OK, I admit to an experiment of sorts. I’ve stashed myself at the foot of a spectacular cloud forest in Costa Rica. I’m alone and even the birds are a bit shocked at my rather meager collection of Spanish phrases, but hey, that is what experiments are designed to be: meanderings into the unknown.
While other expats spend way too much money sitting at perfect sites along the beach, drinking inordinate volumes of umbrella drinks, I count the toucans and ask them to keep on soaring. I’ve walked this walk before: solitary (soltera, single babe) on other jaunts worldwide. Some might be way too quick to view me as some wizened old bitty with wiry hair and smelly old thrift store clothes. I have to confess: I brought the whole enchilada: just in case I was invited to meet el presidente or you know the drill, a night out among them.
A night out among them at this stage of the gig is a bit tremulous. I live up a long muddy cobblestone road, and then down another equally precarious jaunt down a dark path. No thank you. I’ll hang with my toucans. Oh and I adore my mosquito net which I hauled in my suitcase. Twenty bucks at Amazon and worth every penny! I recline while mosquitos wait eagerly outside to pounce. I picture myself as Meryl Streep in “Out of Africa”….waiting for Robert Redford. He hasn’t arrived yet but one can light the lamp and hope.
Writing retreats are cool. They engender comradery and so many thought provoking inlets while writing buddies wax poetic. The solitary route bespeaks of monks and monkettes and talking to God. Hell, I’ll talk to the wee hummingbirds that buzz my laptop daily. Napping when I wish, rising in the middle of the night to write, wandering along the path next to the thundering river? all mine and no I don’t spend multiple hours sharing on Facebook. It’s my walk for now. When I need to engage with another human, I’ll put on my happy coat and meander beyond the gate. My Spanish is somewhere between horrible and hey she’s improving. Expats are few and far between. It’s kind of a difficult choice I’ve made, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A gecko just crossed the doorstep. He is always watching me from the ceiling and then meanders down to stare at what I am writing. I wish I could do that ceiling maneuver but as a homo sapiens, it just isn’t our gig. So I”m here. Sometimes I listen to the beating of my own heart. Sometimes I remember God knows what of my rather unique life. Memoir? maybe but I’m actually not that self-absorbed. I’ll stand at a distance and write someone’s story but with another name attached. For now, this is more than enough, yes, enough is a tremulous word, MORE THAN enough suits me just fine. And Mr. Redford, if your GPS has misdirected you to another cloud forest, so be it.
madamtruefire on the hoof 