I caught a bus into San Jose today because I was on my to Panama. I arrived in the city and began looking for the Tica Bus station. I had a folded square of paper in my hand that had Torre Mercedes written upon it. The Tica Bus station was two blocks north and one block west of this tower.
But upon arrival in San Jose, after sitting in a slow local bus that stopped every half minute to pick up every straggler a touch too lazy to walk to the nearest bus stop, I realized that I did not feel like searching for some tower. I did not even feel like going to Panama. I walked the streets of San Jose for a few minutes pondering why I did not feel like going to Panama, I bought something to drink, I walked around some more. I could not figure out why I had this feeling. I soon remembered that I need to get an article into a magazine that will pay me fifty dollars for my labor. I need fifty dollars. So instead of finding the Mercedes Tower, the Tica Bus station, and Panama, I found a bus back to Heredia.
I feel odd here in Central America. I almost feel that I am completing some traveler duty to travel to the few countries in this region that I have not traveled to before: Panama, El Salvador, Belize, Guatemala, Mexico. But my mind is elsewhere, lost in another situational frame. I want to go to Africa. I want to get back out into the middle of nowhere. I think of the noman’s lands of China, I think of tramping in Japan, and all the fun of scamming the rail-lines and sleeping outside- I love these two places. I think Costa Rica is getting me down a little, as silly as this sounds. The sun is shining bright, but I am not absorbing the rays. I don’t care for my situation. I do not know why. It seems pretty good to me, but I just am not feeling it: I have been thinking more about getting articles in before deadlines than running wild down to some stinking canal without a care.
I have been feeling a little leashed in all respects. I think this is coming out in what I have been writing here. It seems a little drudgy to me.
I want what I am feeling to come out here, so I write drudge when I feel it, I write uncontainable romance when I feel it. I do not want to be a perfect person. I am not a perfect person. It would make me smile if you read this and thought, “Gee, this Wade guy is not a perfect person, in fact, I think he has a lot of character faults.” I would really smile and maybe even laugh to myself if you said, “I don’t think I would like this guy if I met him in real life… he kind of sucks.”
If you say that then I am free. Asses do not need to please anyone, they do not have to get articles in on time, they can just go about their days being asses.
Maybe I just want to be an ass.
So I erred on the side of base feeling, complimented it with logic, and did not go to Panama today. But I promise myself, when I get that article in tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day, I will buy myself a ticket to Panama and forget about everything for a couple of minutes, or just forget forever.
Although I do not think that I will forget that I want to go to Africa.
Been reading the Chatwin again. I read him as a kid, put him away for a while, and found him again just to realize that he is the same ole Chatwin. Still thinking too much and being interesting. I like a man who talks to himself constantly.
I have the impression that Chatwin did not write for me, but rather wrote everything just to show off to himself.
I show off to myself, too.
I like writers who do not care about me.
But on the other side of this, I have a no good feeling here. I sometimes feel as if I misplaced my smile somewhere. Maybe I left it outside of Costa Rica? I should probably find out.
Maybe I just need to make up a really good joke and laugh about it all the live long day.
Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Barva, Costa Rica
February 14, 2008