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balance (2): san jose, costa rica

Friday, September 3, 2004

san jose, costa rica

my hotel room has great cable. i am embarassed to admit that i have spent a lot of time perusing it. i watched a special on living in chechnya (hellish), a couple of stupid reality shows on latin mtv, and cheesy soap operas in spanish... and a special on baby turtles leaving their nests for the wild blue yonder in this very country, which unfortunately i probably won't have time to see in real life.

x and i wake up late, but still in time for breakfast. i have black beans with rice and picante sauce. and delicious costa rican coffee. we lazily make our way downtown in the stifling heat. again, not much to see. crowds, pavement, a couple of scattered parks with monuments. everything i read about this place is wrong. for one thing, it's not americanized in the least. it's sort of a dirty waystation at best. x saunters happily behind me, snapping pictures left and right as i search for a place to get money. it becomes rather an ordeal, as most of the ATMs don't function. i sweat more than i thought i was capable of. there is no convenience store, people aren't especially friendly. i start to get grouchy. back to the hotel it is then (after we stop at a dirty pharmacy to stock up on RXs).



lost most of my san jose pics (sigh) but there is one & here's another...




x meets a pair of gay men at the pool and chats away- very unlike himself. i watch the clouds roll in and read my book while they discuss travelling in southeast asia (where i fervently wish i was). finally i head back up to my room for more cable, feeling guilty for floundering so.

later on x and i head out to a place he read about online, called machu picchu. it turns out to be a hole in the wall with delicious food. groups of 'ticos' drink and laugh in the corner. x and i sit under an awkward light and he looks over the paintings as i translate the menu. after i get some ceviche and a peculiar concoction of potatoes, shrimp, and avocados in my belly, i break into tears. x hates the fact that i cry in restaurants, and it's true, i can't avoid it. i think it's secretly romantic. i am not entirely sure why i am crying. i think i just miss x, the way we used to be before he became a hardened patron of the sexual arts. he doesn't have much time or consideration for me any more, and i feel like a constant encumbrance. i tell him he is afraid of responsibility, commitment, and intimacy. he insists he has no use for any of them. i suppose this all comes from his plan to take a girl with him to a lovely hot springs resort overlooking an active volcano and surrounded by rainforest. not sure how i can still be jealous but the fact is i am. we argue petulantly (me hating myself the entire time) and after a silent cab ride home i give up and go to bed.

x wakes me up in the middle of the night with a fresh loaf of banana bread he bought from the bar. somehow the fact that he does love me makes me even more sad and i hit myself in disgust and fall back into the relief of sleep as he slips off into the night.

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