Friday, March 20, 2009



Yesterday I finally purchased a daypack for the Costa Rica adventure.  Still, I am accepting the irrefutable evidence that I really don't want to go: haven't bought hiking boots; haven't looked up the various eco-lodge locations on any map; have done neither the writing assignment nor the "getting in shape" suggested walks.  Haven't purchased a single wicking sock.  How in the world did I get talked into this?  I know what I like - - politically-oriented trips with the potential of meeting artists, writers, human rights workers, NGO people, lawyers, elected representatives, street people, activists of every stripe, etc.   I LOVE trips with Global Exchange.  I enjoy vacations with friends to cities around the world.  I can't get enough of solo travel to weird locations.  So then. Humph.  I can't really believe I let someone (okay, Irene) noodge me into a nonfiction writing workshop concerned with "pura vida" and ecology.  A magical realism workshop concerned with poetry, maybe...but this is just going to turn out to be 11 days with earnest greenfolk who worship nature and despise what mankind has wrought.  And I'm interested in the works and machinations of humans, not bugs and badgers, moths and monkeys.
There, I've said it.
Or maybe I'm just too bone-lazy for endless hot walks (with "moderate elevation", whatever horrible-to-anticipate breathing difficulty that entails!) in the cloud forest.

910/2/13 update

It was a fabulous adventure, I learned and learned and learned, fell in love with all my trip-mates, and take back every sentence of the above rant. Well, not taking back what I felt, pre-trip. So, let's just amend it now that I am post-anxiety, years on, and have other writing workshops under my scaredy-cat belt. The fear was about the writing, not the hiking, actually. Nature is our friend.

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