Whatever Happened to Frequency Hopper?

 Matt's bear had his own seat on my recent flight to Denver.

My readership was up to about 2.5K around the time that I returned to the United States from Scotland in 2011.

A great feat for a plucky half-time traveler!

Then suddenly the wire went dead. What happened?

I suffered a junk tech meltdown:

I compose Frequency Hopper on legacy machines.

A glitzy laptop makes one a target for thieves. 

If one busts out a pink clamshell Mac in a busy Athens café there may be snickers of pity, but one gets to keep the laptop when one leaves.

The primary drawback to legacy machines is that they break down.

Pismo, my trusty 2001 Macbook, suffered a shock on the road back from Costa Rica. Pismo was succeeded by Iggy, a  2004 1Ghz g4 iBook.



l to r: Pismo at the base of the Arenal volcano in Costa Rica. Iggy at a desk across from Hulen Lake in Missouri.

When I came back to San Francisco this past August, Iggy suffered a crack in his welding. The Mac repair place said I was better off replacing him than fixing him.

So now I have Pablo, a 2005 1.5 Ghz PowerBook.

After several failed attempts, I rescued data off Iggy with the help of some C-clamps that pressed the pieces of his cracked weld together.

Pablo is more robust and I look forward to many new adventures with him.

In addition, I popped a 32 Gig flash drive with 2 years worth of photos and videos on it.

A consultant in San Francisco wanted $500 to recover that data, a task that mostly requires patience and skill with a solder iron.

While I’m in Colorado, I can get it done for a fraction of that price.

So, that’s what I’m doing to get promised posts to you all.

My flatmates all melted down:

Chez Dale was the site of flatmate drama this past year.

As soon as I left for Scotland, one of my legal subtenants staged a rent protest over the phone and then moved out.

He moved two people into his room while I was gone.  When I returned, both my former legal subtenant and his duo of squatters verbally assaulted me and cyberbullied me.

They called me a liar, framed all kind of personal attacks on me based on my age and my sexuality, wrote a running criticism on my generosity (their rent was under market by several hundred dollars) and basically made my life as difficult as possible.

It took three months of standing my ground and a thousand dollars in legal fees and blood money to get my apartment back.

To add insult, the temporary occupant of my room,  rather than cleaning my room to suit herself, moved my entire library, organized by author and genre, into the mudroom, “because the books were dusty.” 

She placed many of them against a sweating window where quite a few rotted.

How I typically organize a bookcase (l) and a book damaged in my absence (r).

Many books, rare, signed personally to me by authors, were utterly lost to black mold. Those that were not lost were disorganized and I spent many hours recovering what was left over from mistreatment. 

As a writer, I form emotional attachments to these volumes, which mark my twenty years in San Francisco. To recover, I not only had to overcome my anger and sadness and also take time out of my busy schedule to move, sort, and recatalogue 1500 volumes.

I've been working hard:

Travel blogging doesn’t pay the rent. Sometimes it pays the gas bill.

I could hit up travel companies to be my corporate sponsors. And I am aware that Kickstarter gave out more money in grants than the NEA did last year.

But what I do instead is temporary office and event work.

I make about ½ of what my employer charges to do work I am precipitously overqualified for. Some weeks I make enough to pay for a trip overseas, some weeks I make only enough to keep the gas from being cut off at home.

I do some side writing, research and internet work and then I save save save. Sometimes I have a windfall. Recently, I got compensated for work I did almost three years ago.

Since, I can save money on the road over the cost of living in San Francisco, I travel when I can see there is no work.

There has been work. I was fortunate enough to work all but four days between August 1 and President’s Day.

I’ve had some wonderful contracts with some big names. They are no substitute for creating my own employment and seeing the joy in the face of a travel provider when I feature their tour or vacation rental.

I fell in love:

I unexpectedly met Matt on Market Street one night when he was visiting the City from Germany.

He asked me for directions and I gave him my digits.

He called 15 minutes later and we became inseparable.

I asked him to spend the rest of his time in the United States at Chez Dale and we enjoyed six weeks of cohabitation.

He serenaded me with his guitar, went hiking with me, did laundry with me and ate the vegan meals I prepared every night.

His unexpected humor and lightheartedness is what I like most about him.

One night, I made soup with a bay leaf. He took the bay leaf into his mouth with the last drop of soup and then spit it out like a green feather as he made a bird call.

That’s what I’m up against!

Your's Truly and Matt, Matt and Your's Truly.

As the day of his departure drew near, the contradictory nature of the U.S. immigration system for same-sex couples became evident.

If Matt was going back to a country where he could expect to be tortured, imprisoned, or killed for being gay, he could seek asylum. Because he fell in love with a man rather than a woman he would be expected return to Berlin. 

One night at Café Flore, we debated about “flying to Iowa” to get married, but quickly determined it would be of no help.

I took his hand in mine. I looked him in the eye and told him, “WHEN I ask you to marry me, it won’t be because of the federal government! AND there will be a ring!”

It is impossible to see the United State's compelling interest in keeping same-sex couples from marrying, true. It feels personal. It's as though the federal government actually wants to keep us apart or make us miserable.

They are putting red tape in our way, and in the way of hundreds of other couples like us. Red tape that would never put in the way of a mixed-sex couple.

BUT…

Matt's bear looking out over the Rockies.

- My tech issues are nearing an end.

- I have two wonderful new legal subtenants.

- I’m on the road again. This week I leave for Ecuador and Peru.

- Matt comes back to me from Berlin in a few months.  He has a good stateside attorney and good advice from friends in Germany.  We’re determined to be together.

Matt's bear eating his peanuts.

You, dear readers, give me confidence that all these challenges are worth overcoming.

You’ve inspired me with you snail mails and your emails, your comments and your friendship.

Mostly, you inspired me with the stories of your risk-taking: especially those of you who’ve gone abroad to new places this year.

So please keep reading because I’m not done fighting! :)

Raleigh's Crape Myrtle Festival

My pals Sean and Michael walking to the elegant Raleigh Convention Center. Is that a shimmery Crape Myrtle tree superimposed on the upper windows?

What is Crape Myrtle?

If you’re talking about the tree, it’s a dramatic one that grows throughout the south with ruffled flowers of pink and purple.

If you’re talking about the festival, it’s Raleigh’s annual fundraiser that takes place every summer concurrent with the Triangle Pride and Shades of Pride celebrations.

 The Raleigh hotties in attendance worked a mix of cocktail and casual looks. 

Over the past 30 years, the festival has raised tens of millions for North Carolina’s consenting sexual minorities and the HIV positive.

I attended the party last summer, when I visited my friend, politico Sean Kosofsky and his partner, Michael.

Anniversary cake realness

For just a couple bills, we were treated to hors d'oeuvres, slices of fanciful fondant cake, a drag show, fine art, and a silent auction.

 The ladies of "Legends," Raleigh's premiere drag show

Panels from the AIDS Quilt were on display especially for the 2010 event.

The 2011 gala’s theme is “Heroes: There’s One in Each of Us.” Hopefully, this will inspire some cosplay: Raleigh has some hunky mens!

You can purchase tickets here or at the July 30th event, which takes place at the Raleigh's Contemporary Art Museum.

Nightlife Adventures in Denver, Colorado

When I fly into Denver, I usually stay with my Mom just north of here. So staying with a friend in town for a few days and nights is an adult treat.

My pal David is typical of Californians emigrating to Colorado. He used to have a high-powered career and an overpriced home. He now has greater disposable income relative to necessities and a more conservative outlook on healthy living.

David lives in Capitol Hill, walking distance from dozens of brew houses, restaurants, and alternative businesses. He lives with his 15-years-young Pomeranian, Teddy and cultivates a contrarian sense of humor.

Because Teddy is mostly bald, people ask what breed he is when one walks him. David says his breed is “old.”

His computer is programmed to play a riff from “Master of Puppets,” Metallica’s famous drug-addiction song, whenever one of his friends logs onto Facebook.

The vibe in this part of downtown Denver skews younger and more transient than other U.S. cities. There is no rent control. The market is filled with attractive affordable sale apartments. There are lots of alternative businesses.




It is more diverse than the rest of Colorado, where the dominant Mexican-American and Euro-mutt contingents saturate a landscape covered with churches and schools. There are tons of black folks and gays and a small international crowd.

Many of the nightspots in Denver give casual nods to the its Wild West roots. It is not unusual to see cowboys or wagon wheels or beer barrels. Instead of a disco ball, Charlie’s has a pair of mirror paneled shit-kickers hanging over the dance floor.

Cerro Chatto Adventure

Chatto is the cluster of mountains just south of Volcan Arenal. From downtown La Fortuna, they resemble a sleeping man with a round nose, a large belly and an erection. At the top of Chatto is a lagoon. I scaled the mountain to reach it Wednesday.


The Circa de Cataratas ends less than a kilometer away from the Abercam resort in an open stable and a parking lot with several squat brown buildings. The Chatto trailhead is up the hill to the right.

Butterfly weed, white ginger, torch ginger, ornamental bananas, plumerias, and several other recognizable cultivars flanked the circuitous route to the trailhead. I crossed a lichen covered log bridge.

A network of slick grasses are perhaps the best way to keep the muddy hillside from erroding. The barbed wire fences bordering them, however, are dangerous for those who slip, so I took extra caution in this area.

After 45 minutes, I reached the trailhead. The views of downtown La Fortuna and environs were most impressive here. A sign suggested the remaining hike was 1750 meters or a little over a mile.

The first portion of the trail was log steps braced with iron stakes. Towering narrow trees on either side formed a protective cover from the light rain.

Though the wildlife on the trail was limited at the time of day I traveled, I did see many unusual sights.

The range of mushrooms on the trail impressed me. I’d never seen nokki mushrooms in the wild or candy cap mushrooms that were as large as the specimens here. There was a ribbon like fungus that resembled green lasagna noodles, a matte black mushroom that resembled jet, and several wood-ear varieties.

The mosses were also notable. Wet or dry, they seemed to cover every tree. One frosty groundcover resembled tiny interlocking green coins.

Ants were surprisingly scarce, perhaps due to an overplus of tiny frogs. Several times, I was pursued by curious white mosquitos.

With about 750 meters to go, the difficulty of the hike changed significantly. Where sure footholds had been carved into rock there was now only wet soil. Pulling oneself up by tree roots was sometimes the only means available to advance along the trail. I had to pause and stategize periodically.

I did not carry water and was somewhat dehydrated. Several times between the 350 and 170 meters marks I sat down to clear my head.

I never doubted that I would complete the climb. I did wonder why I’d decided to pursue it. I wondered if the lagoon at the end would be worth the trouble. I was grateful that the trail was here, that the climb was possible, but questioned what humankind is doing at places like Cerro Chatto? Are we really more likely to protect nature if we come in contact with it in this way?

The last 170 meters was straight down the edge of the crater to the lagoon. There were fewer footholds and many dangerous loose branches. It is here that a knowledgable guide taking the path in advance of the hiker would be most rewarding.

The trail tailed out at the water’s edge, a seven foot square clearing with a bench. A large tree extended a branch over the water that would be excellent to climb on before swimming. I was disinclined to jump into the placid, slightly acid water. I did wash my hands and face with it refreshingly.

As I relaxed the dense mist hanging over the lagoon cleared. The thick vegetation around the water and the shape of the crater became evident. I could see all but the northwest corner of the lagoon.

I’ve been a hiker since I was a child growing up near the Colorado Rocky Mountains and I’ve done a lot of trail-based climbing. Chatto was one of the most challenging trails I’d climbed in my life.

On the way back it began to rain heavily, deepening the care I was obliged to take in my adventure.

I grew more optimistic in my thinking. I reflected on the way I used to engage hiking as a child, when nature was so obviously wonderful. The excitement of landscapes is in their ability to deliver this clarity, where archetypal surroundings feel unique and personal.

Abercam Pool Adventures

One of my favorite features of the Abercam resort over the past two months has been it’s delightful pool area and open air cantina.

Guests of the resort have 24 hour access to the well-maintained, delicately heated pool. Depending on their preference, co-owner Tim Abernathy will adjust the temperature up or down. Foreigners like the water warmer, Ticos prefer it tepid or even chilly.

In the afternoon and evening hours, all enjoy free drinks at the bar. Abercam’s rum punch is the most frequently requested drink followed closely by Imperial beer.

Most visitors are between the ages of thirty and fifty, with well-planned active vacations. They indulge themselves in moderation at the bar and engage the poolside daily.

Those who do not wish to stay overnight may enjoy a noon to dusk pool pass for about $10. This includes towel service and a single drink from the bar. Locals, including many expatriate Americans, take advantage of this option.

Costa Rican vlogger Michael Skofield and his partner D’Angelo frequently bring friends up for an evening. Every other week, a group of men from nearby San Ramon visit, numbering from three to seven depending on their availability.

The machismo of Costa Rican men is more subdued than in other Latin-Catholic countries. There is an easy-going appreciation for the mechanics of sex and the body and a feeling that these pleasures are universal regardless of their object.

As a result, many Ticos are hetero-flexible or bisexual. They are reluctant to identify themselves as openly gay. Many have children and all have varying degrees of accountability to their wives and families.

Venues like Abercam are more important in this cultural climate. Men from locations where gay communities are more public and ubiquitous tend to lead skinny dipping and casual consenting touch. In return, the Ticos provide dining and entertainment tips and conversation in Spanish.

My favorite days at the pool were those rare hot and dry afternoons when Arenal and it’s plumes of sulphurous smoke were visible in the distance.

My favorite nights were those between guests with hosts Abernathy and Wayne Campbell playing Carly Simon and the Rolling Stones on a boombox and sharing anecdotes about their experience of gay life in Florida during the late seventies and early eighties.

Lava Tour Adventure

(Baldi Hot Springs photo courtesy Steve Kettman।)

Every day around 3pm, visitors to oft cloudy La Fortuna make a decision: to tour or not to tour.

Almost every operator in town operates a “Lava Tour,” a nighttime exploration to constantly erupting sand giant.

Fellow Abercam guest Steve and I went in for one of these after dark adventures on a night where the skies appeared to be clearing.

Our guide was William, a survivor of the 1968 Arenal eruption, current resident of nearby Zeta Trece, and one of the few people who has (illegally) scaled the volcano.

Unlike other volcanoes where lava is molten, Arenal disgorges red hot rocks.

On our drive to the lookout points, William shared a laminated scrapbook with us. He told us about how Arenal shot huge boulders the size of busses into the air and how the hot rocks came crashing down. They made a whistling sound as they flew, he noted, and then split apart on impact leaving huge craters in the ground.

In many places he pointed out trees or vegetation that had sprung up in the craters. One unexplained phenomenon was how some trees shot up directly in the center of the depressions.

William took us to a private lookout point just ahead of the Arenal Observatory just over a hanging bridge and through a rainforest path thick with citronella and bromeliads.

When we reached the site, the skies cleared rather quickly. Our eyes adjusted and we could make out the moonlit shape of the volcano quite easily. We listened closely for the pop of the rocks shooting out from the chamber.

After a half-hour, we got a few veiny sputterings. Content with this surprise, we agreed to get on with the next part of the tour and William agreed to pull over the car at public vantage points along the way back in case there were any surprises.

Our good timing would find us at the last public vantage point at the precise moment the largest fountain of the night tumbled down. The cone belched with a flicker and two distinct paths of glowing orange rock trickled down the right side, breaking apart and sputtering into blackness like fireworks.

We continued on to the Baldi Hot Springs, one of several locations fed by the naturally heated water drawn from volcanic tables.

In an hour and a half we hardly covered 2/3 of the sprawling Baldi property which featured over 13 pools with temperatures ranging from 88 degrees to 152 degrees Fahrenheit. This last, hottest pool you can really only dip your feet in.

One tented pool featured cement chaise lounges lifting out of the water. My favorite was a jaccuzi featuring three man-made waterfalls and a bifurcated path with cold pools set inside.

A couple pools featured swim up bars. One of the bars had a mezzanine level and two giant screen televisions featuring the night soccer match of the Costa Rican national team.

I tired out the giant uncovered water slide. It was more like a ski-jump actually. I sat in the appropriate position and shot down the ramp with such tremor and velocity it made me feel my body would split apart.

We weren’t particularly excited about the ten dollar towel deposit fee or the five dollar locker service charge (who doesn’t want a towel and a locker?) Also, the overworked staff, at 9:40 pm, was over anxious to hustle us out before the 10pm close.

The waters, however, were uniformly relaxing.

Caño Negro Adventure

(Caño Negro photos courtesy Steve Kettman.)

Near the northern border, Caño Negro Reserve consists of over 100 square kilometers.

Unlike a national park, locals and farmers are permitted to live and work within it’s limits provided they maintain a specific buffer around their property. The dynamic saves the govermnent in national park staffing, keeps the region wild, and keeps locals in the money.

While the waters of the Caño Negro Lake are at historic lows, rare and endangered wildlife continue to populate the area.

My Abercam pal Steve and I took a Caño Negro cruise with Canoa Aventura tour company and fellow travelers from Switzerland, England and British Colombia, Canada.

It was a day filled with satisfying sightings.

At the beginning our Rio Frio cruise, I spotted a reptile on my Costa Rica wish list, the basilisk lizard. Locally known by the nickname “Jesu Christi” for their ability to walk on water by quickly moving their hind legs, the basilisk’s English name also cites mythology. Medieval folklore held that the basilisk was a creature the body of a serpent and the head of a bird. It was believed to be so ugly it would turn it’s observers into stone.

Our entire group hoped to see all three kinds of Costa Rican monkey. Our guide, Pablo, careful not to dash our hopes, joked that he hoped to see a jaguar, a relative impossibility.

But shortly afterward, we spotted a group of howler monkeys, including an albino juvenile. Pablo noted that albino monkeys are more common as human encroachment on habitat forces many monkeys to mate within their own bloodlines.

Steve immediately spotted a group of white-faced capuchin feeding on palm fruits on the opposite shore. The capuchins made attack faces and noises at their neighbors to the south.

Just when we thought the excitement was over, an enormous crowd of spider monkeys burst through the folliage, following one another single file through the trees. We saw many mothers with babies on their backs. Within ten minutes all three species had presented themselves boldly.

Near the entrance to Caño Negro, a pile of brown rocks near the red clay shoreline turned out to be several dozen caiman, eyes above and noses below the water. We later saw one munch a large tilapia.

Iguana perched on feathery trees high above the water. When they are attacked they drop into the river to avoid becoming lunch. The Ticos refer to them as “Chicken of the Tree,” but have largely stopped consuming iguana in their diet.

Birdwatching was rich with variety. Three kinds of kingfisher, two kinds of egret, and several kinds of heron. We saw many northern jacana and hinga birds, an ibis, a wood stork, and a large bat falcon.

In another eagle eye moment, I spied a grey hooded kite, about twice the size of a parrot, but roughly the same shape. This carnivorous kite is actually a dark powder blue with alternating black and white feathers on it’s inner wings.

The last group we saw were a flock of rosette spoonbills. They resemble flamingos in their coloring but have unusual blue bills and a ordinary standing posture.

Afterward we ate a leisurely lunch at the Caiman Restaurant, a well balanced feast included with the tour.

In the weeks to come I hope to pass through Caño Negro again on my way to a day trip in Granada, Nicaragua.

Volcan Arenal Dessert

Even away from home it’s impossible to keep me from inventing in the kitchen! Two helpings of my Volcan Arenal dessert.

Volcan Arenal dessert: Vanilla ice cream atop a bed of limon cured apple slices, with apple puff pastry mountainsides, Melcochas de Natilla rocks, and guava jelly lava made to “glow” with a dusting of mandarin sour powder.

Thanks to fellow Abercam guest Steve Kettman for providing the salads that preceeded.

Adventure in the Old House and Old House Cooking

The house where I am staying is referrred to as The Old House as it was the first building on the Abercam property only ten years ago.

Tim Abernathy and Wayne Campbell, my hosts, stayed here for two years during the construction of their four villas and their own lodging, located in the heart of the resort above the open air bar.

The Old House is constucted of sturdy rainforest woods. Slats of a dry, heavily knotted cedar-like wood are layed front to back to create walls. The roof is made from black cane, covered on top by recycled polymer shingles, a federal requirement. The floors throughout are tiled with red Spanish clay.

On the walls, Tim and Wayne have hung a collection of yard long African masks, carved from ebony wood. Two are painted green, red and gold. Two are fringed with jute shag hair!

The house is a beautiful hideout when it rains. Dry and secluded and dimly lit.

Latice work and four hatch windows provide ventilation. There is no glass. Screens are layed over the openings.

A pentagonal porch stretches out for fifteen feet over the front of the house. It’s shadowed by orange halliconias, a yarrow-like flower that produced a poisonous blackberry, pineapple bushes, and orchidae. Ferns and moss and regional curiousities like wild cilantro over the ground

There are three hummingbird feeders which provide entertainment. The foremost of which is a small bird who jealously guards one feeder. He perches on a support the gardener built and swoops in to scare away those birds who dare to dip their beak in his artificial flowers.

I was very angry with the house cat last week when, while the bird was perched on something low laying, she pounced and caught him in her mouth. She strolled with him between her teeth for a dozen paces before the bird fought back and finally escaped.

I was sure the bird was mortally wounded.

He was back at his post today. He lost a few feathers and looks battered but is just as feisty and still getting his way.

My “feeder” is the tiny, blue tiled kitchen. I have a pie safe, a refrigerator, a hot plate, two stock pots, a large frying pan, a rice cooker, and a blender.

I have one menacing looking all purpose knife. The Ticos use the word “cuchillio” for everything from a butter knife to a machete. Groceries typically have a spare cuchillio for cutting plantains and other fruits from hanging stalks.

There are several cooking spoons, kitchen sheers and a spatula. Plenty of plates and tableware

Because of the potential for ants and flies, anything that is open must be wrapped in a sealed plastic tub or wrapped the refrigerator. You can not leave food out and you must clean up immediately after every meal. Tico kitchens are clean!

The freezer is mostly filled with ice. The only frozen food universally available here is ice cream. This is prohibitively expensive (about ten dollars for two pints), of modest variety (there are several different takes on vanilla), and of marginal quality.

It is also tough to find 100 percent butter here. Brown eggs are cheap and plentiful but rarely refrigerated. There are very few kinds of cheese and they all taste a bit gluey.

I’ve been making black beans and rice (the national dish), instant potatoes, lentil stew, and bread slice pizzas. In the mornings, I sometimes eat oatmeal. More often than now, I eat fresh fruit cured with limon juice. It’s hard to find proper lemons or limes, but the sour green limon is a worthy substitute.

There some unusual common fruit juices. Orange-carrot is very common. So is pineapple-guava. Fruit punch is typically orange-pineapple-guava-papaya.

For a refresher, I’m enjoying pre-sweetened agua frescas that you mix from a powder in envelopes. Today I’m drinking passionfruit, but I’ve also had hibiscus and soursop flavors. I find I need to drink about 1 liter a day on hot days just to keep hydrated.

The Circa de Cataratas Adventure

(photo courtesy Scott Robinson, wiki commons)

The Abercam resort is located at 1800 feet above sea level. Downtown La Fortuna, by contrast, is slightly below sea level. The two are 4 kilometers apart.

Twice a week, typically Tuesday and Friday, I have been traveling the steep down the Circa de Cataracas to run errands. The hike takes about 40 minutes to an hour each way depending on your pack and the weather.

I slide the huge wooden door that connects the Grande Tapia Blanca just far apart enough to edge through and close it behind me.

On a clear day, you can see Nicaragua to the North - a pile of distant green mountains.

The Circa is not yet fully paved. It alternates gravel and tarmac, gravel and cement, gravel and grey brick as though the public works department could not decide how to approach it.

In truth, the project is so large for La Fortuna the city must do it in stages. These bits of paved road represent the curves and grades that must be reinforced when the road is entirely paved next year.

About half of the homes along the road are private residences. Squat, single story, no basement. These homes typically have a garage and a small acerage. Since would be difficult to farm on this terrain, most keep horses or cows or both.

The cattle hang out in enormous pastures all day, bobbing their heads and chewing. They are often not of a single variety, but a mix of different breeds of dairy cattle and cattle for slaughter. Sometimes property owners hire their neighbors cattle to chew down the overgrowth in a vacant lot.

Horses generally have to work a bit harder. Most are called upon for a strenuous horseback ride through Monteverde, a protected zone at the top of the mountain. Horse poop is an obstacle for drivers and hikers all along the road.

More desirably, lucky horseshoes fall on the path as well. After stumbling on a few rusty half-shoes, I found a whole one in perfect shape the other day. It belonged to a ranch whose brand is Delta, which I considered a good omen (I write Delta Magnet Blog.)

The other homes along the Circa are live/work style cottage businesses. The nearest on to Abercam is a hammock shop where hundreds of brightly colored, hand woven hammocks cover every square inch of a porch and a modest showroom.

A wood carver, immigrated to Costa Rica from the US, has a small studio on the switchback beneath. He’s carved two male torsos out of rosewood for the Abercam bar.

The advertisement seems to be working. One of the last guests at the resort trekked down the road to commission a lean, muscular 24” torso for his coffee table at home. The price? A super cheap $152!

Another curiousity, a palm wood shack selling coconut water almost never has customers. According to Geraldo, who is pals with the owner, they used to have a brisk business selling beer, but then his freind “changed his mind” about selling alcohol.

There are plenty of campgrounds and “cabinas” for about $30 a night. There is also a few lovely sprawling lodges which are favored by European visitors. At least one has an open air restaurant that serves Typicos, “typical food,” which generally means Empenadas, fried plantains, and Casado or “married” lunch where rice and beans are combined with meat and a salad.

The Ticos are generally a friendly bunch and will exchange “Hola” or “Buenas,” with you. “Buenas” covers all times of day (“dias,” “tardes,” and “noches”) to a stranger. One response to “Buenas” is “Hoy!” or “today,” which men on horseback often give me.

Almost to a one, the Ticos own dogs. While I’ve seen at least one hound, though most of the dogs are lap sized mutts, variations on beagles, chihuahuas, and Australian shepards.

Though I introduce myself to dogs that follow me walking, I don’t typically pet them or feed them, and most wag their tails enthusiastically to “bueno perro” and a little running around.

Another curiousity, most locals who walk here are women and they travel in pairs.

The Circa ends at the bottom of the hill at a north/south road stretching between San Ramon and La Fortuna.

Costa Rica Animal Adventures

(image courtesy: Dirk Van der Made, wiki commons)

Today I took some time out to review a book of Costa Rican wildlife. There were lots of photographs, much better than I could take. I had no difficulty identifying the creatures I had seen.

The most notable and noisy species was the howler monkey.

I hiked Tuesday along a dry river bed full of stones on the property neighboring Abercam.

The river bed made the hike easier as few plants could push through the stones and the ground in the "green season" is heavy with moisture. I passed guava and lychee trees barren of fruit and then came across "signs of animal life" (poop) that didn't come from one of the neighborhood's free grazing cows.

I walked toward the sound of rushing water and heard rustling at the tops of some mangrove-like trees with curly dangling vines.

Soon, a male howler monkey made his loud warning call.

The first part of the call sounded to me like air rushing into a huge hoarse vaccuum or a frat boy with a 20 inch mouth belching into a megaphone.

The second part is a rythymic exhaling version of the first part that sounds a little more like what you'd associate with a monkey.

I could see the howlers clearly, though they were above me by about 20 ft.

The howlers make a third noise which I heard at a distance as I passed them in route to a twin waterfall - a more cordial howl to one another.

Birds that frequent the Abercam property include Costa Rica's national bird, the clay robin, chestnut mandible toucans, montezumas, yellow bellies, and hummingbirds.

The clay robins are as familiar here as red brested robins are in the United States. They are a powdery rust color all over and fight aggressively with one another.

Of course, I expected toucans to look like the bird on a box of breakfast cereal. All toucans do share expressive eyes, a similar mandible shape. and a like size.

The ones flying about Abercam have white, red, yellow, and black markings with brown and yellow bills.Their eyes are a light green.

Ironically, they're not big on "froot". They prefer eggs, small rodents, and young squirrels. Today, I caught a pair eyeing a male squirrel making a lovenest in a tall tree: future lunch!

They make two calls. One is a clicking sound that immitates the gecco.

By far, the most impressive vocalizer is the montezuma or pendulum bird. It's call is seven notes long.

The call flutters up a chromatic scale by half-steps. Two half-steps, pause, repeating the second note and another half-step, pause. This pattern repeats two more times until the bird holds the top note and slurs down all the way back to the first.

The montezuma also creates nests that hang like long baskets from trees. It's roughly the size of a hawk, and has a trim of bright yellow feathers on it's long black tail.

The yellow bellies, have, well, yellow bellies. They cackle and tumble over one another in midair like the parrots of Telegraph Hill.

The broad variety of hummingbirds here impressed me.

Most all of them have the same irridescent green somewhere on their bodies, like the red breasted hummingbirds in my backyard in San Francisco. But there are some with violet ears, some that are all green, and a peculiar species with a hooked bill designed for sipping liquid from inside the clawlike flowers of haliconia.

The species of butterflies are also amazing. The biggest ones I've seen are about the size of my hand and as fleet as bats.

In English, we distinguish between butterflies and moths based on whether we feel the creature is colorful or ugly. In Spanish, size is a the determining factor between mariposas and pollios.

I have not yet seen Costa Rica's national butterfly, the blue winged morphos, but I have seen a "postman" butterfly, a large yellow species, and a species with a long body that resembled a wasp with monarch-like wings in four sections.

I was initially concerned by the presence of two large wasps nests near the pool, but I soon learned this species of wasp principally eats mosquitos. Instead of buzzing around your soda and sandwhiches they cluster near their nests listlessly waiting for their prey.

Unlike these surprising wasps, not all the Costa Rica creatures are changing my mind about what constitues a pest.

Tonight, I got up for a glass of water and came back to a squarish orb spider about as big as my palm dragging a dust bunny across my headboard.

I stayed up for a while writing across the room. I made my bed and the spider regrouped, cowering beside my pillow.

The standoff finally ended when I threatened to trap it. First I tried to trap it under a bowl, but the spider jumped. Two feet high and three feet out!

I was startled, but I laughed too. For someone who has a dangerous level of fearlessness this spider was freaking me out.

I swaped the bowl out for a steam cover.

Then I figured, if I came at the spider from above and behind, it would stay low and move in the direction of the front door.

I guided it as far as the kitchen, trapped it, and set it free on the front porch to eat beatles another day.

Earlier this week, I found an unpleasantly fat tick. I saved it in a bag in case I came down with something.

Oddly, I was nauseaous, had a mean headache, and even some shortness of breath. But none of my symptoms corresponded with the tick diseases I'd read about in my guide books.

I'm guessing the overplus of prophylactics the SF travel health clinic introduced to my bloodstream have taken the wind out of any tick germs I got.

No scorpions or snakes so far.

Wayne says the scorpions at this altitude in Costa Rica can fit in a spoon and give a sting no worse than a bee. Still not anxious to experience that bite!

Snakes are detered from the property by the presence of over 300 minature bamboo plants around the perimeter. According to Tim, snakes get tangled in the dense sticks and turn back.

Everywhere I go, leaf-cutter ants are stripping some tree of its green.

They are fun to watch. Little bits of leaf marching single file over the forrest floor. Cute!

And people love the story of leaf-cutters. These ants survive by eating a unique fungus they create in their nests from moldering plant material.

Did I mention their queens live up to eight years! That's five years more than drag queen Pollo del Mar will reign as longest Miss Trannyshack.

However, the leaf-cutters are a nuissance to a well-manicured property. Geraldo, the gardener here, follows them and burns out their nests.

The ants seem to be worst on Wednesday.

That's Geraldo's full day off. The leaf-cutters seem to know.

Costa Rican Gay Resort Adventure - Abercam, La Fortuna

(image courtesy Abercam, La Fortuna)

Abercam La Fortuna doesn't have an address. "Grande Tapio Blanca, Circa de Cataracas" or "The Big White Wall on the Road to the Waterfall" is how the locals know it.

As you might expect from a gay resort, it is a discrete location. What goes on in the pool or on the grounds is visible only to other guests: the property is bordered by vacant lots on all three sides.

But Abercam is not so remote as to be unreachable.

A 15 minute taxi ride from the La Fortuna bus station costs $5. Local restaurants deliver.

Though proprietors Tim Abernathy ( the Aber syllable) and Wayne Campbell (the Cam syllable) keep a post office box in town, a mailman occassionally travels the steep twisting grade to deliver a care package with hard-to-find items from the states.

Presently, a Halloween party, for which there are already 20 guests, including a posse of deaf gay men from Alajuela, is demonstrating this challenge of living in Costa Rica. Halloween is a favorite gay holiday around the world, but the Ticos have no tradition of masquerade. There are no costume shops or spooky decorations.

"If you want something special it would be best to have it shipped 3 to 4 weeks in advance," Campbell says.

Whether there is a bowl of bite-sized Snickers or not, partygoers and long-distance bookings are unlikely to complain. Abernathy and Campbell have pulled together a suptuous environment dedicated to pagan pleasures.

Every inch of the property, which rolls over two acres from the Tapio Blanca to a dry ravine, is landscaped and maintained with native cultivars by a full-time gardener. Brown, yellow, orange and blue, butterflies are lured by the hibicsus and plumeria. Hummingbirds sip from the purple buds of Jamacian snake grass.

Along the clean brick paths, orchids are hung over driftwood braces. The scents of cinnamon trees and frangipani close around the visitor. Noni, guava, grapefruit, orange, and a half dozen other fruits are available for visitors to pick and eat in season.

The guest villas, each with a private balcony, are positioned to face active volcano Arenal. The property is legally as close as any resort can get to the lava-loaded giant.

"The nature that surrounds Costa Rica is alluring and can stimulate the senses on many levels," Abernathy observes, "The mist we have here and the exotic flowers lead to a heightened sense of yourself and others."

Another perk of it's location: the Abercam property is the lowest property on the hill that recieves it's tap water from the resovoir that feeds La Fortuna's famous 70 m waterfall.

"Crystal clear, pure and sweet. It's like drinking nature itself," Campbell asserts.

Originally from Florida, the pair began looking for a place to start a bed and breakfast in their mid-thirties. They explored the north of Georgia, parts of Dominica, and Guadalajara, Mexico before settling on Costa Rica.

Once they had made their choice they rented a car and drove every road in the country searching for locations. After a stint in Capos, they spied their current property and set out to develop it, opening just one year ago.

"We have met some very special people and made some wonderful new friends," Abernathy noted, "that's the best part of the resort for us."

As a means of saying thanks to the gay community for their support, the pair often offers discounts and special incentives. Be sure to ask about their current and future specials when making your reservation.

Local Bus Adventure - San Jose to La Fortuna

As I'd arrived near midnight in San Jose, the airline paid for a hotel room. It was only a shuttle ride away from the terminal. The time was midnight by my wristwatch.

I contented myself for an hour with showering up, translating Costa Rican television using Google, and eating Tico snacks from the vending machine.

I checked my email and discovered, in spite of my protests, I would be charged a 100 percent "no show" fee from Interbus. As one could not purchase a one way ticket with their service, I cancelled my return trip.

I could hardly believe I was charged $40 for a service I never recieved, due to problems beyond my control, without the option of rebooking.

If I was going to go to the trouble of using my poor Spanish to navigate through the local bus system, the "learning the way there" service Interbus could have provided me would not be worth my loyalty.

Their email response indicated my return trip refund would take, "up to two weeks for processing." Anyone who runs returns can tell you, a return takes only two minutes to process. How much time did they need? They'd already had $80 of my money for over a month.

When I woke up the next day, I was already too late for the Grey Line bus that stopped in front of the hotel.

My supposedly hardcore guidebook listed the bus terminals in San Jose as "dangerous." The front desk worker told me, "I live in San Jose and I won't go down there." The concierge also advised against it.

I went downtown anyway.

The eight square blocks on Calle 10 and Calle 12 between Parque Merced and the San Carlos bus terminal presented a less aspirational image than either the guidebook or the hotel employees. They were hardly treacherous, however.

There were some corregated tin buildings and chipped paint jobs. There was some rust and ground in dirt. The stores were small and crowded, but open and doing business.

Everyone was dressed well if not up-to-date. The Sodas were lit with ambient light and workers packed them during the lunch break. There was perhaps even less litter than there would be in any other city. I asked for directions twice and got good assistance.

Parts of industrial Oakland have felt far more menacing to me for their lack of purpose.

In fact, I felt more like a target at the airport and in the hotel than in San Jose downtown.

When I reached the sales window and told the bus driver I wanted a ticket to Fortuna, he told me the last direct bus for the day had already left. I pressed for another route and was directed to the San Carlos bus. I could catch a bus to Fortuna there.

These "busses" are in fact what U.S. citizens would call "coaches". The seats are high and well cushioned with storage compartments above and below.

I wasn't the only gringo on the bus. I did misplace my ticket, however, so when the driver came to take it, I stuck out. With a backpack and an overnight bag, I was not packed as lightly as the other passengers, either.

Just beyond San Jose and Alajuela, the urban valley escalated into young, undulating mountains. The roads twisted like switchbacks up and down hills. All the drivers navigated these at speeds approaching 60 km/hr.

We passed family sized coffee and banana plantations. No plot was larger than 10 acres. Signs offering regional tours were everywhere. The only livestock I saw was cattle. They were perched on the sides of steep hills, grazing unsupervised.

Though they did not have bathrooms, the coaches had front and back doors. Vendors occasionally boarded the busses at the front and sold snacks to passengers quickly, exiting at the back.

At our first small town, Naranjo, a retirement age man dispensed chips, peanuts, and agua frescas in sealed plastic bags. He complimented all the women who purchased from him. Three girls, who the vendor refered to as, "The Latinas," ordered the carrot flavor, chewed off a tip of the bag, and sucked up liquid through the tear.

We passed through Zarcero. On a long plaza, elevated from the road, bottom-heavy topiary archways opened to a small Catholic church. There were lots of signs announcing organic produce and an organic food delivery service located just north of the town center. Apparently, Zarcero is the center of the nations organic agriculture movement.

The first movie theater I saw (showing "G.I. Joe") was in Ciudad Quesada, popularly known as San Carlos, where the bus disembarked. I immediately got in line to board the La Fortuna local which left 15 minutes later.

I handed the driver a 5000 note, equivalent to $10, and he had difficulty making change. "Fortuna," he said, pleadingly, as though I'd done something extravagant.

The fare was 150 Colones or about $.25.

I sat down with my overnight bag in my lap as did the gringo sitting beside me.

On this bus, the locals boarded last prefering to stand. Quite a few rode without paying. One woman at the back of the bus made a cross sign her chest as the bus transmission choked into ignition. She had on a wooden rosary and a horseshoe shaped gold and diamond watch.

I'd begun to notice there were a lot more watches in Costa Rica than in the US. Also, everyone had a good cell phone. No one wore hats or sunglasses. In fact, it's illegal to wear a hat and sunglasses in public buildings and banks here - it's considered a disguise.

Like an ordinary city bus, the driver stopped this bus whenever a passenger pulled one of the cords over the windows. Not frequently, but at odd places, someone hopped off. We once stopped at a pasture and another time at a private school. The driver seemed to know who was going where.

One stop consisted of an two apartments atop two orange plate glass window stores, like one would expect to find in San Francisco. The easternmost shop was a small gym with a half-dozen machines and free weights. The westernmost shop was newly painted and for lease. This structure was bordered on either end by papaya plantations.

Approaching La Fortuna, I noticed a change in humidity. Dense clouds hung over constantly errupting Arenal.

The air wasn't particularly sulphurous, perhaps owing to the precipitaion and all the greenery.

But for the palms, the broad variety of trees was totally unknown to me. I was about the enter the rainforest.

Dale Gets Lost, Finds His People

While Mom took a nap this afternoon, I walked around to find a good currency exchange and some "take away" food.

I wandered around SoHo which was wall to wall gay men, especially around the Seven Dials and the shops around Dean Street.

Almost everyone was well groomed in a button-up shirt with an open collar. Sort of the unofficial gay uniform here like a t-shirt jeans and a baseball cap would be in San Francisco.

Our theatre tonight was at the Gielgud, so I got a taste for what the current nightlife is like without have to lose my sleep to join in....