The Heide Life

365 Days of Writing – Day 1

Heide — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 02:08:16 +0000

I prefer writing in Times New Roman, size 10. For some reason, that makes the words look more real and more legitimate to me, and I even seem to type a little faster when I’m working in Times New Roman.
Unfortunately, Word always seems to default to Calibri, which to me looks like a silly, childish font. A font for beginners who are looking for no feet for their words, no sharp edges to what is said. It also defaults to size 12, which amplifies that childish, simple effect.
I’ve been asked why I write. The exercise is simple. Why do I, Heide Brandes, write?
I’d like to say it’s because the thoughts and scenes and words burn in my brain, battling for an escape and that this ritual of writing is not only necessary, but undeniable. I’d like to say that I cannot not write, for writing is as much a part of me as breathing and sleeping and moving and making out.
I’d like to say that writing is a passion that scorches me from my heart to my hands, and that my life in words is more real than my real life.
Hate to disappoint, but none of that is true. I write because it’s easy. I write because it is one of the few things I do very, very well. I write to make money, I write to fill the time, I write to boost my own ravenous ego and I write because it’s what I’ve always done.
I started writing as soon as I started reading. Maybe I write because I love to read. That’s my true passion – reading and watching those realities unfold in my imagination like vivid, colorful movies. They say if you want to write well, then read well. Read beautiful stories and dark tales to bring out the rhythm of writing in your own self.
So, there it is. I’m a writer because I’m a reader, and I want to write as well as those I read. I daydream on a constant basis (although not as much as I used to when I was younger and still trusted the world). I daydream about love, about adventure, about conflict and war, about heroism and heroes, about travel and wild romps through unexplored jungles and lost cities, and I daydream about writing.
I’ve written down these daydreams, which become half-finished stories with so much promise. They are still half-finished, but they wait patiently for me to return, and I thank them for that.
I write because I live. Because I love the rhythm of words. I love poetry of Carl Sandburg, Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas because of those gentle rhythms, the way the words create imagery and emotion.
I write because sometimes I have nothing to say. I write to show others what I see.
I used to write creatively – I have notebooks and notebooks of poetry and prose from wine-filled youth angst and dark love affairs – but I became a journalist by trade. Most of my writing now is journalism. I’m venturing into the realm of the personal essay style of journalism, but few of the local magazines I write for use that format.
Still, I’m going to do it.
So this is my first of Heide’s 365 Days of Writing. I have no idea what I’ll be writing about, but I imagine it’ll be an eclectic mix of random verbal diarrhea, travel pieces, optimistic ramblings, angry venting, fun humorous quips and more…. Basically life.
So, there you have it. Why do I write? I write because I can. I write because it’s easy for me. I write because I can always write better.
I write.

January 1, 2011 – Revisited and rediscovered on Jan. 1, 2012

Heide — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 02:00:15 +0000

Okay, ya’ll, this is a reprint of the post I wrote exactly one year ago today. Why am I reposting it. Because it is exactly how I feel today… and this year, I’m going to do it!!!

No REALLY, I AM!

Here’s a secret for ya: I’m not big into New Year’s Resolutions.

The main reason is that I forget to make them until several days or weeks after New Year’s, and by then, it’s just a regular day’s resolution and not a New Year’s one.

So, what’s the point.

Plus, all those resolutions about losing weight, quitting smoking, reading the Bible every day, eating more vegetables like cauliflower and broccoli or “learning to laugh more” (seriously, we didn’t have to learn to laugh, we laughed as babies and if babies can do it, I’m pretty certain it’s a skill that came with the body we were given and not an art form we had to learn) and “not being as negative” are all resolutions aimed at what we SHOULDN’T do.

But this year, I decided to make resolutions… but they really aren’t resolutions, so maybe I shouldn’t call them that. I decided to make the “Heide’s Year of Living Fearlessly List.”

Does it really matter what I call it? Does calling it “Heide’s Year of Living Fearlessly List” instead of “resolution” change it? If I called a peach pie a “dancing monkey” instead, would it leap off my kitchen counter and start banging a couple of cymbals together while throwing poop at me?

According to quantum physics – that spooky little science that’s more like wizardry than E=MC2 – yes. But, I digress. We’ll get to quantum physics in another raving.

That list has 40 things I MUST do this year in my quest to be more fearless, or at least more interesting to myself. I’ll get to that list in a later post, but a few of mad ideas include 1. Going to Africa and not getting eaten by lion, which apparently happens in a distrubingly common basis in Tanzania; 2. Go out onto the ocean… way out, so you can’t see land and all the fishies in the world are around you; 3. Try kickboxing… you get the picture.

Also, I made a promise to do something completely new EVERY DAY… or, when I’m feeling lazy and my body is bloated with procrastination, at least EVERY WEEK!

One day, I tried a new yoga style. I discovered that while I am pretty dern good at yoga for a newcomer, I cannot yet bend over, place my knees on the back of my elbows and hold myself suspended in the air for more than about 10 seconds. I want to do at least a minute.

I’ve also learned that the “Happy Baby” move is a little obscene and it never fails that one of my two male roommates always walks in while I’m laying on my back with my knees at my ears trying to pull my legs farther down on either side of my face by pullin on my feet.

I get a mixed reaction from “da boyz.” Sometimes they just blurt out “Jesus Christ, Heide!” and promptly leave the room. Sometimes they just stare at me in that way guys do when they’re faced with something sexual from someone they view as a non-sexual creature.

I think it confuses them. They usually go drink beer and fart at each other to figure it out.

Another day, I tried Pho, which I’ve learned is pronounced “fuh,” like the first part of the f-bomb. It was delicious.

I also tried ice-skating. I’m damn near 40 years old, and I’ve never been ice-skating. Two hours later – and two soul-jarring wipeouts on the ice – I ended up with sore ankles, a bulging knot on my knees and a big ol’ smile. I enjoyed it. I think I could get pretty good at ice-skating if I stuck with it, which I won’t.

Today, I have no idea what new thing I’m going to do. Believe it or not, folks, it’s pretty hard to find something completely new to do every day.

The big cheat is to turn to food and drink, to proudly announce “I’ve never had marmalade-covered goat balls grilled over hickory” and then promptly eat it and call that the new experience. (Which I would never do as I have a rule not to eat anything that comes in an animal’s head or between it’s legs)

Alas, sometimes, that’s all you have for the day. A new food or a new drink or a new recipe. Or a new little trick in the bedroom, if you get my drift, but this isn’t that kind of blog, so I’m not going into details about that… though, I gotta say, “HOT DAMN!”

Not every day can be filled with ice-skating, obscene yoga poses, zombie movie extra, zip lining in jungles or snorting wasabi.

Like life, living fearlessly is many times fearlessly getting through the day-to-day mundanity that makes up the hours in which we live. Maybe living fearlessly is finding new ways to create magic and wonder out of the day-to-day mundanity.

Maybe it’s being so aware of living in the present that you can find the astonishment that may lay behind the hedge or beneath that old chap’s hat who’s sitting in front of you or even while driving south on Western from the Kirkpatrick Turnpike.

HEY! THERE’S A DEER ON WESTERN IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!!!!

Anyway, this year, I’m committing to writing every day. This blog included. I’m committed to trying something brand new EVERY DAY (or at least EVERY WEEK when I’m feeling lazy). I’m also going to share some great stuff about living the fearless life, learning to live the non-conformist life and the surprisingly hard work it is to do both.

You screwed up… NOW WHAT?

Heide — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 23:44:21 +0000

Most of you who know me know I’m a pretty happy, level-headed and responsible (despite rumors otherwise) person.

But I screwed up. Screwed up bad. This time, it was on a project I was hired to do. Just one of those sloppy rare occasions in which I truly butchered something someone cared about.

I know this may come as a shock (ahem), but I do screw up on occasion. I tend to be a bit self-absorbed, I don’t think before I do sometimes and I can hurt others by being selfish and reckless.

But, like most people, I don’t intend to make mistakes and I’m certainly not malicious about it.

So… when you screw up bad, what do you do? How do you make it better? CAN you make it better?

It still comes down to optimism, I think, and believing you can fix or at least help with mistakes eventually. It also depends on what kind of mistake it was – personal or profession.

So what do you do:

1. Own up to it. If you screwed up and it’s your fault and you know it is, then own up to it. You own up to your successes, so own up to your mistakes too. Don’t shy away, don’t try to put the blame on someone else and don’t make excuses. I know it’s hard to look like the jackass, but it also will give you some shadow of credibility. A strong person admits their mistakes.

2. Apologize sincerely. Yup, that means swallowing some pride and just saying, “I am very sorry.” What this does NOT mean is being beat up endlessly about it. You can only apologize so much, and if the person you wronged won’t accept it or keeps rubbing it in, then eventually you have to realize you’ve done all you can and now it’s on the other person or company to accept that a mistake was made.

3. Explore ways to fix the situation. If it’s a professional mistake, ask what you can do to rectify the situation… and then do it. This shows you’re willing to work extra hard to make your client/business/boss happy while still acknowledging that you’ve made a mistake but are capable of fixing it. This is a little trickier if you’ve betrayed a friend or hurt someone personally. Still, ask “What can I do to make this better?” Sincerity and a willingness to battle for a solution goes a long way.

4. Don’t beat yourself up too much. Yeah, when we screw up, we want to wallow in our own self-pity and self-hatred. Well, guess what? You’re not a God and you aren’t perfect. EVERYONE screws up bad sometimes. What you can do is find ways to make sure the same mistake doesn’t happen again, find out what inside you made you screw up and find out how to make amends. If it can’t be fixed, strike it up to experience hard learned.

5. Limit the humor. If you’re like me, you try to lighten a dark mood through laughter. If you screwed it up and someone is hurt/angry/losing money/losing respect because of you, then you better not make a joke out of it. In the Work Awesome blog (http://workawesome.com/your-job/how-to-fix-that-mistake/), the author says “Show you take these matters as seriously as they do. This will encourage them to cut you some slack. These guys like to see that you’re taking this seriously. Otherwise they’re going to believe you’re going to do this again.”

6. AGAIN SAY SORRY. Apologizing sincerely for whatever mistake you made goes a long way.

Mistakes happen. How you handle your mistake will determine your personal outcome. Good luck, folks, on any future mistakes you may make and don’t be TOO hard on yourself.

Zombie dreams aren’t so bad after all (or Africa dreams)

Heide — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 23:16:02 +0000

I always have epiphanies right before I fall asleep. Sometimes, they hit me like a punch in the head and I wake up, sitting up straight in bed with either horror or wonder.
Other times, they slide in on the edges of a doze, a sly thought or awareness that plants itself into my memories like wild honeysuckle, leaving its scent behind and growing faster than any plant you pay $50 or more for.
I’ve had a lot of these late night epiphanies, these sudden truths or desires that hover on the edge of dreams. The two that really stand out for me are about Africa.
I should probably explain my lifelong obsession with going to Africa. When I was young, about 10 years old or so, my mother brought my brother and me to see the movie, “Greystoke – The Legend of Tarzan.” For those who have never seen it, it’s as close to the original novel as it could be, so my mother told me.
I was entranced! I soaked up every jungle-filled scene of that movie with the wide eyes of a child realizing suddenly how big and how mysterious the world really was. I absorbed the whole wondrous impossibility of a boy growing up among apes, of running wild through the Congo, of pulling out a rotten elephant eyeball to show the injured European that eventually takes him from the jungle of Africa into the jungle of European aristocracy.
I had one of those experiences watching that movie as a child that most people reserve for religious experiences. I begged my mom to bring me back a couple more times, to drop me off at the movie to watch Tarzan over and over again.
I’ve had a few movies and books do that. They leave such an indelible impression on me that it quite literally changes the course of my life, my philosophy, my beliefs and, at the end, the inner core of me. “Platoon” was one of those movies. So was “Braveheart,” “The Empire Strikes Back,” “Excalibur” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” only because when the girl turned into a giant blueberry, it scared the living piss out of me.
The books and characters in books that have altered me are too numerous to list. Merlin is one character. I think, in a lot of ways, he’s my spiritual guide through this life, and I love finding him between yellowed pages of used books.
On that note, the miracle of miracles happened. At our favorite trade and swap bookstore, my mother found the entire Edgar Rice Burroughs Tarzan series – all 24 books.
I absorbed them all like religious texts. I sat on a branch of a large elm that sat in our small backyard (which would eventually succumb to Dutch Elm disease and large black ants) and read all the adventures of Tarzan in Africa. I marveled that he could keep alive in the desert by pretending to be dead and killing the vulture that came to feast on him. He drank its blood. He fought poachers. He had run-ins with dinosaurs and discovered ancient, cannibalistic societies.
I learned all the Swahili words in the books and even tried my tongue on the secret language of the apes.
And I knew that I would go to Africa.
That belief stayed with me throughout my childhood, teenaged drunken rebellious years, my equally drunken college times, my more drunken professional life as a newspaper writer and finally into my still drunk role as an editor of 11 small country newspapers.
In my mind, I saw myself in the Congo or on the plains of the Serengeti. I was tanned and wild and beautiful and clothed in khaki and white tank tops with my hair pulled back into a soft ponytail. I was comfortable there, wise in the mysteries of that ancient and primordial land. I was tough and experienced in dealing with the local warlords and politics, and I had the begrudging respect of visiting Americans who looked at me as a hardcore journalist with a mystical connection to the land.
It was never a doubt. I would go to Africa. Going to Africa was a TRUTH. It was always there, like a mote in the eye or a mole on your chin.
Until one night when I was laying in bed, dozing on the edge of sleep, it died. I was having a light little fantasy of being the guide to a bunch of actors who were in Africa and I, of course, was the wise little hottie that that had to keep them out of trouble, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, my voice spoke in my head.
“You’ll never do that.”
It was said in a very calm, very stern and very simple version of my own voice. It was shattering.
My eyes flew open. I was awake instantly, alert, and the gut-dropping pain I felt in that one moment was explosive and as sad as finding baby bunnies that your pet cat kills for you. That feeling of sadness was so strong that I remember literally thinking, “Is this what the death of a dream feels like?”
I lay in bed for a few minutes, my eyes open, my heart breaking. And then I fell asleep… deeply.
The next day, I thought about that moment. In the months to follow, I would get fired from my editor’s job by a vindictive jealous bitch, would wallow in self-pity for a few months, would continue drinking as I always did, would get a job doing media for a large non-profit, start a small little freelance side-career, fumble through boredom and sticky pawings, transition from wanting to be a bellydancer to being a bellydancer, venture out of the country into the jungles of Costa Rica, start taking stupid risks with money and men and…
And never again, did I believe in Africa as a TRUTH again.
Then, one afternoon after work, I lay down to nap. I think I was remembering Costa Rica. Or maybe I was just practicing the whole “The Secret” Power of Attraction thing that I had gotten into. Whatever, it was, somehow it led to this.
I had a vivid vision of myself on a jeep with a camera around my neck wearing khakis and a white tank top with my hair pulled back into a soft ponytail and I was on the plains of the Serengeti. I saw it as real as I see my keyboard right now, my messy desk and the little bottle of Acai Berry Extreme fat burner that I’ve never opened.
In that little moment before I dropped into a thick nap, a voice said, “You can do that.” It wasn’t the stern teacher voice of mine that killed the dream. It was just a quiet little whisper to myself, and I knew that yes, I would do that.
So, the TRUTH is back. And I will be in Africa.
This starts my journey to get there.

Everything I need to know about living fearlessly, I learned from bellydance

Heide — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 23:56:40 +0000

I’m a bellydancer.

I’d like to think that I’m a pretty good bellydancer who puts on a great show, helps promote the art of Middle Eastern Dance and someone who is pleasing to watch. All those paid dinner shows and gigs and bellygrams lead me to think that I’ve achieved that goal somewhat.

But it wasn’t always like that. Folks, I was the quintessential white girl dancin’. I liked to dance, but I couldn’t follow a beat if it left a trail of tequila shots for me.

I was that girl at The State Fair of Oklahoma or at Society for Creative Anachronism medieval events watching those graceful, lovely, sparkly dancers thinking, “Ooooh. That’s so pretty. I wish I could do that… I could NEVER do that. I can’t dance.”

There’s that word: Can’t. I hate that word. I hate that I used up so much precious time when I was young and scared on that word.

Somewhere along the line, that inner soul of me began hating that word too. I took a lot of risks when I was younger – some really good, some really freakin’ stupid (like sneaking off to L.A. with some friends in a band and not telling anyone or going across country in a stolen car) – but I started to face up to fear and just “do it.”

Even before I began bellydancing, I think I started to realize certain aspects about life. One: you don’t save up life, you spend it! If you keep saying,” One day, I will…” then you’ll end up on your deathbed wondering where that “one day” went.

But, to sum it all up, my journey in learning to bellydance suits this post just fine. Learning to dance was all about learning to overcome fears, so without further ado, here ya go:

EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT LIVING FEARLESSLY, I LEARNED FROM BELLYDANCE Zaghareet is that “li li li li” sound done really really fast and high that you hear Middle Eastern women do… it’s kind like clapping!

1. TRY IT: I’d wanted to learn bellydance for years. It wasn’t until a friend asked me to go to a class with her that I did it. Did I think I’d be good at it. Hell no!!!

But I was willing to try. The first class was horrendous. I felt like an elephant on roller skates, but I gave it the good ol’ college try. I look back and cringe at how my life would be so less fulfilled today if I hadn’t been willing to just try it.

2. STICK TO IT-IVNESS: As I said, I was horrible when I first started. I threw my hips to the side like someone trying to knock a fence down with my butt. But, then again, I knew I wasn’t going to pick it up right away.

The second class was just a little bit easier. The third a bit easier than that… and so on. I practiced my walking shimmies at work, at home, pushing the cart at the grocery store until I could do it somewhat well. My teacher, Soraya Al Musri, allowed me to learn at my own pace.

Sure, there were times I wanted to quit. Once, I just simply couldn’t get the hang of a flat maya, and I was driven to tears. I didn’t want to go back to the next class… but I did. Now I flat maya all the time.

Lesson: It’s going to be hard at first, but stick with it. It ain’t hard, it’s just new.

3. DON’T BE AFRAID OF LOOKING LIKE A FOOL: This one I got! Ha! There were times in class where I was doing something so horrendously that Soraya couldn’t help but just laugh at me. I didn’t blame her – I ended up laughing too.

Once, during a big show, my belt came unhooked and dropped to the ground… along with my skirt. Yup, there I was, standing in front of 100 people in my underwear… not pretty underwear either – granny panties.

Once you hear the shocked gasp of 100 people at once, I’m here to tell you: You’ll remember that sound for the rest of your life. But, I ran to the back of the stage and pinned up my costume. When I ran back out to rejoin the routine, the audience applauded me.

You’ll look like a fool a lot of times. Let people laugh… at least you took the risk and you stuck to it. I find most people forgive your embarrassing moments.

Also: always wear pretty underwear

4. DON’T BE AFRAID TO FAIL: This one kind of goes hand in hand with No. 3. When something goes wrong, or when you feel like you’ve failed at something, it’s just an opportunity to learn how NOT to fail again.

When I first started learning sword (dancing while balancing a sword on my head), I just kept dropping it. All the other girls got it just fine, but my sword kept slipping off my head. At our big Spring Showcase, in front of the audience, my sword was the only one to fall during the show.

I was devastated. I felt like I let the whole troupe down. I was angry and I was embarrassed.

After that, every day after work, I’d come home and put that sword on my head. I’d walk around with it, do the dishes with it, sit and watch television and even go to the bathroom with that sword on my head.

Now, I’m known as “the sword girl.” People come to me to learn how to use sword during bellydance.

5. PEOPLE WILL TRY TO STOP YOU – DON’T LET THEM: For some reason, people get really angry when they see you doing something you love that’s a little outrageous or outside their comfort zone. I had women call me “a slutty ass-shaker” while other called me a “raghead lover.” Still others are more sly. I’ve had bosses at work suggest my career could be hurt by my hobby.

I had other dancers sneer at me. I had others tell me to stop wasting my time on something I’d never go “professional” with.

Screw them. It’s not their life, it’s yours. Do what gives you joy, but beware of the energy vampires that will try to keep you from living the adventurous, fun life. They may be jealous.

LASTLY: DO WHAT YOU ENJOY: Whether its bellydancing or knitting or running or taxidermy, if it brings you joy and no harm to others, then follow your dreams. I love bellydancing. Twelve years now, I’ve been shimmying and undulating and balancing swords, and it’s as much a part of me as my heart and my blood and my soul is.

All those lessons can be applied to any part of your life, whether it be family or work or hobbies or dreams.

Now, go be fearless!

Want to learn to bellydance too? Go to www.aalimdanceworld.com

The Year of Living Fearlessly

Heide — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 17:35:05 +0000

Here’s a secret for ya: I’m not big into New Year’s Resolutions.

The main reason is that I forget to make them until several days or weeks after New Year’s, and by then, it’s just a regular day’s resolution and not a New Year’s one.

So, what’s the point.

But this year, I decided to make resolutions… but they really aren’t resolutions, so maybe I shouldn’t call them that. I decided to make the “Heide’s Year of Living Fearlessly List.”

According to quantum physics – that spooky little science that’s more like wizardry than E=MC2 – yes. But, I digress. We’ll get to quantum physics in another raving.

Also, I made a promise to do something completely new EVERY DAY… or, when I’m feeling lazy and my body is bloated with procrastination, at least EVERY WEEK!

I think it confuses them. They usually go drink beer and fart at each other to figure it out.

Another day, I tried Pho, which I’ve learned is pronounced “fuh,” like the first part of the f-bomb. It was delicious.

Today, I have no idea what new thing I’m going to do. Believe it or not, folks, it’s pretty hard to find something completely new to do every day.

Not every day can be filled with ice-skating, obscene yoga poses, zombie movie extra, zip lining in jungles or snorting wasabi.

HEY! THERE’S A DEER ON WESTERN IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!!!!

Because, sometimes, you've just got to grin at a male stripper's butt.

When they pull you from the sky

Heide — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 03:09:52 +0000

No kidding, there I was, feeling blue.

Sometimes I get really blue. No really, I really do. I get funkified and down in the dumps and frustrated and angry and I get my feelings hurt a lot.

Granted, it doesn’t last long, or at least, I try not to let it last long. However, gray skies, malicious gossip, other people’s negativity and crap every once a while yank me from the cloud of seas and manages to thump me pretty hard on the ground a couple of times… enough to leave a few bruises, and not in the fun ways I usually get bruises.

I know I’m not the only one. This ‘lil blog post is for all of you happy folks who have those bad days. I’m going to share a secret with you.

Life is actually a pretty wild and fun adventure, and it’s actually pretty good. So, when I’m feeling pissy and maudlin, I remember those adventures.

When I come home and I don’t feel work went as well as it should have, I remember that I’ve literally dressed in medieval armor and went into battle with the burliest, scariest and best friends a girl could hope for and fought with glory and heart (although I usually get killed pretty quickly, being I’m short and tiny).

When someone hurts my feelings by saying something unkind, I remember that I have a group of redneck and lovely men who take me hang gliding so high in the sky that I know what clouds feel like against the skin. I remember they want to teach me so I can fly along side them, and they like it when I’m around.

I’ve gone zip lining hundreds of feet above an exotic jungle AT NIGHT in a rainstorm with my best friend.

I’ve laughed so hard, I’ve literally peed my pants.

I’ve written words that changed someone’s life.

I’ve buried my face in the belly of a tiger.

I’ve had a kiss so amazing that it made my knees weak.

I have friends who are a novel-worthy story in and of themselves.

Something funny happens to me every day.

I’ve been loved by men who would be kings and heroes.

I’m a real life, honest-to-God, no kidding, people-pay-me-to-do-this bellydancer! I still get a big kick out of that!

I’ve met celebrities and they were all very nice to me.

I had the best childhood with amazing parents and pretty kick-ass brother who taught me the magic of imagination and play.

I’ve read books so amazing that I almost cried when I was finished with them.

I’ve been spelunking in caves so deep that time stops and the air leaves dust stains on your lips.

I’ve done things so insane and unbelievable that people think I’ve made it up… but I haven’t, which is the best part.

And I have — you have — more of that to look forward to. So, yeah, crappy stuff happens. Yeah, sometimes you feel pretty lousy about yourself and your situation.

But I’ve got my “LIST.” Best and only advice I can give to you is to remember all the escapades that your life gives you. Because, in the end when we’re all lyin’ on our death beds, THOSE adventures will be the true sum of your life.

Don’t sweat the petty stuff…pet the sweaty stuff.

Pura Vida

Heide — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 00:55:29 +0000

Oct. 20, 2009

Every day here in Costa Rica has been “Pura Vida,” a saying only Ticos use that translates literally to “pure life,” or “life is perfect.” I’ve fallen in love with the saying. I’ve fallen in love with how the Ticos say it so fast that it sounds like “purvida,” and that it’s used almost constantly.

I want it. I want to get it tatooed on my body somewhere.

I’m also so in love with the way the Ticos said “You’re welcome. “

“Mucho gusto.”

I like the way it sounds when the Ticos say it, so full of rounded sincerity, so full of pomp.

“Gracias,” I say.

“MUCHO gusto,” they say, big smiles stretching over the bigness of the meaning.

Our tour guide in La Fortuna, the young and flirty Giacarlo who led us around volcanos and jungles all day long and led us on the dance floor of salsa and Merengue later that night, first explained to us about “pura vida.” Whenever he took our picture, he’d say, “Say Pura Vida!”

It was awhile before Darien and I asked him what it meant.

Since then, everyone we pass seems to roll the words as a greeting, a compliment and a farewell.

“Pura Vida!”

It’s said so fast, like a little vibration of good cheer and always with a pura vida smile.

So, Costa Rica and Ticos, gracias for “pura vida!”

“MUCHO gusto!!!”

Zip Lining in Costa Rica

Heide — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 13:55:00 +0000

Title: Zipping through the jungle, flying through the night
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Of the months I’d been dreaming about my trip to Costa Rica, I’d never expected to be standing on a four-foot wide wooden platform 150 feet up a tree in the pitch black of a rainy cloud forest.
I never expected to be flying above the jungles on a zip line during a rainstorm in the jungle at night, but here I was, with my best friend Darien, doing just that. I think that’s the best thing about traveling and not really having a plan – you end up in the most unexpected places doing the most outrageous things. If you’re not trapped by schedules, pre-arranged accommodations or American-booked tours, then your planned hike during the day can end up being an adventure in zip lining through the Monteverde, Costa Rica cloud forests.
Costa Rica is stunning, with its active volcanos, cloud-frosted and dark mountain rainforests, sandy beaches and lowland jungles. The absolute best part of Costa Rica, however, are the Ticos. Ticos are the locals of the country, with Ticas being the women.
The country is famous for its hospitality and friendliness, and Darien and I saw no shortage of either. On the flip side, the Ticas sometimes didn’t care for us, especially for Darien, who is tall and blonde, the exact opposite of most the people of Costa Rica. Sometimes, we get the ol’ stink eye hard from a few of the ladies.
Nevertheless, the friendliness is astonishing. The Ticos here have a saying, and it’s a saying that’s only used in Costa Rica: “Pura Vida!” It literally translates to “Pure Life,” but is used loosely as “All is perfect!” I’ve come to adore that saying, the way the “r’s” roll off the Tico tongue and the big, rakish grins that accompany the words.
Darien and I, a couple of ladies in our late 30s, came to Costa Rica for a bit of adventure, and we got it. After spending two nights in La Fortuna, near the active Arenal Volcano, we met a Californian named Erick, who lived in Monteverde. We grabbed him and his Tica girlfriend and made the wild and horrifying trip to Monteverde.
The road up to the small mountain town has the dubius title of one of the worst roads in Central America, which is saying quite a bit. For one, most of the “highways” in Costa Rica are hard packed dirt roads full of potholes, crumbling sides and the craziest drivers you ever care to meet.
After bumping, sliding and laughing our way up the road, we arrived to Monteverde. Thank God for Erick, a jolly Hispanic fellow who worked in the town booking tours. He was on vacation too, so he basically became our own personal tour guide, friend and drinking buddy.
He was the one who recommended our first day canopy tour.
I guess I should explain that both Darien and I are a bit – okay, QUITE a bit – scared of heights, so the idea of zipping on a metal line through the jungles hundreds of feet in the air can be a little unnerving. All you do is hang from the line on a small hook and harness and trust that the tour guides hooked you in correctly (which they always do).
But the first time you let go of that fear and just speed across hundreds of feet of canopy, you are more alive and more happy to be alive than any other moment!
The Tico guides were a joy. Turns out I have an affection for the young Tico men here with their flirty eyes and big smiles. As Darien and I inched across a swinging hanging bridge, they jumped up and down to shake the bridge and scare us, paralyzing us both with laughter.
Darien and I laugh a lot. So much so, that the other tour go-ers began laughing at us, those who had a sense of humor. Amazing to me, some were stony faced and serious, almost disdainful of the adventure they were on.
Twelve zip lines and one 30-foot jump on a tarzan swing later, we faced the highlight of that particular tour – the Superman.
It’s named The Superman due to the fact that you hang facedown from the zip line, hooked on your back as opposed to the traditional “sitting” position. Not only do you hang facing down, this particular zip line is more than 700 meters long that stretches between two mountain tops and flies you at at least 500 feet above the jungle canopy!
So, yeah, we were a little nervous again. Darien and I are the last to do the line, and she flashed a grin and went, flying with arms wide across an astonishing view of the jungle below and mountains all around.
As the last one, I get hooked in, and because I was hanging from a harness around the chest, my breath caught in my ribs.
“Ready?” Jody, one of our Tico guides asked.
“Um… yeah. Let’s just go for it,” I replied, gathering up more gusto than I actually felt.
He pushes my legs up and off I went, speeding across the valley, feeling the wind brush my face. I kept my eyes open, and the view made me want to weep. At the back of my mind, though, was the repeating prayer that nothing would go wrong.
As I sped across the line (40 seconds for most of us), it suddenly occurred to me that I was not going to make it all the way across. And, yup, sure enough, I stop about 200 meters from the end.
It is hard to explain the feeling of hanging that high up with no way to move. Because I was hanging face down, I could not reach up and pull myself in like with the normal zip lines. So I just hung there.
I remember distinctly saying aloud, “Well… here I am.”
Whoosh – Jody flew by me on the parallel zip line, throwing a curious look as he zipped by. I waved cheerfully, hoping that someone would come fetch me.
Poor Darien on the other side said she saw the tiniest of the Ticos hook up and said, “Why is he hooking up? Where’s Heide? Oh my God, she’s stuck!”
“She’s stuck???” the other tour passengers exclaimed, rushing over to stare at me as I hung helplessly along the zip line.
I just waved and started to laugh. The tiny Tico, handsome as they tend to be, scooted out to me, I couldn’t stop laughing. Poor fellow had to tow me in.
After that little adventure, we had to do the night-time tour. Zip lining like that at night is even more adrenaline-pumped, but a bit less since you can’t see the view or how high up you are. In a few of the higher platforms, that might have been a good thing.
Darien and I and our new friend Erick braved the cold wet rain, the slick zip lines and the darkness with the help our our excellent guide, Olman, and flew in the jungles at night.
The Imperial (the local beer in Costa Rica) we drank that night never tasted better, and days later, the thrill remains.

First days in Costa Rica

Heide — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 04:25:22 +0000

We made it into Costa Rica with no problem, and are currently in a place called La Fortuna, which is at the base of the Arenal Volcano. Our stay in San Jose was unremarkable last night, but we decided to rent a 4×4 to drive while here. The trip from San Jose to La Fortuna was full of crazy drivers, sinking roads, dangerous bridges and the absolutely most astounding scenery you´ve ever seen.
It´´s a cloud forest up here, and everything is so very green and draped in mist and fog.. We found a charming little place called Los Charros to sleep in. Tiny room, but very clean and has air conditioning. $17 a night!!!! The staff was polite, although I´ve noticed ¨Machismo¨ is very big here in Costa Rica. All the men just size you up left and right, left and right. Funny!
BTW, you can get a 12 pack of the local beer for $2! Awesome. We stopped at a little roadside stand and ate fried chicken .: I´m pretty sure the pretty girl cooking it had just slaughtered the poor bastard, but damn, he was delicious!

Today, Sunday, we got up at 6 a.m. and had coffee in the communal kitchen. We met a couple from Isreal, who were very friendly. We also met Erik from California, who lives in Monteverde. After a few cups of coffee, Darien and I offered him a ride to Monteverde the next day if he would be our personal tour guide.

After coffee, Darien and I hopped onto an all’day excursion with Giancarlo, our guide. Went to the hanging bridges where we saw an awesome eyelash pit viper and had howler monkeys rain down urine and feces upon us. HAHAHAHA!!!!

Seriously, this area is dominated by Volcano Arenal, an active volcano that belches smoke and leaks thick viscous lava non’stop. It´s amazingly overwhelmingly green and exotic out here.

Saw a bright yellow pit viper as well. I´m on a communal computer, so I have to run. Will write more later.