therealchrisnutter’s posterous

Please pardon as usual the lack of photos that I actually took; I forgot the chord that connects the camera to the computer.

There are so many interesting sights around... Turn a corner and something skitters away.

Iguanas are an obvious place to start. There is an enormous old tree in front of the bunch of cabinas I have been in. The tree is covered with thorns, some the size of a thimble or bigger, and is riddled with cracks and fissures the iguanas call home. They skitter off if they are far enough away when they see you, but if they are a little late in noticing our approach, they pause, move, pause, move.

The other night at the bar, before the evening crunch rolled in, Lis made a big fuss. A toad the size of a large grapefruit was cruising around... It was eventually shooed back into the neighboring bushes and the forest right beyond.

I was sitting in the hammock reading the other day, minding my own business, when I saw one of htese guys come sniffing around. It got about four feet away from me in my sling... It is bigger than a cat and smaller than a dog, and is a relative of a racoon. It is an omnivore and I am sure loves human garbage. It is called a pisote.

Geckoes are of course a regular sight, and they munch on insects in my room.

As are these guys, regular pals.

There are endless types of butterflies.

I seem to see new kings every day.

The variety of form and color are amazing.

A fun thing around here are the howler monkeys. Their call is deep and resonates. It sounds like a jet taking off, or the low gurgle of water, or a low low baritone belch, all rolled into one. They roll around the treetops in family groups collecting food, with the babies hitching rides, and their long tails wrapped around branches for extra support.

One strange thing is that some of the monkeys, usually larger ones, have this strange habit of carrying around what looks like a full clove of garlic in a silk bag right near the tail. I´ve not figured this one out, but have heard that local biologist might be doing some sort of population tracking study.

In a globalized world, it should come as no surprise that I attended a Yoga class with a bunch of other Whole Foods shopping gringos taught by a Kiwi who had done her ashram time in India on a jungle hilltop in Central America at the Nosara Yoga Institute.

   
Thinking about it today, I could imagine Bret and Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords on vacation here, assuming organic credentials and poses as they chat up the gumby babe after the class...

  Girl:So what is your favorite position?

  Bret:Yeah, mine is the flying rhymnoserous.

Girl:I am here to align my chakras...

  Bret: Yeah, me too, they´re all crooked.

   
Postmodern reflection aside, the class was really hard and really fun. They got us sweating for the first 45 minutes or so, and the last 45 was spent on sitting poses for the back and hips. I learned a lot from the structure of the class, as well as the fact that one can clearly dedicate a whole lot of time to yoga.

  Here in Nosara, folks come to stay for a month and do four and a half hours of yoga a day in order to get their teacher´s certification. Some of those folks were ripping it up in our class, no doubt. There was an woman next to me who looked about seven months pregnant who was so nice and helpful, totally welcoming. Bret and Jermaine wouldnt have gone for her, perhpas explaining the openness.

  Yoga is an interesting phenomena, no doubt. Circles of hidden knowledge, changes to the diet, retreats and trainings, elevation of status in the minds of others based on Ashram time, poses given their Indian names with a Kiwi accent. At the same time, it takes all bodies, created focus and clarity, and has clear export value.

  It was very interesting to hear the teacher talk not just about the muscular benefits but also other physciological values, like this pose helps with the liver and digestive system, this with that. I do not disbelieve, that is for sure... I´d rather try those poses than do Lipitor twenty years from now!!

   
How to think of Yoga.. a practice? A religion? I see little in these classes that teaches others how to be more loving, how to deal with the question of sin and the suffering in the world... Not to get too heavy, but are a bunch of tan fit vegetarians going to send their loving vibes out into the world from their jungle institute?

  Additionally, what does the popularity of yoga in western culture speak to? We clearly had spearated the mind and spirit from the body in our medicine and also in many of the ways we excercise, and are encouraged to eat very high on the tree, with meats, cheeses, and such de rigeur. It cannot be a bad thing that people are seeking answers to these questions.

  I don´t think Jesus dislikes Yoga. He would call it out on the urge it may create in others to erect purity barriers and be set apart from the world, but it is impossible to say that this is the only trajectory all of us in tree top our class are on. Do aligned chakras make me a more loving person?

  So after wilingly taking a huge step down the competency scale in coming here without a body board, and after days of sweet frustration and humility lessons peppered with lefts and right that make it all worth it, I finally got back to the boogie oboard. It is where I belong? Who knows,but I know I need to always stay true to my roots.

 
On the trip out of SFO I met three Bay Area folks. Yesterday, after my second session of theday on a 7´6 fun board to haul one great overhead wave and some pounding, I came into shore to run into the three folks from the airport sitting on the sand.

We met later that eveningfor a drink and got to talking about all manner of things, particularly with Paull, a widower for years after his wife and young son perished on Higway 17 in the years before the center median was put in to keep drunk drivers on their side of the road. The pain is still totally apparent two decades later, how incomprehensible.

   
It turns out Paull is Chrisitian, an avid sponger and a huge fan of my favorite beach, Manresa. He has kep his faith despìte the tragedy he has faced, and he lives a life still with joy. I plan on keeping in touch with him fo sponge sessions back when north swell season hits our area.

  We paddled out this morning... Ahh, the ease of the duckdive, the intuition on the wave, the gas it is to skip down the face like a flat rounded stone... Waves I have been biffing, or not ridingal the way down the line, all the previous week, became so much simpler to ride...

   I need to make sure I always am a proud sponger, never a reluctant dick dragger, forever an intractible speed bump. No matter the mind of others. Easier for me to catch that wave for the sake of my board? Is that my problem or yours...

  In some ways I realize I started stand up surfing as much to move up the totem pole as to take on a challenge. Perhaps accepting the fact that I am best on a disrespected vessel is the lesson of humility I need most to learn. I have loved the waves I have caught standing up here an do intend to keep at it, but a heart I remain a lover of the sponge.

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1. The ocean is the boss. When playing tennis, one doesn´t go to check the courts to see it is possible to play. Wind, swell, tides... waves are given to us, we don´t take them.
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  2. The ocean is the boss. With bigger waves, I need to be in just the right spot or else I will suffer either a beatdown or a trip straight towar the beach, requiring a long paddle out.

   
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3. Paddling out is a excercise in patience. Duck dive/turtle roll, paddle after wiping off water from face, snot from nose, repeat. The progress is measured in little increments.

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4. Sometimes the ocean doesn´t let you ge out, and that is that.

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  5. Riding waves, particulaly standup waves, is something that cannot be bought. I can pay the money to fly own here, rent the board, wear the gear, get the tan, but it is all no substitute for time spent in the water. Entitlement is not workable.

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  6. It is a fine line between putting yourself in position where one can be successful and putting oneself in a position of being stetched and risking frustration in the process.

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  7. One good ride is all it takes to endure many crappy ones.

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  8. Expecations need adjustment, the process of learning needs to be the focus.

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9. No learning without falling.

   
10.
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Yesterday was an amazing day and I am tired for it.

  The day began with a long walk south from Playa Guiones across a rivermouth around a rocky point to the secluded little Playa Rosada, named for the pink color of its sand.

  Jesse, Nina, Gene from South Carolina, and Gerardo, a Josefino who moved to Nosara to work at the hotel bar, and I spent half the day at the beach. We looked at sheels, closed our eyes, and learned that the crabs around here are easily fooled.

  You can throw a pebble in front of them, and they will scurry up to it, sometimes carrying it around or seeking of wrest it from another, while trying to pick the algaw off of the rock. You can do this over and over, joysticking them around the beach, their eyes propped above their heads as the rest of their bodies move flat and motionless under the whir of their legs.
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To me the most amazing part of the day was just floating out in the water of the secluded beach, the gentle breakers carrying me to and fro, totally aimless, like a kid spending hours in the swimming pool. I would throw a handful of course sand and pebbles into the air, duck underwater, and then enjoy the rain of stone onto my back... Like a smattering of rain with the elements reversed. What a joy.

  The sand there was pink, white from shells, as well as blue and clear from quarts embedded in the mostly sedimentary rock formations nearby.

  The way back from the beach, the tide was still receding, and footholds would get covered with tongues of swell. Any lower the tide, and the sense of adventure might recede, any higher, and the stupidity that produces adventure would have outweighed the joy of the risk.

  That evening, Schlomo, the Israeli who owns the restaurant and bar I have become a regular at and the boss of Gerardo, gave us a ride to Ostional, breeding and nesting grounds of the Olive Ridley Sea Turtle.
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Under the full moon we watched a momma turtle at her hole, laying perhaps 80 eggs. Her deposition made, she shovelled the sand back into place and then spend minutes using her body to compact the sand on top of the clutch. The thumping sound the flat underside of her sheel made upon the sand in the silver light was one of primal maternal love, one I will not forget.
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Up and down the beach, tutles could be seen in various stages of life and of the process of climbing up the beach, digging, laying, covering, compacting, and returning to the sea. Two nights ago, with the waxing moon, there were thousands. We saw young, energetic mothers, digging with vigor, old ones, hardly able to make their way out of the water, and one missing its right rear flipper, unable to dig the hole for its eggs.

   
The dozen or so we saw were the stragglers; to see the peak must have been completely overhwelming. Such an act  of coordination. How can thousands of animals, spread over the vastness of the Pacific, all return in such a throng?

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So I´d like to take some time to write about the Christian Surfers Costa Rica meeting I went to the other night. A bilingual Bible study made up of locals visitors, and itinerants made for a unique study.

  The meeting began,as is usual, with prayer and then a pasta dinner. There were locals, lon-tim visitors and people who have moved from San Jose, travellers como yo, a woman from Saratoga who is married to a ma who works at the central CSCR office in Jaco who was coming through town, a college student from Venezuela who is in CR to surf and learn to be a pastor, and an American pastor, Richard, from Florida who spoke minimal Spanish who was to lead the night´s study.

  Before beginning, Richard opened by saying that he would teach in a way that might be unfamilar to some, as in taking time to have everyone share rather than just straight up preaching.

  He read from Matthew 22¨34, where the Pharisees ask Jesus the most important piece of the law, the ¨Love the Lord God ith all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself,¨that one.

  The format was very familiar to me, but not to all. Addiionally, it was interesting to here passages and others´ideas in both languages. There was a lot of translation happening in both directions. From a linguisitic experience alone, it was fantastic.

   
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As we were in our study an older gentleman from San Jose, Carlos, who is designing the large international yoga center which is being built here in Nosara, came, and his participation was very active and enthusiastic. 

  I realized from the experience as well of speaking an unfamiliar laguage to share, and working so hard to understand and be understood, how much I often take value and pride from the intellectual stimulation of a Bible study rather than sustenance an inspiration from the Word as well as the experiences and ieas shared of others.

  This came home to me when the Venezuelan student and Carlos expressed how much they enjoyed the more open format...

  Strange how experiencing the familiar in the unfamiliar through the eyes of others can remove suppositions..

Last night fellow travellers Jesse, Nina, and I were taken to a local disco, the Tropicana. Our hosts were Ingrid, who works at the local hotel and who took me to the Christinsurfers meeting, and Aidi, a Montessori teachr who speaks flawless English, and who I met at he meeting.  It was a fun experience with both the expected ad unexpected.

  On our way there, we ran into a police roadblock. Aidi was driving, and did not have her ID on her, and none of us had our passports on us.

   
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Aidi told us that in her two years living there, she had never seen this. She flipped a U and went around he roadblock, and we pulled up front of the disco to see dozens of police, all armed, a police dog, and dozens of folks getting frisked and cuffed. What a scene! Ingrdmust be in the know, as she flashed her ID and we waltzed in.

  It turns out that the police were checking the IDs of everyone there to look for undocumented Nicaraguans and Columbians, in addition to giving the place a once over for drugs with the dogs. There are TONS of Nicaraguans here illegally doing a lot of the dirty work. Sounds familiar to this Californian. Additionally, as prostitution is legal here, professionals of this nature make their way here from around Latinoamerica. Additionally, some gringos got nabbed too, as there are no small number of folks on the lam end up here in CR.

  What was remarkable about the situation was that, according to Aidi, if a local did not have their ID an was unable to prove their citzenship, they too would have to get cuffed, frisked, and taken on the big ass bus that rolled up and taken to the provincal capital until proof could be secured. Then they would have to make their own way home. That would not work so hot in Califas...

  Now, onto the club itself. Not surprisingly, there was a buzzkill vibe in the place for some time, until around midnight. After that, the vibe got hotter, with reggaeton, salsa, ad cubia the selections. Reggaeton dancing is not that unlike dancing to hiphop, more either standing in tight groups or grinding.

  Salsa and cumbia are of course more couples dances, and not wanting to be rude, as well as because it is fun, I danced for several songs with Ingrid. To this rather prude American, it was fun and challenging to see dancing in contact with someone in a way other than just picking up on folks. This is the case with salsa and cumbia more than reggaeton; I didn't get the grind on as those signals are less nebulous.

  Some of the couples on the floor were just amazing,no doubt!! Who knows how much better it would have been if Nicas were there, too!!

Please pardon the lack of contractions (cannot); I am adjusticating to a new Spanish-designed keyboard.

  Ticos and ticas are so welcoming and generous it is amazing. I'd like to think that there is something about me that just opens local doors, but in reality people here have so much to teach us stuffy Amerians about hospitality. When was the last time one of us invited a tourist we saw at the Golden Gate or along the Embarcadero to see how Californians live?

  I wrote before of being invited to the Christian Surfes Nosara meeting by Ingrid, who works at the bar and restaurant attached to our hostel/hotel. More on the meeting in another post...

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  She is just one of the many locals I've (found the hyphen!) met here who have offered their time and access to local culture over th past few days. Jesse, Nina, and I will be heading to a local disco tonight at her invitation. Reggaton and salsa, estoy viendo!

   
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  Yesterday, after jokingly introducing myself to some locals as Landon, I was watched a Copa de Oro match between Costa Rica and El Salvador. (2-1 El Salvador, poor Tico defense onboth goals).  Next to me was a local guy named Nero, if I heard him correctly and can presume his parents are not versed in Roman history. He saw I have an interest in the beautiful game and then proceeded to invite me to a local game of five a side on Monday. (I did pack my turf shoes...)

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Should be interested, both the disco and the futbol cinco. As with the learning to surf, humility will be the name of the game, as I cannot dance salsa YET and certainly will play futbol cinco more like a defensively minded, square pass playing American more than anyone wose name ends -inho.
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  We're going to  a turtle refuge today to see Olive Ridley Turtles...
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Nosara has a reputation for being a foreigner zone, and I ave certainly found this to be true.

  The place I am currently staying at has a bar attached to it (which pumps music too late for me, leading me to find a new place for tonight). There is live music here on Thusdays and Saturdays, and this last Thusday saw Native Vibe, three American white guys, bring college town jam band sounds to the Kaya Sol. They played well, but the whole scene was a study in juxtapositions.

  Locals and turistas together, some shady deals going down at the edges of the light, beer and such flowing. When the music cut out the rirst song out of the stereo was Black Dog by Led Zep, and from there the KFOG classi rock kept going.  Pink Floyd, Elton John, U2, Doobies, name the band, they probably were heard.

  Nosara certainly attracts a mix of travellers, myself obviously included, whose reasons for being here generally fit only the spectrum of regeneration and vacation on one side and long-term escape, staring anew, on the other.  I slide into the former category, and others of this type include a portrait photograher from South Carolina who does art withhousing project youth there now, a principal from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, a backcountry ski  operator from Montana, and a couple from Florida, Jesse and Nina, who are grad students with whom I have been able to discuss Cormac McCarthy and ethnic literature and nature writing.

  The expats are also a diverse bunch. Thy speak varying degrees of Spanish, from flawless to hopeless, and either own many of the local businesses (most of them, to a feeling of entitled guilt from me), or allow themselves to surf daily by giving tours, surf lessons, and massages. I met a former reporter for Reuters who now is trying to develop a network of alternative currency and sustainability-based businesses here.

Hello,

  So it has been so long, since China last summer, that I have posted, that I forgot how to do it. Still dead simple, I just emailed to the wrong address. Sorry, Garry!

  The flight was no problem and I had some good time to journal and read. On the flight to Denver I was sitting next to a really sweet family heading back to CR to see family.

  I am now in Nosara, on the Nicoya Peninsula in CR. It is in the middle of the peninsula in the map below. (Note all the images are not my own).
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This is the beach only a short walk from our hotel, below.  The walk there takes one hrough the forest, with black shelled, orange spotted crabs scurrying about.

The place I am staying has a variety of levels of lodging and a nice bar and pool area that is a social hub in the town. The town is a mix of gringos and Ticos.... It feels a bit like Sayulita, Mexico. I am certainly not rolling authentic, so they say.
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  Image from:
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The wave here is not super peaky but gets big on the lower tides. Yesterday I went out on my surf mat, an inflatable wave riding toy with no leash. It is ridden not completely inflated and gives one the "illusion of speed." Unlike the body board, where steering is done with the hips and the fins, steering this thing is different, done by raising and lower the edge and pushing the wave side rail down. Duckdiving is really just a matter of holding on tight to the mat. It is also slippery, making it tough to stay in a powerful paddle position, but I am figuring that out.
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This morning a rented an 8'10" or so board, not too wide. I did well, particularly for the first day at a high tide. Got some good drops, and got down the line a few times. The paddle out is tough, with not too many rips or channels to take one out. I'll go out again this afternoon, when the tide is lower.

  One very exciting development has already materialized. Before leaving, I really was praying that I would be able to connect with some sort of service opportunity and also find a way to punch through the gingo/Tico service dynamic. I have been pretty stubborn with speaking Spanish, which is good, but still, not that breakthrough.

  This morning I was reading from "John for Everyone" by NT Wright over breakfast. The young waitress asked me if I was going out to surf, and I said I wanted to read my Bible first. It turns out she is Christian, and she invited me to the meeting of Christian Surfers Nosara tonight at 6:30! I had been in touch with the national office before I left, and knew there was a local chapter, but never heard back from them. I left breakfast this morning feeling so blessed! I hope this turns into a way to develop relationships with the locals.

  That is it from me for now!