoises lay eggs, eating lovely fresh seafood, having Fantastic conversations (literally), snorkeling, and a multi-lingual parrot led to many great stories, for another day. But for now I leave you with the euphemism born in Tamarindo - a euphemism which, in my opinion, kicks serious nachos to this day: