Next Stop: World

Within fourteen hours of landing in Liberia, Guanacaste province, Costa Rica, I found myself addressing a classroom full of students at the National University. To figure out how I got here, we need to go back in time.

In 1998, a team of scientists and artists from the Milwaukee Public Museum journeyed to the dry, dusty Area de Conservación Guanacaste outside Liberia. Their mission: gather the materials to create MPM’s new Exploring Life on Earth exhibit. Lucky for me, video was a major component of the exhibit, so I got to go along.

For a couple weeks, I got paid to hang out in Costa Rica, recording audio while my colleague Dan shot footage of tiny ants, leaping monkeys, and arid landscapes. When our workday was through, we kicked back with cold (as cold as we could make them, anyway) bottles of Imperial under the tropical stars.

Neil from MPM consults with Fernando from ACG

That’s how I met Fernando. While we worked with many Costa Ricans during our stay, Fernando was the one I really connected with. A park ranger at ACG, he was our fixer: tell him what you need, and he’ll make it happen. Our ages and senses of humor were similar, and he’s the one Tico- that is, Costa Rican- I kept in touch with once we returned home. Exploring Life on Earth opened in 2000 with Fernando in attendance, and it’s still serving visitors today. (Look for my cameo as you click through the interactive video screens.)

Sadly, there’s no mannequin of Fernando

But he does get a cameo on the far right of this panel

For our first big trip after getting married, Karen and I chose to visit Costa Rica. I showed Karen around ACG, where Fernando was rising in the ranks, and he also helped us reach parts of this beautiful country I missed last time: an active volcano, a cloud forest, a black sand beach.

A decade later, with Karen already working and my start date approaching, Costa Rica was a prime candidate for my one-last-trip-before-I-go-back-to-work vacation.

A park ranger no more, Fernando has earned his PhD and begun teaching, which is how I wound up in front of an English class at Universidad Nacional. Luckily, he warned me about my academic engagement in advance, so I brought photos of the MPM exhibit and explained about the slice of Costa Rica that lives in Milwaukee.

During the Q&A, I covered the differences between Texan and Minnesotan accents (they’ve never heard of the movie Fargo), drew a stunningly-accurate US map, and promoted Milwaukee as a filming location for Transformers 3 (they’ve heard of that).

Several of the students spoke excellent English- and asked most of the questions. Others were more reticent, and given the sorry state of my Spanish these days, I can easily empathize.

The Universidad Nacional campus

Dry forest in all directions

Fernando gave me the grand tour of his campus, its open-air classrooms situated in the midst of a dry forest. And it was hot. Like 95 degrees Fahrenheit. I don’t know how the students think straight in this heat. And I don’t know how the male students get any work done with their female counterparts running around in the shortest shorts and least clothing possible. (I’m not sure whether the guys’ appearance is equally distracting to the señoritas).

With my “work” complete, it’s time to go on vacation. Next stop: a volcano!

In a few hours, I leave for Costa Rica on a trip that is unusual in the grand scheme of Next Stop: World.

I booked the trip on a whim. I’m going by myself. I haven’t done much planning. I’m only taking a carry-on bag. I’m not taking my laptop. In other words, I’m travelling like so many of the long-term travelers we bumped into on our trip- the ones who wake up in the morning, rub the sleep out of their eyes, and decide to catch a bus to Bangkok.

I’m thinking of it as an experiment, a taste of a simpler travel style. With friends to visit- Fernando is a native I met years ago on a work trip, Beth is a high school friend teaching English- the urge to plan is less intense. When in doubt, just hang out with my amigos. The fact that I’ve visited Costa Rica twice before helps too.

Karen pointed out yesterday (and it hadn’t occurred to me), that this will be the longest we’ve been apart in our whole marriage. With her strict work schedule on the farm this summer, this might not be my last solo trip, giving the experiment even more significance.

Did I mention that it’s gonna be HOT? Look at the forecast for Fernando’s hometown of Liberia!

Just another excuse to kick back with a cold Imperial cerveza.

Adios for now. ¡Pura vida!

Here’s one for the history books: on Friday, April 19, 2013, we got a letter in our mailbox! Why is that a big deal? That hasn’t happened in over 20 months.

One of the myriad logistical challenges of going on a world tour is what to do with your mail. Our house was for sale when we began the trip, so mail couldn’t keep going there. There are businesses that will rent you an address for a monthly fee, but we wanted to be able to keep an eye on our haul. That’s why we were extraordinarily grateful when our friend Kurt (and by extension, his wife Monica) offered to be our permanent address.

All of our credit card and bank statements were already paperless (for easy management from afar), and we reduced our mail volume as much as possible by asking businesses to remove us from their mailing lists.

Still, month after month, our mail would show up at Kurt and Monica’s house. Occasionally, Kurt would email us about a letter that looked important, but mostly he would just toss the deliveries into a cardboard box.

When we returned to the US, the box looked like this:

Not bad for nine months worth of mail. But our postal identity crisis wasn’t over yet, because over the summer we stayed with friends. Then we drove around the Southwest, then lived in a temporary condo, then a temporary apartment. All the while, Kurt continued to receive our mail. We’d stop by his house once a week or so to pick up the latest bundle.

Until now. We’ve finally settled down, rented our own apartment, and begun the laborious process of changing our address, no doubt to our friends’ relief.

And what was the historic first piece of mail delivered to our new apartment? A dumb old bill from Time Warner Cable, a company with which I have a troubled relationship. Their customer service often lets me down. Case in point: we are signed up for paperless billing.

So our first letter should never have been sent. A fitting end to our tale of meandering mail.

Just as I had expectations for our world tour, I had expectations for this period of post-travel limbo. I was going to get so much accomplished.

My alternate universe girlfriend Tina Fey put her finger on it when 30 Rock ended. As she told TIME Magazine,

“It’s kind of like a giant bluff is called, because of all the things you’ve said you would do if you had time,” Fey says of her new phase. “It’s like when you have five weeks’ vacation, and you say, ‘I’m going to clean my house and learn Spanish and weave baskets.’ Now I have to choose.”

We chose to look for jobs and see friends and watch movies. Sorting through the mountain of photos and video from the trip gets tedious, but the results are inspiring: we’re creating a photobook for each country we visited, with so many memories wrapped up in each image.

Somehow, I haven’t quite gotten around to editing those additional videos, organizing those computer files, or writing that e-book. And how is it that we’ve had months off but are only halfway through with those photobooks?!

Maybe it’s time to get a job. Why, with money left in our re-entry fund, do I feel that way? I’m certainly not the first person to long for the structure of a workday and the social interactions at an office- look at how many retirees wind up back in the workforce (are you reading this, Dad?). It’s frustrating, though, that a client’s deadline seems to carry more weight than a deadline I set for myself.

My boss once told me that I’m a workaholic. Why can’t I be a workaholic on my own projects?

And so, we are returning to the working world. Karen is the first-ever Farm Chef at Primrose Valley Farm, a CSA (community-supported agriculture) farm that delivers fresh vegetables to its clients throughout the summer. Besides cooking for the farm workers, Karen will be writing for their newsletter and website. Can video clips be far behind?

After exploring the possibilities far and wide (from Washington, D.C. to Nome, Alaska and beyond), I am returning to my previous employer, Plum Moving Media, in a new Producer/Director position. Plum’s mix of good people and hi-tech toys is hard to beat.

It’s not just employment. We also bought a car. Karen finally got that Subaru she’s always wanted, albeit a older model well-suited for the commuting that lies ahead of her. And we’ve moved into an apartment of our very own, one in which we plan to live for more than a month or two.

Boy, all this sounds so… normal. Lest you think that we’ve lost the fire in our collective belly, consider this: I did something distinctly un-American in negotiating with Plum. I asked them to pay me less money in exchange for more vacation days. They said yes.

Even so, going to work means that my time is no longer my own. Inking a May 1st start date on my calendar made me itchy. I felt like… I felt like… traveling! So I booked a flight to Costa Rica. Since Karen will be working, I’m going solo this time, embarking on one last adventure before the next phase truly begins.

Gotta get packing. Next Stop: Costa Rica!

After becoming scuba certified in the Great Barrier Reef, I’ve been delving into the deep wherever possible, from Malaysia to Thailand to Bonaire. And Karen has been right there with me- that is, above me, snorkeling up on the surface.

Until now.

When we returned to Milwaukee, I didn’t want my skills to get rusty, so I joined the Badger State Dive Club. At the monthly meetings, club members organize diving charters, share diving tips, and generally celebrate all things submerged. Around here we’re talking about lake diving, so instead of seeking out a lionfish or manta ray, local divers are more likely exploring shipwrecks or discovering artifacts.

What, I wondered, do they do during the long Wisconsin winter? The hearty among them go ice diving. Yeah, they cut a hole in the ice and jump in (while following rigorous safety procedures). Meanwhile, the more warm-blooded among us go diving… in a swimming pool.

That’s where Karen comes in. Although she harbors an aversion to activities requiring supplementary oxygen, Karen was up to the challenge of scuba diving in seven feet of water.

Our thanks to certified instructor, ice diver, cave diver, and nice guy Paul Franti, who loaned us the gear and gave Karen a mini class. And kudos to her for trying something new.

Upon emerging from the chlorinated depths, Karen reported that it was easier to breathe underwater than she expected. It was also noisier than she expected- I guess that isn’t really captured in my videos (or is left on the cutting room floor).

I don’t think we’ll see Karen lugging scuba tanks around on our next trip, but she did say that she would like to try it again… in a more scenic environment. Some resorts offer “discovery dives,” where they take uncertified divers out into shallow areas nearby.

Next Stop: Cozumel? I don’t think Karen would have a problem with that.

After a week in the Caribbean, it was time to head home. Our flight wasn’t until the afternoon, so we squeezed in one more activity: kayaking through a mangrove on the eastern side of the island.

Although everyone else on the tour was Dutch, they all spoke English, so our guide offered his observations in our native tongue. After scraping through some tight passages, we hopped into the water and admired the colorful sponges and other fauna living on the tree roots.

Soon the mangroves were a memory, and I was cruising toward the resort where we’d rented the moped. I arrived just before the 1:00 deadline… and then realized I hadn’t filled the tank as required. Zipping back to the main roundabout, I was surprised to find lines three vehicles deep at the pumps.

As the clock ticked toward 1:00, I waited in line, figured out how to prepay, filled up, and scooted away. Made it to the resort just in the nick of time.

Fuel cost me about US$8. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t notice how many gallons or liters I pumped, but I do know that mopeds have small tanks. That was probably the cost of just over a gallon!

Day-to-day life must be fairly tough here. Everything has to be shipped in- except salt, there’s plenty of salt. We’ve heard that some of the native (you know, non-Dutch) people resent Westerners enjoying rum punch at fancy resorts, while citizens born here struggle to get by.

In the taxi back to Captain Don’s, the (Bonaire-born) driver shared his thoughts about the island’s 2010 vote to remain part of the Netherlands: he’s all for it. Dutch control, he said, has brought a degree of order to what used to be a do-whatever-you-want environment. He mentioned that there are rules about how many stories high new developments can be, and limits on how much property one person can buy up.

Getting ready for more tourists

In our week here, we’ve enjoyed the luxuries of Bonaire: scuba diving, snorkeling, relaxing in our bungalow, and taking a break from job-searching and decision-making back home.

With this trip, our travel fund is officially depleted, and we are officially moving on to the next phase of our lives. Now we just have to figure out what exactly that means!

Bye bye, Bonaire.

In my previous post, I showed you a photo of a hidden turtle- or so I claimed.

Here’s some help in spotting the little guy. Click the thumbnails to see larger images.

One last full day in Bonaire. Since I’m not allowed to dive within 24 hours of a flight (excess nitrogen and all that), today is all about snorkeling.

Good thing, too, since we’ve been here six days, and Karen hasn’t seen a turtle- an unacceptable situation. We need to log some more time underwater!

Diving Deirdre

We began the day with a sailboat excursion to Klein Bonaire island. Our guide, Deirdre, amazed us by spotting critters in the water below and then free diving to point them out to us: unusual fish, various types of coral, and best of all, an octopus. Karen must have mentioned her desire to see a turtle, because at one point, Deirdre swam over, grabbed Karen by the hand, and quickly dragged her through the water… to see a turtle. It was far below us, almost invisible against a backdrop of coral and plants, but Karen was ecstatic.

Then Deirdre spotted another one for us. And another.

By this time, our fellow snorkelers were getting turtled out- they gave a quick glance and swam on. I never seem to tire of turtlespotting, so I was watching when one made for the surface. I expected it to dive immediately after taking a breath, but instead it lazily floated in the waves. Not wanting to disturb it, I did the same, floating just a few feet away, as you can see in this video.

The beauty of Bonaire is that you can snorkel just about anywhere, right off the side of the road. Returning from sailing, we hopped onto our rented scooter and set out for the site known as 1000 Steps.

The staircase down to the beach does not have 1000 steps, but local lore contends that it feels like a thousand when you lug a heavy scuba tank to the top after a dive.

Having seen so many cool creatures while scuba diving and with the success of the morning’s snorkeling, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular as I paddled around. So of course I found another turtle. It was sitting still, hiding under some branches. Here’s a photo. Nice looking specimen, eh?

Whaddya mean, you don’t see it? Click on the thumbnail and see if you can spot a turtle in the larger version of the image. No foolin’… he’s in there somewhere!

(I’m no Deirdre, but I have my moments.)

Most vacationers spend their whole time on Bonaire diving, diving, and diving some more. Karen and I aren’t quite as hardcore: we explored on land as well as under the sea.

On our first day, there was a children’s parade in downtown Kralendijk, the biggest city on the island.

The Super Bowl was that night, and while the game didn’t interest us very much, we joined the party at the restaurant next door. The ribs were delicious.

For our last day, we rented a two-person scooter capable of whisking us to the far-flung corners of the island. Well, not all that far: the island is only 24 miles long and a third as wide.

All around the island, we spotted distinctive, all-natural fences.

And finally, an important lesson we learned on this Dutch island: no matter what, make sure you always have a poederblusser handy. Just because it sounds cool.

I added a new fish to my list of favorites in Bonaire: the trumpetfish.