Deeper into Puerto Viejo we meet a Vietnam Vet and Arctic Fishermen

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So one day, a ride up the coast in search of finer sands seemed like a swell idea. We hired a couple of bikes from some German bloke - if you could call them that - real pair of jalopies. Mine had these handlebars at a 45 degree angle that broke my wrists as we negociated pot-holes during the itinerant torrential rains (which we began to learn arrive for an hour around mid-aft, though occasionally could go on pissing you through till tea-time) - the plan had been to go in the morning, when there's some sun, but as usual Waking Up Sofie proved a toughie. Even with the prospect of some rays (sun is her second favourite thing).

But we eventually make progress, and find some dryness as the showers subside and turn back into fluffy clouds, so we stop off at the odd cafe and various beaches.



A bike. Note that this is someone else's (much better) bike.



The bike above was outside the cafe we went to but we wouldnt put our bikes under trees like that one, because we believed this story that one of the most common killers is the coconut (falling from a tree that is; I didn't think they went around in militias, terrorising tourists. Though now I am imagining all kinds of things like the infamous 'Columbian Coconuts' - truly cold-blooded coconuts who wear shades and have gun-belts and will take you down, take you down to Chinatown).

Er, so yeah, noting several coconuts lying ominously at the foot of some trees, we parked our jalopies - I doubt even the local youths would bother to steal one of them - at the side of the cafe.

Walking around after the rains, some of the post bad-weather skies are breath-taking.





Sofie padding along the sand...







Old tree.



A man from 'Nam meets a crab fisherman

(That has poetic rhythm, almost)

So one night, we are having dinner in this incongruously upmarket bar/restaurant right on the main street (I forget the name, but you can't miss it if you go: smart designer gaff with trendy chairs and tables, and pristine white drapes around the perimeter (breached occasionally, if not comically, by opportunistic African dudes doing their best at pushing dope and coke with the utmost deference and discretion. pssssst! Blow? Weed, sir? ) Bizarre. )





Anyway, it's only early and Sofie says she's not feeling too good in the stomach, where I on the other hand, have quite a thirst on and once on that ride, you don't feel like getting off: the bar and its agreeable-looking stools only feet away. I think the 2-for-1 cocktails sign also had a tractor-beam like effect. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back?" I ask dutifully, after she's told me I can stay for a beer if I like (I always perceive that last part as intentionally guilt-inducing, but am learning to unlearn this after several upsets and later, debates on cultural differences between Danes and Englishmen). Anyway, I'd previously mentioned that a couple of friendly Americans were au comptoir (we liked meeting Americans generally, as they were always so chuffed/amazed that a Dane and a Brit had just driven around part of their small country for over a month).

Despite such an inviting scene however, off she trots. So still harbouring trifle guilt, I shuffle over to the bar and plonk myself on a white-leather topped stool. "How's it going?" I immediately enquire of the moustachioed, circa 60-year old chap (I think these german-style moustaches, that, LOL, I have seen a lot on middle-aged Germans, have become co-incidentally a la mode among their US counterparts). I forget the name of the guy now so let's call him George... anyway, George is a retired dude now and the thing that most interested me about him was he was a veteran of Vietnam. I would have loved to have full battle-field accounts of the whole thing, but I could only hope he would tell me things of his own accord - you just can't tell what mental state someone from those times could still be in can you.

His credentials came out in a round-about way though, during conversation with a younk Alaskan. He was a kid around 20, slim but with oddly bulging biceps in a pristine white T-shirt, who after making eye-contact with us from a table, suddenly came over and introduced himself in a way that made me think he was reading a script from Top Gun. First, sticking his hand out to George (seniority in terms of vintage clearly coming first): "It's good to meet you sir! My name's Chris." And then we shook hands too. He told us he was on an eight-day trip to Costa Rica and wondered what he should do. Gee....I thought, what the hell can you do in just eight days. I couldn't believe he'd come all the way down from Alaska, on finding that out. Must be worth it just to get warm I guess, it being winter in North America now.

I asked him, "So what you doin' up there Chris in Alaska?"
"Fishing crab", he said, matter-of-factly.
"What, you mean on those little boats I've seen on the Discovery Channel that get all iced up so that you've gotta hack it off to not sink? Isn't that one of those 'most dangerous jobs in the world' jobs?" I suddenly felt guilty that the most dangerous thing about my job as a (PC-based) engineer was a few strained wrists and eyes - even Carpel Tunnel Syndrome doesn't quite match trying to stay on board a rocking ship cracking its way through frozen seas whilst you hawl in pots of King Crab.

George's reaction was more physical and he leapt up, grabbing Chris's wrist to hawl him over towards him, shaking his hand again and slapping him on his back: "Son, let me get you a drink. I tell ya, I was in Vietnam and I'd fight THREE of those wars rather than do your job!". So, after breaking the ice (sorry), we all ordered more booze and got into some warm chat. I'm always wary about the political persuasions of people from the US when travelling, particularly during this poignant moment in history when their Chief Executive is a gerbil (see below).



George Bush, Jnr.



"Jesus George, you mean you were THERE? You were actually in those jungles, bitten to death by insects whilst being shot at?!"
He looked thoughtfully into his glass, as his bushy silver moustache twitched, "yes sir, terrible, terrible time".
Delicately as I could put it, I say "So how the fuck was THAT when you came home, the reception like?"

"Ahh it was awful man; I mean, people who werent there couldnt know what it was like. I lost so many friends, great pals you know. You go through so much."

"And that was before they really treated people for all the post-traumatic stress stuff right - I read that some Vets are only getting treatment now for the first time - how did you deal with it?"

"Like everybody else, I just pretended it never happened. I came home, got a job, worked four years without a break then got married. Then I started my own business and threw everything I had into that. Got quite rich - in fact this is one of many vacations, travelling the world. I am here with my wife for a month, mainly sea-fishing. "

"It's great to see Americans taking holidays!"

"But anyway, it was only a few years back, when my kids had grown up and left home, that it finally hit me. One day, I just broke down in the office......and all the memories, horrible memories, came flooding back. Then I just couldnt carry on. I just didnt want to live - you feel so guilty that YOU made it and others didnt. I sold up the business and stopped working, and eventually, started my therapy."
I think he said he had about 5 years of almost full-time therapy. "How are you nowadays?"

"I'm fine, it's fine. You basically sit with many others who're going through the same thing, and console each other. Not everyone is so successful though. It depends on your character and personality, how well you come through it. Some find only suicide is the answer. For me, working hard, my family and the therapy pulled me through and now I am very happy."

"Well, you enjoy these vacations man. Jesus."

He asked me what brought me half-way around the world, and so I explained that after slogging over my doctorate for 6 years whilst working in all these companies, travelling was my gift to myself. "Well GOOD FOR YOU son!!" he praised, in the warmest tones.

"Cheers, it meant a lot to me getting that. I was a bit of a dosser and loser at school and drifted into being a car and truck mechanic; still, did me no harm I suppose and it honed my interest in studying, two years lying in oily overalls and rapping my knuckles on cold chassis. I 'm really happy as an engineer though - I think I made the right choice. I get to design stuff that people use, and that's what I always wanted to do....short of being an astronaut of course."

I was conscious of going on and on about my topsy-turvy route into and through higher education, so left it there. He was thrilled though, and I received another of about three pats on the back. Oh, Chris had gone by now - he had just got in and was tired (and I think was after a bit of slap and tickle with his missus who'd slipped off before I arrived). I'd made an arrangment to meet them both the next night anyway.

The chat continued on, revolving around a few things, such as British support for the American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the health insurance system in the States. We didnt talk too much about the current 'war on terror', but I was happy that he was well displeased with the situation America has got itself entrenched with in Iraq: "It's wrong, just fucking wrong". On the health and medicare thing in the US, George told me that several hospitals in his state had had to close because they'd run out of money. This was due to the hospitals kindly taking in all the non tax-paying immigrants. "Maybe they could have checked the number of immigrants coming in, and set up a quota or limit or something, to share resources at least between them and Americans who needed treatment" I suggested. "Son, do you wanna run for President?!!" came George's reply, adding that the government is run by a set of clowns, or something equivalent. So at least I could see that we were on a level regarding the satanical Bush Administration.

"You and America can't have anymore embarrassing presidents; America, great nation that it once was and SHOULD BE AGAIN, cannot endure anymore of them. You need an incredibly intelligent, technically astute and cultivated peace-broker. Bush got rid of Kyoto, has literally blown up the Middle-East, and his answer to the 'immigrant problem' is to just build a fucking wall, which is costing about a billion dollars!"

"Exactly Julian! They won't punish the ones causing the problem - it's not the Mexicans' fault; I understand them, they need the money, and are willing to work for almost nothing! They say Americans won't do those jobs, well if you have some Mexican who will do it for a couple of dollars an hour with no health insurance to pay or vacation, then of course the Americans aren't gonna get those jobs. It should be a federal offence to hire someone in that way. But do you see managers being sent to jail? Do you hell - CHEAP LABOUR that's all it's about. Keep the rich rich and that's all there is to it."

"Politics is in there too - I read Bush was considering giving passports to any immigrants that would vote for him! Can you believe that crap. This wall is just bullshit anyway - it'd be impossible to police the entire border, it's two thousand miles long and mostly in hellish conditions, which is why half of them die to cross it. So they know it's just symbolic, the president is 'doing something about it' in the most primitive way but all the while knowing all his friends in the upper echelons of Republican society can keep their cheap hands on deck. I read recently how Walmart is one of the companies routinely using illegal immigrants - fucking disgusting. No wonder everything's so cheap up there."

Well, it kind of went on like that, besides general holiday talk and I was well-pleased to find such discontent with his current president; I never even asked, I realised, whether he was a Dem or Rep. Probably the former, but I wasn't sure at first.

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