February 6, 2019

Santa Teresa, Costa Rica

The hostel has a luscious garden filled with splendid birds, iguanas and black monkeys. Howler monkeys: a perfectly suited name for these tropical primates that roar so loud they’d wake me up every single morning at 5 AM. They were the self-proclaimed roosters of Costa Rica. But it didn't bother me. I always liked roosters.

I've met lovely people, I feel wonderful, and I ink any piece of paper I find. I work at the hostel reception, prepare breakfast for the guests, do the check-ins, chill with the dogs...

I surf every day - I also get wiped out a lot. As I’d walk out of the water looking like a disembodied zombie,  I would watch in awe beautiful Swedes running airily towards the ocean with their super short $800 surfboards, bronzed skin and golden hair that looked so smooth I wanted to wrap myself in it. They were absolutely stunning people, and looked like pristine angels going into a celestial pool.

And here I was with blood-shot eyes, dangling arms and hair twisted into a massive, horrific knot of sand and salt. A perfect example of the sexy surfer look. But I didn’t mind, actually, for the first time in a while.

I’m happy here. The days go by and all look the same, yet I wish they’d never end. I feel stronger than ever before, healthier, more confident, may I even dare to say I noticed I was glowing last morning? Or maybe that was the coconut oil?

I'm not sure what to do. Colombia is right around the corner. Should I stay here any longer?

But there’s this insatiable thirst for change, like a magnet, constantly pulling me.

I accept that thirst and let myself dive into the peaceful feeling of going with the flow.