San Jose
16 Feb
The walls of my hostel are painted black with splashes of glow-in-the-dark paint. Although I have hardly arrived, I am here. I slept close to 14 hours last night, after blindly spinning circles around the Parque Nacional.
I awoke to the grumbling of voices in my hostel dorm room. Most were just settling down to sleep as I was rummaging for shampoo and new clothes. I learned some new Spanish expletives, at least.
This morning I met Fran squared, a couple from Boston who not only share the same name but also finish each others sentences. Fran one broke her tooth so Fran two invited me to accompany him to the rainforests on his wifeś non-refundable ticket. I promised to practice hollaring FRAN! the way she has been all morning, so as to mimic her presence, while she is off getting a tooth replaced.
Hector, the hostel desk man with a goiter, told me of a massive snowstorm in Korea. The biggest in two centuries, he said. It appears that my Amy is already in Texas (howś that for universal perfection?) and is due to arrive tonight. My heart is buzzing and bustling. All things are right when we are reunited. Thatś always the way.
Deep lavender flowers dangle from a tree in the garden of this hostel. They look even more beautiful set before overcast skies. The flora here is sturdy and strong, withstanding extreme winds, sun, and temperature change. And still beautiful. I want to become those flowers. If I ever should become those things, I suppose here is the place and now is the time.
Home is where the heart is – on the bus!
MRumianowski
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