So far, I haven't taken many photos this trip. The most notable ones I didn't take were of the billboards along Route 66 in Texas alerting people to the fact that May 21, 2011 is Judgment Day. That's today. This is probably my last post. I expected The Rapture would be more inspiring, that maybe I'd manage to scribble down a couple of good lines before being cast into the abyss but no. Flat sea. Flat horizon. Not even the distant ridge line of an island or a few clouds gathered on the edge. NADA. Hmmm... perhaps my mind is the abyss and I've always been in it.
Did I mention that we are in Costa Rica at La Sabana Apartotel? It's much nicer than the hostels, madhouse B&Bs, funky hotels and weird campgrounds where we usually stay, not that I don't love them, mind you. But this is actually a nice place even though it's in San Jose.
Because La Sabana is so nice, and so apparently safe, medical tourists stay here while undergoing their whatever procedures. La Sabana is a small, safe lateral world perfect to recuperate in. One day glides quietly into the next beyond the filmy curtains. It's amazing how quiet it is here, given that it is in the middle of downtown San Jose. Well, this morning about 4 am I did have to call the desk and complain about a jet-lagged Euro couple who were sitting at the table just outside our open window smoking and drinking but no big deal. They left around 9 after a breakfast of beer and cigarettes, kid in tow. They probably went to the coast to zipline and look at monkeys. Watch out for the sloths, guys. I hear they are everywhere.
There is a steady stream of people here to watch, like the friendly couple from California. They came to San Jose to go to the dentist and talk to their lawyer. Seems a couple of years ago they bought a piece of Caribbean paradise beachfront property then, after the money changed hands, discovered that they didn't actually own anything at all. The document the realtor had them sign was not the title. It was an intent to buy.
But among our more notable fellow residents is a yoga teacher from Brooklyn who is recovering from hernia surgery. He offered to let us watch the DVD of his operation but we declined, politely. It was awkward. I half expect to see a note on the billboard... Movie at 2. Bring popcorn. We call him "The Boy" because, although he's basically our age, it's like he's our love child, one gone horribly awry. He looks like Lee... tall, shaved head... but he hangs out around the pool, twisted into the lotus position, waiting for people to sit nearby he can dazzle with his grasp of pop psychology and stories of his "dangerous" jungle adventures, both lead-ins for his conspiracy theories. Nevertheless, he is clearly more like his father than me.
