Stops Along The Way #5 Jim

I met Jim in the kitchen of a hostel at the end of the world, Ushuaia, Argentina. I had arrived there in the hopes of getting a ‘last minute deal’ to Antarctica. I’d been hearing about it from other hostel guests traveling up, while I was traveling down. I got the deal, but the ship wasn’t leaving for another week. To while away the time, I purchased a week long pass to the parks and trails in Tierra Del Fuego.
Over tea, I learned that Jim was traveling solo and exploring all of the parks in Chileand Argentina.  My trip south was my first long solo travel, and I was just beginning to learn that even as a solo traveler, one is rarely alone. It was a fact I was more than grateful for as I wound my way south on my own.
At first I was a little intimidated or worried about making plans with total strangers, but by the time I met Jim, I felt I was an old pro at the hostel meet and greet.  I had learned how truly common it was to make plans and have adventures with someone I’d just met.  When loneliness became too heavy, I turned to my fellow travelers to help fill the  void.  When traveling, everyone is a potential partner in crime.
Jim and I discussed the various trails we wanted to hike and decided to go together to Lago Escondido that day.  At the start of the trail we were greeted by a very friendly fox. Later we learned he was a regular there and was even written about in the guide books.
We enjoyed a beautiful hike to the lake discussing the pleasantries of where we were from and what our former life looked like. I remember having much trouble with the first question, “where was I from.” I preferred the Spanish equivalent, “de donde vienes?” which literally translates to, “from where are you coming?”  I had left my apartment in Santiago De Chile where I had lived for the better part of two years, and begun traveling south to Ushuaia. That’s where I was coming from. I found it strange to say that I was from Coloradoor the States when I hadn’t lived there in so long, when I didn’t identify with it at all.
Though, I was actually homeless, no longer a paying roommate of my apartment and for the first time in my life no place to call home.  When I was asked in Spanish I would answer, “I am coming from Santiago.” Which was literally true, however, this confused people who looked at me and knew I was a gringa. Jim had the same confusion. If I said I was coming from the states I would still have to explain how I’d been abroad for so long.  And the truth was, I had not been in the states for nearly two years, how could I be coming from there? I preferred to say I was from the world. It seemed the most fitting, the most truthful, but even I thought that was too cheesy.
Finally at the lake, a secluded, hidden little gem of a glacier lake, we decided we must test the waters.  A traveling motto I had just heard in the hostel and since adopted, “you never regret a swim,” ran through my head.  This was my first chance to prove it.  We were not prepared, no swimsuits or towels.   He’s a stranger, I thought? A fact which made me both uneasy and reassured about what we did next.
We stripped down to our under things and plunged into the frigid water of the lake, laughing and screaming at the shock of it all. We frolicked around in the water like young children for as long as we could stand it, finally emerging from the water to collapse on the grasses of the shore, panting and shivering, smiling and laughing.  We dried ourselves in the rare warmth of a late summer sun.  It might have been the most unabashed, carefree thing I’d ever done.
Once reasonably dry, we dressed and made our way down the trail and back to the hostel. I think Jim left the next day. His departure was unceremonious and quiet. It was a nod of the head as he passed by the kitchen where I was drinking tea. No email addresses exchanged. No plans to meet up somewhere along the gringo trail.  I watched him exit, pack heavy on his back, and I smiled to myself at the moments we’d shared.
Jim could be any one of the various travelers I’ve met along the way.  So many people come and go, rarely leaving a mark. They fill the spaces and offer company on an otherwise solitary journey. Jim stands out in my mind because of the rare moments we shared, the quickness with which we became old friends, and the ease with which we parted.

Stops Along The Way #5 Jim

I met Jim in the kitchen of a hostel at the end of the world, Ushuaia, Argentina. I had arrived there in the hopes of getting a ‘last minute deal’ to Antarctica. I’d been hearing about it from other hostel guests traveling up, while I was traveling down. I got the deal, but the ship wasn’t leaving for another week. To while away the time, I purchased a week long pass to the parks and trails in Tierra Del Fuego.
Over tea, I learned that Jim was traveling solo and exploring all of the parks in Chile and Argentina.  My trip south was my first long solo travel, and I was just beginning to learn that even as a solo traveler, one is rarely alone. It was a fact I was more than grateful for as I wound my way south on my own.
At first I was a little intimidated or worried about making plans with total strangers, but by the time I met Jim, I felt I was an old pro at the hostel meet and greet.  I had learned how truly common it was to make plans and have adventures with someone I’d just met.  When loneliness became too heavy, I turned to my fellow travelers to help fill the  void.  When traveling, everyone is a potential partner in crime.
Jim and I discussed the various trails we wanted to hike and decided to go together to Lago Escondido that day.  At the start of the trail we were greeted by a very friendly fox. Later we learned he was a regular there and was even written about in the guide books.
We enjoyed a beautiful hike to the lake discussing the pleasantries of where we were from and what our former life looked like. I remember having much trouble with the first question, “where was I from.” I preferred the Spanish equivalent, “de donde vienes?” which literally translates to, “from where are you coming?”  I had left my apartment in Santiago De Chile where I had lived for the better part of two years, and begun traveling south to Ushuaia. That’s where I was coming from. I found it strange to say that I was from Colorado or the States when I hadn’t lived there in so long, when I didn’t identify with it at all.
Though, I was actually homeless, no longer a paying roommate of my apartment and for the first time in my life no place to call home.  When I was asked in Spanish I would answer, “I am coming from Santiago.” Which was literally true, however, this confused people who looked at me and knew I was a gringa. Jim had the same confusion. If I said I was coming from the states I would still have to explain how I’d been abroad for so long.  And the truth was, I had not been in the states for nearly two years, how could I be coming from there? I preferred to say I was from the world. It seemed the most fitting, the most truthful, but even I thought that was too cheesy.
Finally at the lake, a secluded, hidden little gem of a glacier lake, we decided we must test the waters.  A traveling motto I had just heard in the hostel and since adopted, “you never regret a swim,” ran through my head.  This was my first chance to prove it.  We were not prepared, no swimsuits or towels.   He’s a stranger, I thought? A fact which made me both uneasy and reassured about what we did next.
We stripped down to our under things and plunged into the frigid water of the lake, laughing and screaming at the shock of it all. We frolicked around in the water like young children for as long as we could stand it, finally emerging from the water to collapse on the grasses of the shore, panting and shivering, smiling and laughing.  We dried ourselves in the rare warmth of a late summer sun.  It might have been the most unabashed, carefree thing I’d ever done.
Once reasonably dry, we dressed and made our way down the trail and back to the hostel. I think Jim left the next day. His departure was unceremonious and quiet. It was a nod of the head as he passed by the kitchen where I was drinking tea. No email addresses exchanged. No plans to meet up somewhere along the gringo trail.  I watched him exit, pack heavy on his back, and I smiled to myself at the moments we’d shared.
Jim could be any one of the various travelers I’ve met along the way.  So many people come and go, rarely leaving a mark. They fill the spaces and offer company on an otherwise solitary journey. Jim stands out in my mind because of the rare moments we shared, the quickness with which we became old friends, and the ease with which we parted.

Those I Met Along The Way 4. Clancy- The Aussie

I met Clancy during the lifeboat drill onboard the icebreaker ship that would promptly be taking us to Antarctica.  She had about a hundred long, tiny braids of red hair, a laugh that insisted you join it and a presence that made you feel you were old friends immediately.

 I’ve met several Aussies along the way.  Each was cheerful and kind and maybe even a little rowdy in a ‘let’s do this proper’ kind of way.  And they did. They seemed to me to be the quintessential traveler.  Their focus appearing to be more on having fun rather than seeing every museum ever built.  There were many of them compared to those traveling from The United States. I always found this odd knowing how tiny a country Australiais and how big the States are.  Yet it was Australiathat represented abroad with so many fun, adventurous travelers.

 Clancy was no exception.  She was older then me and one of the first female solo travelers like myself I had met.  I idolized her the way a little sister might a big sister.  I am sure, had we had more time, it would have developed into a full on infatuation. I wanted to be her. I wanted to travel with the ease she did. I needed to devour every moment the way I was certain she did. I ached to be the center of attention I was making her on that ship, along with every one else.  People were simply drawn to her by the sort of magnetism that is only found in those who are truly comfortable with themselves.

 In the 12 days we spent traveling to and around AntarcticaI learned she had built her life around traveling. She led tours all over the world, and got paid to do it. During the few months she was not doing that, she traveled on her own, like she was doing in South American when I met her. I thought I had built my life around traveling becoming an ESLteacher so that I could live abroad and travel from there. Suddenly that didn’t seem enough.

 South America was my first big solo trip and I was only hitting Chile, where I’d been living and Argentinain the two months I traveled south.  Clancy made my trip pale in comparison. She showed me how much more was out there, not just in South America but in life. She let me believe that if I wanted something badly enough I could make it happen. I have spent the rest of my time since meeting her doing just that.

 We parted ways when we docked back in Ushuaia having explored the pristine, nearly untouched continent together. I’d hoped perhaps our paths would cross again as we traveled back up the gringo trail. They never did.

 We’ve remained friends, the way travelers do, on facebook.  I see the various pictures of her in Viet Nam, Africa, Thailandand so many other faraway places.  And still, I am filled with envy, even amidst my various pictures in Colombia, Belize, Puerto Rico and so many other magical places.  And I know she will remain my traveling standard, no matter how many places I have been.  She will keep inspiring me with every trip I watch her take, with every new adventure I decide I too, simply must do.

There are some people that come along and show you how things could be. They let you know there is another way, another choice, and they fill you with wonder when you notice them keeping on.  They show you how easy it could be if you just go after it.  Clancy is one of them. 

Those I Met Along The Way 4. Clancy- The Aussie

I met Clancy during the lifeboat drill onboard the icebreaker ship that would promptly be taking us to Antarctica.  She had about a hundred long, tiny braids of red hair, a laugh that insisted you join it and a presence that made you feel you were old friends immediately.

 I’ve met several Aussies along the way.  Each was cheerful and kind and maybe even a little rowdy in a ‘let’s do this proper’ kind of way.  And they did. They seemed to me to be the quintessential traveler.  Their focus appearing to be more on having fun rather than seeing every museum ever built.  There were many of them compared to those traveling from The United States. I always found this odd knowing how tiny a country Australia is and how big the States are.  Yet it was Australia that represented abroad with so many fun, adventurous travelers.

 Clancy was no exception.  She was older then me and one of the first female solo travelers like myself I had met.  I idolized her the way a little sister might a big sister.  I am sure, had we had more time, it would have developed into a full on infatuation. I wanted to be her. I wanted to travel with the ease she did. I needed to devour every moment the way I was certain she did. I ached to be the center of attention I was making her on that ship, along with every one else.  People were simply drawn to her by the sort of magnetism that is only found in those who are truly comfortable with themselves.

 In the 12 days we spent traveling to and around Antarctica I learned she had built her life around traveling. She led tours all over the world, and got paid to do it. During the few months she was not doing that, she traveled on her own, like she was doing in South American when I met her. I thought I had built my life around traveling becoming an ESL teacher so that I could live abroad and travel from there. Suddenly that didn’t seem enough.

 South America was my first big solo trip and I was only hitting Chile, where I’d been living and Argentina in the two months I traveled south.  Clancy made my trip pale in comparison. She showed me how much more was out there, not just in South America but in life. She let me believe that if I wanted something badly enough I could make it happen. I have spent the rest of my time since meeting her doing just that.

 We parted ways when we docked back in Ushuaia having explored the pristine, nearly untouched continent together. I’d hoped perhaps our paths would cross again as we traveled back up the gringo trail. They never did.

 We’ve remained friends, the way travelers do, on facebook.  I see the various pictures of her in Viet Nam, Africa, Thailand and so many other faraway places.  And still, I am filled with envy, even amidst my various pictures in Colombia, Belize, Puerto Rico and so many other magical places.  And I know she will remain my traveling standard, no matter how many places I have been.  She will keep inspiring me with every trip I watch her take, with every new adventure I decide I too, simply must do.

There are some people that come along and show you how things could be. They let you know there is another way, another choice, and they fill you with wonder when you notice them keeping on.  They show you how easy it could be if you just go after it.  Clancy is one of them. 

Those I Met Along The Way 3. Joel

I met Joel at the school we were both teaching at in SantiagoChile.  He was waiting for me by the computers.  I remember thinking he looked a little too straight laced to be someone I would actually hang out with, but I supposed he’d be a fine roommate.  We walked the short distance to my apartment so he could see if he wanted to move into the spare room or not. We didn’t have standards back than, we rarely do now, so I think we both knew the viewing was just a pretense. We liked to think we had somewhat of a choice, even though we knew we would take the maid’s quarters off the kitchen and ask to have the bed thrown in to sweeten the deal.

 We went for our first beer together after he moved in, which consisted of lugging two overstuffed suitcases up one flight of stairs. At the bar, he assured me that his stuffy demeanor was simply a result of the dress code at work. He then proceeded to tell me all of the many ways in which he was the opposite of square.  The fact that we were on our third beer at the time helped.

 Over those beers we learned that we were from the same state and went to the same university during the same time. Even now we joke about how we had to travel thousands of miles away from where we were to finally meet one another.  We wondered how many times we may have passed each other on campus, if we’d ever been at the same party or bumped into each other in a crowded bar.

 I think it is rare that we might remember the first beers we share with someone. Never knowing how important that person might become to you makes it easy to take those first encounters for granted. I am forever grateful I have concrete memories of them with Joel.   The image of him waiting for me by the computers, button down shirt half tucked in, khaki pants a bit wrinkly, ginger hair a week or two into needing to be cut.  Our first beers at Sepia knowing quickly that I would be glad I walked the ginger to my apartment, yet not quite knowing exactly who he would become to me.

 A year passed quickly as we shared the magic of living abroad together, and I was heading south, zigzagging my way down through Chileand Argentina.  Joel was making his way back up to Santiagoafter traveling all the way south to Ushuaia, Argentina.   Before he left, we made plans to meet in Bariloche Argentina, no small feat considering our only mode of communication was email, which was spotty at best.  Neither of us knew exactly when we’d be in Barlioche, but we assured each other we’d make every effort to get there.

 On the day we were meant to meet, I made my way to the plaza, our designated rendezvous. I sat on some steps near a fountain and watched all the tourist getting their pictures taken with the many Saint Bernard’s that roamed the plaza. Each Saint Bernard equipped with its own barrel around their neck.  I was told, instead of vodka, it contained Fernet, Argentina’s version of black licorice liquor. Joel and I had tried it once at a payday party we threw, having ran out of all Pisco and other liquor, we succumbed to Fernet brought back from a traveling couple staying in our apartment for a time.

 I was anxious and nervous as I waited on the steps thinking about that party.  My eyes searched the crowded plaza for any sign of him.  I began to doubt that I’d see him at all.  And I knew if I didn’t, I would simply come back again the next day, and the next. That was our plan.

 And then I saw him across the plaza, pack on his back, his hair a little longer than I remembered, a little more ginger. I stood up quickly and began making my way toward him. He’d yet to see me.  My pace quickened as I neared him, and I am sure I received more than a few stares as the crazy gringa began shouting his name across the plaza. Finally he heard me and made his way toward me.  It was not quite your standard airport reunion.

 We hugged awkwardly around his pack, laughed a bit at how the few months since we’d seen each other had changed us physically, and began furiously exchanging road stories; any doubt either of us had about this reunion happening erased by the sight of one another in the plaza.

 We spent four or five days together in Bariloche.  We searched for a hidden bar we never found, we hiked along the many trails, we swam in a lake we’d only seen in National Geographic, we joked about a reunion in the states were we ever to return, we laughed.  We parted ways, me heading south, the way he’d come, and him heading back ‘home’ to Santiago.

 It’s been ten years since our time together in Chileand Argentina. The pact we made never to return to the states as long as a certain someone was president was upheld, me moving to Honduras, Joel going first to Mexicoand then Ukraine.  We met a few times in the states at Christmas and summer holidays.  It seemed stranger to meet in the states, more unlikely than it ever did to meet in Bariloche.

 There is an ease while traveling, one that does not, cannot, occur in the normal world of everyday life, where reunions happen in tiny hippie mountain towns in Argentina, where lifelong friendships are solidified over a skipped bill at a bar that is not Escondido, where memories are made while swimming in Lago Nahuel Huapi with a rain coat as a swimsuit. It is an ease formed out of necessity, out of wonder and it is simply for the wanderer. 

 Joel has been my roommate two more times since our return to the states. We now live minutes away from each other in the college town we never met in. I couldn’t have told you then, over those beers in Sepia, who he would become to me, only simply that I knew our meeting was more than fleeting.

Those I Met Along The Way 3. Joel

I met Joel at the school we were both teaching at in Santiago Chile.  He was waiting for me by the computers.  I remember thinking he looked a little too straight laced to be someone I would actually hang out with, but I supposed he’d be a fine roommate.  We walked the short distance to my apartment so he could see if he wanted to move into the spare room or not. We didn’t have standards back than, we rarely do now, so I think we both knew the viewing was just a pretense. We liked to think we had somewhat of a choice, even though we knew we would take the maid’s quarters off the kitchen and ask to have the bed thrown in to sweeten the deal.

 We went for our first beer together after he moved in, which consisted of lugging two overstuffed suitcases up one flight of stairs. At the bar, he assured me that his stuffy demeanor was simply a result of the dress code at work. He then proceeded to tell me all of the many ways in which he was the opposite of square.  The fact that we were on our third beer at the time helped.

 Over those beers we learned that we were from the same state and went to the same university during the same time. Even now we joke about how we had to travel thousands of miles away from where we were to finally meet one another.  We wondered how many times we may have passed each other on campus, if we’d ever been at the same party or bumped into each other in a crowded bar.

 I think it is rare that we might remember the first beers we share with someone. Never knowing how important that person might become to you makes it easy to take those first encounters for granted. I am forever grateful I have concrete memories of them with Joel.   The image of him waiting for me by the computers, button down shirt half tucked in, khaki pants a bit wrinkly, ginger hair a week or two into needing to be cut.  Our first beers at Sepia knowing quickly that I would be glad I walked the ginger to my apartment, yet not quite knowing exactly who he would become to me.

 A year passed quickly as we shared the magic of living abroad together, and I was heading south, zigzagging my way down through Chile and Argentina.  Joel was making his way back up to Santiago after traveling all the way south to Ushuaia, Argentina.   Before he left, we made plans to meet in Bariloche Argentina, no small feat considering our only mode of communication was email, which was spotty at best.  Neither of us knew exactly when we’d be in Barlioche, but we assured each other we’d make every effort to get there.

 On the day we were meant to meet, I made my way to the plaza, our designated rendezvous. I sat on some steps near a fountain and watched all the tourist getting their pictures taken with the many Saint Bernard’s that roamed the plaza. Each Saint Bernard equipped with its own barrel around their neck.  I was told, instead of vodka, it contained Fernet, Argentina’s version of black licorice liquor. Joel and I had tried it once at a payday party we threw, having ran out of all Pisco and other liquor, we succumbed to Fernet brought back from a traveling couple staying in our apartment for a time.

 I was anxious and nervous as I waited on the steps thinking about that party.  My eyes searched the crowded plaza for any sign of him.  I began to doubt that I’d see him at all.  And I knew if I didn’t, I would simply come back again the next day, and the next. That was our plan.

 And then I saw him across the plaza, pack on his back, his hair a little longer than I remembered, a little more ginger. I stood up quickly and began making my way toward him. He’d yet to see me.  My pace quickened as I neared him, and I am sure I received more than a few stares as the crazy gringa began shouting his name across the plaza. Finally he heard me and made his way toward me.  It was not quite your standard airport reunion.

 We hugged awkwardly around his pack, laughed a bit at how the few months since we’d seen each other had changed us physically, and began furiously exchanging road stories; any doubt either of us had about this reunion happening erased by the sight of one another in the plaza.

 We spent four or five days together in Bariloche.  We searched for a hidden bar we never found, we hiked along the many trails, we swam in a lake we’d only seen in National Geographic, we joked about a reunion in the states were we ever to return, we laughed.  We parted ways, me heading south, the way he’d come, and him heading back ‘home’ to Santiago.

 It’s been ten years since our time together in Chile and Argentina. The pact we made never to return to the states as long as a certain someone was president was upheld, me moving to Honduras, Joel going first to Mexico and then Ukraine.  We met a few times in the states at Christmas and summer holidays.  It seemed stranger to meet in the states, more unlikely than it ever did to meet in Bariloche.

 There is an ease while traveling, one that does not, cannot, occur in the normal world of everyday life, where reunions happen in tiny hippie mountain towns in Argentina, where lifelong friendships are solidified over a skipped bill at a bar that is not Escondido, where memories are made while swimming in Lago Nahuel Huapi with a rain coat as a swimsuit. It is an ease formed out of necessity, out of wonder and it is simply for the wanderer. 

 Joel has been my roommate two more times since our return to the states. We now live minutes away from each other in the college town we never met in. I couldn’t have told you then, over those beers in Sepia, who he would become to me, only simply that I knew our meeting was more than fleeting.

Those I Met Along the Way- 1. James

 

 

(James is in my email address book as JamesCR.  He is the first of many I’ve met along the way. They are each in my address book with the initials of whatever town or country I met them in. I’ve not seen James again, but we have corresponded throughout the ten years since we met one night in Costa Rica.  He remains special to me for the friendship we’ve shared and the one night that started it all.)

 

 There was a bonfire on the beach near my hostel.  It was the night before I was to return to San Jose, to eventually return to the States. By this time, the States seemed more foreign to me than anywhere I’d ever been.

 I sat alone on a log near the fire, an Imperial in hand. Someone was playing a guitar. Someone else was playing bongos.  The tide kept better rhythm.  I watched as he left the bonfire and headed down a path through the woods.

 I followed him a few minutes later. I saw flashlights up ahead and for some reason felt like I should be more discreet, more hidden, like all of a sudden this was some undercover spy mission. I came upon him and some other traveler I had not seen at the bonfire.

“Whatcha doing?” I said.  Hands were shoved in pockets, flashlights turned off.

“Oh, an American,” He said.

“Ya, that’s right.” I said.

“Bloody hell,” He said. (I’m not sure if that’s exactly what he said or not, but he is British and I’ve heard him say it loads of times since. I've also come to know this as a particularly common expression when a Brit hears an American accent.)

 I don’t know what made me so confident as to simply follow James into the woods to catch some illicit drug trade happening. Nor what made me so confident as to follow him back to the bonfire like we were old friends, but I did. And he let me.  And when we were back at the bonfire, to everyone else, we were the old friends we’d become in the length of the five minute walk back.

 We listened to more of the music, another drummer had joined. The keeper of the fire had given up, in a huff, demanding someone else do the tending. Someone reluctantly did. They always do. A joint was passed. James left to get us more Imperials.  When he returned, he took my hand and pulled me from the log.

 We went walking. Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica is a tiny little town.  There were few places to go, but we found them. A crowded dance club on the beach, where we lost each other a time or two, an empanada stand with the hottest chilera I’ve ever had, a spot on the beach where the waves couldn’t reach us.

 We were up all night, two strangers, a little less strange to one another. The relief of a night spent in the freedom that comes with knowing you will never see this person again. No pretense, no restraint.

When dawn came, we walked to the hostel to get my bags.  I wondered if I needed to pay for the night’s room.  He walked me back to the bus that would take me to San Jose and waited till it pulled away.

 It was more a ‘see you later’ than a ‘good bye.’  It was not tearful or long. We did not exchange addresses or numbers.  There was a simple smile shared between us. A wave from the window as the bus rolled out of sight.

 It dropped me near the hostel where I would be staying for my last night before returning to The United States.  I showered and napped and organized. I went to the common area to hang out and watch some American TV. I was lying on the floor, half on a bean bag when he tapped my shoulder.

 Another simple smile shared between us.  We had become numb to the various coincidences and run-ins that happen while traveling.  We had perhaps come to expect them, though I never anticipated seeing him again.

 Serendipity rarely strikes twice.  We recognized the moment and the anomaly of it. We exchanged addresses this time.  We sat in the common area a little unsure how to proceed.  It only took us a moment to realize there was no need for either of us to do anything. Things had clearly been set in motion.

Those I Met Along the Way- 1. James

 

 

(James is in my email address book as JamesCR.  He is the first of many I’ve met along the way. They are each in my address book with the initials of whatever town or country I met them in. I’ve not seen James again, but we have corresponded throughout the ten years since we met one night in Costa Rica.  He remains special to me for the friendship we’ve shared and the one night that started it all.)

 

 There was a bonfire on the beach near my hostel.  It was the night before I was to return to San Jose, to eventually return to the States. By this time, the States seemed more foreign to me than anywhere I’d ever been.

 I sat alone on a log near the fire, an Imperial in hand. Someone was playing a guitar. Someone else was playing bongos.  The tide kept better rhythm.  I watched as he left the bonfire and headed down a path through the woods.

 I followed him a few minutes later. I saw flashlights up ahead and for some reason felt like I should be more discreet, more hidden, like all of a sudden this was some undercover spy mission. I came upon him and some other traveler I had not seen at the bonfire.

“Whatcha doing?” I said.  Hands were shoved in pockets, flashlights turned off.

“Oh, an American,” He said.

“Ya, that’s right.” I said.

“Bloody hell,” He said. (I’m not sure if that’s exactly what he said or not, but he is British and I’ve heard him say it loads of times since. I've also come to know this as a particularly common expression when a Brit hears an American accent.)

 I don’t know what made me so confident as to simply follow James into the woods to catch some illicit drug trade happening. Nor what made me so confident as to follow him back to the bonfire like we were old friends, but I did. And he let me.  And when we were back at the bonfire, to everyone else, we were the old friends we’d become in the length of the five minute walk back.

 We listened to more of the music, another drummer had joined. The keeper of the fire had given up, in a huff, demanding someone else do the tending. Someone reluctantly did. They always do. A joint was passed. James left to get us more Imperials.  When he returned, he took my hand and pulled me from the log.

 We went walking. Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica is a tiny little town.  There were few places to go, but we found them. A crowded dance club on the beach, where we lost each other a time or two, an empanada stand with the hottest chilera I’ve ever had, a spot on the beach where the waves couldn’t reach us.

 We were up all night, two strangers, a little less strange to one another. The relief of a night spent in the freedom that comes with knowing you will never see this person again. No pretense, no restraint.

When dawn came, we walked to the hostel to get my bags.  I wondered if I needed to pay for the night’s room.  He walked me back to the bus that would take me to San Jose and waited till it pulled away.

 It was more a ‘see you later’ than a ‘good bye.’  It was not tearful or long. We did not exchange addresses or numbers.  There was a simple smile shared between us. A wave from the window as the bus rolled out of sight.

 It dropped me near the hostel where I would be staying for my last night before returning to The United States.  I showered and napped and organized. I went to the common area to hang out and watch some American TV. I was lying on the floor, half on a bean bag when he tapped my shoulder.

 Another simple smile shared between us.  We had become numb to the various coincidences and run-ins that happen while traveling.  We had perhaps come to expect them, though I never anticipated seeing him again.

 Serendipity rarely strikes twice.  We recognized the moment and the anomaly of it. We exchanged addresses this time.  We sat in the common area a little unsure how to proceed.  It only took us a moment to realize there was no need for either of us to do anything. Things had clearly been set in motion.