Sunday I took a Catamaran to Tortuga (turtle) Island with 7 other volunteers and tons of other tourists and locals. After 1.5 hour boat ride, we arrived at the island and I must say that I was rather disappointed that it wasn't covered in sea turtles. It was, however, a beautiful white sand beach where I could spend the day laying in the sun. While the other girls snorkeled, I opted for sitting in a chair and talking with one other volunteer, and while they all went on the banana boat, I read Pete's "Empty Promises," which I just bought in Spanish. One may say that I am a "party pooper," but I would have to disagree. I think it would be more appropriate to call myself independent. I have been snorkeling a few too many times, and am not crazy about banana boats - especially when I don't know the man driving the boat - therefore the safety of a book was much more appealing.
One activity I did partake in, however, was the horseback riding on the beach; I did this mainly to make my father proud. After having a handful of bad experiences on horses, and being slightly addicted to the illusion that I am in control, horses often frighten me. But because I know one of the things my father wants more for me than anything is to love horses like he does, I, too, want that for myself. So I road the horse. Of course, the crazy Tico man decided to get out a HUGE boa, wrap it around his neck, and walk alongside me and my horse, making the horse's heart beat almost as fast as my own... nevertheless, I survived. And I had a good time. I even got to make friends with a sweet little turtle.
Monday was similar, yet different, when I went to Jaco with two other girls. While Tortuga Island has only twelve people living on it, all of whom are living off of tourism and seemingly happy, Jaco was just about the opposite. Full of tourism, sure, however, also full of locals who were in pretty bad shape. The women wore long faces, and the men did not seem trusty worthy; its was as though you could see the drugs seeping from some of their pores. And though I never felt threatened, I was once again reminded why I don't want to be there at night, and how desperation often brings out the worst in people. The tourist street is semi-decent, yet beginning a street over on either side are the nearly uninhabitable structures these people call home. In no way am I trying to be disrespectful, but the poverty is just so different. Sometimes just a street over exists an entirely different world. And though I know this to be true, it never fails to hurt my heart.
the tourist area
post beach iced coffee with my love :)
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