People.

And now it has come down to it: my last day in Costa Rica. Which has had me thinking about all the people I have met since I took off on my own that have made my travels so enjoyable. And I´m thinking about people back home that I will see soon.

I would like to propose a toast, and I hope you will forgive me if it a bit of a long one.

Cheers!:

To Simon, whose couch I will be on tomorrow night, who likes cool music and is so sincere.

To Greg, whose couch I will be on in a few days, who is taking care of business for me, and who is a fantastic human being.

To Brennan, who has been taking care of business for me for a long time, and whose grumpiness I miss.

To Chris, my stepfather, who always has my back and who is always awkward and sincere.

To my mother, whose birthday I forgot, and whose birthday I forget every year until sometime around mother´s day, when I remember that I forgot.

To Diana, who was my first friend in Central America, and who made the way for all the others.

To the Italian, Miguel, who drank red wine with me in the middle of the night.

To the Swiss guy, Nikolai, who stumbled down the very steep hill in the pitch black night with me.

To Marcus, the Australian, who drank and talked with me; who got robbed and fled with me. Who had pretty, calculating eyes and a businessman´s body. I wish you well on the rest of your travels.

To Oliver, the Englishman, who had blue eyes and a golden body and a white ass. Who was a terrible surf instructor and who had a curious British sense of humor (I hate you). May your passport get you into Honduras and-or may your bribes go over well. 

To Mike Gross, who was good fun and an amusing dancer. Grosscoast.

To Peter, the other Australian, who took an interest in my interest in baseball, and loved to play poker.

To AP Steve, who does not like the outdoors and who is as awkward as ever. You are an inspiration and I want your car.

To Webb, who almost made me a pirate. I´m sorry I didn´t go with you. It´s my only regret.

To The Milkman, Cheesecoast, Brent, Rachael, and Kai, who were my posse from Santa Teresa to Bocas del Toro.

To Elizabeth, also known as Frenchie, who was beautiful and kind and who I was always jealous of.

To Zach, who always has a funny comment, and who has done his best to warn me off law school.

To Hunter, who took me surfing for the first time.

To Robyn, the Canadian nurse, who made the second time in Tamarindo as fun as the first.

To the Israeli guys, who nearly died crossing the river with us and who did not laugh at my surfing abilities.

To all those I met so briefly: the New York Greek in Boquete; the English DJ in Panama City; Dan who owned the hostels who I met at Aqualounge; Dan´s pretty, pretty friend; Brian in San Jose, who was so nice to me it made me cry; Brooks, who looks so much like Scott; David in LA, who just got a new apartment; and all the others I admired momentarily and then forgot.

To Fernando, my cab driver; to the old security guard at the David bus station; to the bartender at Iguana; to the guy I took my very first bus ride with; to all the locals who had patience with my Spanish and were good to me.

To all the people back in Portland: I have missed you, I have missed your antics, and I hope to see you soon.

To you all: It was swell. Cheers!