http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&saddr=Tinamaste,+Costa+Rica@9.30648,-83.77676000000002&daddr=Dominical,+Costa+Rica@9.25047,-83.85825999999997&dirflg=&ie=UTF8&layer=c&utm_campaign=en&utm_medium=et&utm_source=en-et-na-us-gns-dd&utm_term=ddgadget
(Refer to the map above for about where I'll be living, in Tinamaste. 14 min (after the 45 min walk) drive to Dominical. And pull the map out to be able to see where Orosi is. and where you are. and how far apart we are. etc etc. maps are fun!)
My first couple weeks here in Orosi, I kept myself landlocked to this small family town and the surrounding areas I could reach by foot and back in a decent amount of time. Then, the urge for more called out, as it does. "Bout the same time, my computer started eliciting some major problems. So, to the bus I went!
There's only one bus that passes through Orosi - a modern, but not bio-diesel, green and white Benz. It goes back and forth from here to Cartago. From Cartago, the former capital until some type of rumored political nonsense moved it to the major airport hub, San Jose, not too long ago. In either Cartago or San Jose, I can catch all sorts of buses going wherever I'd like; I figure I could travel by bus anywhere in this country for about $10. The major catch - you have to be able to find the buses!
Neither Orosi or Cartago - one of the largest CR cities - have street signs. Me, I've learned to observe, since the Orosi bus does head out to Orosi in the same spot it drops people off. I've learned to ask for directions using very simple Spanish like, "Donde el autobus a Orosi," from which I pick up much more from the hand signals than the language, unless they speak in kilometers, which helps. While I'm talking, I might be patting myself to make sure my wallet pocket is zipped and still containing a wallet, considering on one of my first trips, my keys went missing - I kept them on a carabinger which I clipped to a belt buckle and one fine bus trip, I heard my keys jangle, looked down, saw them, thought that was weird that they jangled w/out movement, only to find later they were gone. I think somebody in the seat behind me may have been successfully practicing their slight of hand. Cost of manufacturing a replacement key: 400 colones or 80 cents.
Another one of my observations has been color - the Orosi-Cartago bus is the only bus I'd seen in these parts that was wholly green and white, and I've made this trip many times now in this past two weeks. Yes, I will note that it also says in big block language "CARTAGO/OROSI," but the green white is a nice hint about what I will be reading. These observations worked well up until yesterday, an impromptu day when I had some circumstances that prompted Frank, the hotel owner here, to say, "those odds don't even exist."
Yesterday afternoon, I went to snap off a pic of my new stellar gringo stache -
from my webcam, mainly to save time. When I went to actually take the pic, however, I received the dreaded blue screen instead of a pic w/less pixels than my camera. I followed the instructions my computer gave me - restart computer and run a system diagnostics check. Done. No problems detected. Webcam pic attempt #2 - blue screen.
I recognize my 4 1/2 yr old laptop may be on it's last leg, but I just got it a hip replacement, and I wanted that operation to carry it through the completion of my book. If not that, I wanted my money back from the operator, since the computer fix may have fix a part of the problem, just not the main problem (I have a 30 day money back guarantee). So, I decided lickity split to hop the bus to Cartago and hopefully see the one guy that speaks English at the computer repair store.
I'm a bit frantic and bummed now - if he's not here, then I may have to delay my move to San Isidro. And regardless, my computer may be damaged and might not see me through completion. Indeed, it froze the other day and required a system restore. It's hurting. I felt that hurt and because of it, searched for a feel good food on my way to the computer store.
Dark chocolate bar for $4? no. Pastries of various sorts? no. Ice creams that didn't move me? no. But I did look for them all. Fresh fruits - i was really only feeling pinapple, but I didn't bring a knife and napkins. So, computer store with my feelings dogging me.
Not only was the English speaking tech not there, no techs were, just the sexy receptionist. My guy wouldn't be there until Viernes. Well, that's a pickle. I communicated that my computer was having "problemas," that were, "muy mal." Maybe she'll pass this on, maybe not. Regardless, I left and headed out.
I started trekking on a street that I thought, but wasn't positive, would lead me to an ice cream shop I tried and loved last week - remember, no street signs. Success. Even better - the same young girl, I think, who topped my single scoop coffee ice cream with a bit of mango ice cream. This time, I needed chocolate, so I ordered a single, and even though she packed in a bunch of it, I changed my mind and made it a double with cream chip on top. Price - $3 when I left the change as tip.
From there, I walked to WalMart - supporting the monster, yeah yeah yeah - about 2k, mainly because it's on the bus route home (for one more day) and because I didn't know where else to go for a tarp. I looked all around the sporting goods section and didn't find one, and then located one elsewhere in the store - for 9,000 colones, or $18. I'm pretty sure I paid significantly less in the US for the same crap plastic blue tarp measuring 3 meters by 4 meters, and because I didn't have an immediate need for it, I decided against. I but a couple other products, I pay in US dollars because they are one of the few places in this country that takes them, and I move on.
I walk a couple blocks to a cafe I'd noted prior. I look in - no prices on the pastries. I decided that, like in America, this establishment would be past my reasonable budget for food and drink. I didn't need my first coffee w/cream or cappuccino in a month that badly. I move on down the road. I find a bus stop sign. I wait for maybe 5 minutes and decided for various reasons to continue on to a different bus stop.
I get there. It's unmarked, but there are 2 ladies waiting. They get on a bus that is not the Orosi bus. I wait. The Orosi bus comes. I hold my hand out to note I am here for it - it keeps going, to my chagrin. I move on to the next bus stop.
It is now raining, so the next stop was welcome, because set back about 10 feet from the street, there was a restaurant adjacent to a bodega, which had an awning jutting out from it. These shops were run by some Asians (not common in these parts), who seemed to live in the apartment upstairs from them. I felt like I could be in America, or anywhere else in the world.
I pulled out "notes from a dirty old man" and read, allowing Bukowski to entertain me on this day that was seemingly not going my way, and yet, not kicking my ass, either. I would occasionally brave the rain to see if I spied the Orosi bus, but it was coming down pretty hard, so I mainly stood, read, and waited.
There was a brief, less than 2 minute lull in the rain. I didn't take advantage by going to the street. In that window of time, the faithful green and white bus came and did not stop at my stop. I held my arms out in a universal sign of, "Hey, what the fuck, it's your job to stop right here!" The driver cared not, from what I could tell. I waited some more.
The shop owners don't seem to mind this here Gringo kicking it under their awning like a good ol' hood-rat, so I get back into my book, where I'm being thoroughly entertained by Hank's crass, lovely tales. Reading and more reading, and probably only 5-10 minutes went by, which could have been a sign, but it could have been 20-30 minutes, the typical amount of time in between buses. It was green and white. I may have looked up at the NAMES on the bus, I may have imagined I did and was satisfied, I may not have. Like I said, it was green and white; I got on.
It looked different. Plus the driver gave me back change after I purposefully gave 5 colones less than the fare - 5 colones may as well be garbage, as they're worth a fraction of a penny. I wondered immediately if I got on the wrong bus. Two Tico's engaged me in conversation. One of them wore a baseball hat that said Texas on it. They loved my cowboy hat. We clearly had a connection. Yes, it's a small world after all.
I knew in a short bit that I was not on the Orosi bus, as I was able to read the route - thank goodness the same letters are used in this country, unlike numerous other countries I could be in. I decided to take it to the end of the line, which I figured correctly would still be on the route of the Orosi bus.
Now, I was walking through Paraiso - Paradise - for the first time. It's not my idea of paradise, but to each their own. Nonetheless, I was drawn to something. I thought maybe it was the skateboarders on the basketball court adorned with graffiti. I walked around them, thought of taking a picture, and walked on.
I saw the Orosi bus rounding the corner. I could catch it. If I do, I'll never get this moment again, with these kids, or whatever, and I likely would never step foot in this town again. I stopped acting like I was in a hurry. I let the bus go on.
I snapped a couple pics of the kids. I went into a macrobiotics store and inquired about clove oil - they didn't have any. I walked to the main crowded road. It smelled of emissions. Diesel emissions. Not clean burning. I wondered on the local lotto, sold all over, often by people who set up a table on the sidewalk or in a small room in a building that opens onto a main sidewalk. I snapped a picture and walked around the corner, down past the macro store, to the next bus stop, where the air was a bit fresher.
I pulled out my book, read, and waited, with a crowd this time, though I set myself apart. "You know I don't like being stuck in a crowd," (Mr Axl Rose - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErvgV4P6Fzc&ob=av3e). (and, if you wondered, duh, yes, of course i karaoked this song this past summer. Sweet Child O' Mine, too). Henry and I blended our styles (I'm recognizing over this last couple months, as I read my 1st two works of Henry Charles Bukowski, born Heinrich Karl, that my writing style and living style and even thinking style is more similar to he than practically anybody i can think of...i dig that) as I read - my style influence by the reading, his style influenced in my imagining of our similarities. As I finished reading a naughty, lip-licking poem supposedly, and probably, sent by a hot-to-trot young pretty thing to old man Hank, the Orosi to Cartago bus pulled up. I know because I did look up this time.
The bus was more packed than any bus I'd been on yet in Latin America. If it's this packed tomorrow, there'll be no space for my bags; I doubt it'll be like that. It was so full, I had to remain standing on the walk up steps and move aside at every stop. Such is life. Besides, I had the best view, with my face practically in the massive front window, which was sweet for ascending and descending the mountain to get to Orosi.
Somewhere along there on the ascending side, as I was checking out my immediate surroundings, I took note of something I didn't think I'd see again - my carabinger with the hotel key attached, hanging from a knob amongst knobs and dials in the front of the bus. I didn't even pretend to pretend I knew the Spanish words, I merely grabbed the 'binger and said to the driver something like, "a es mi," and pointed to myself. I then snapped the binger around my buckle and showed him my other binger. He said something and drifted off into a low mumble, probably understanding that I wouldn't understand, and yet satisfied that the binger had re-found its person.
I smiled wide now. The double scoop was great. The rest of my occurrences were...well, they were life, and I was alternately enjoying or dismissing or cursing or standing back or idling on or...Now I was somewhere else, happy, spiritual, connected. I actually could hardly wait to tell Frank and his girl this story - they knew enough about my computer problems, he knew the key had been lost or taken, I didn't inform him where I had gone that day, let alone that I had gone, as is my way, and we could use a good story, instead of awkward interactions, before we parted ways. Yes, I was happy, and kinda wide-eyed and in awe the remainder of the ride.
Frank enjoyed the story. Appreciated the nuances that had to fall into place exactly as they did for me to reacquire the keys that night, my 2nd to last in this town. I told him after I was leaving either Wednesday morning or Friday, depending on what I'd do with my computer. I've decided - I will deal with it and get on living where I can really live.
I said my goodbye to Francesca today. She gave me a chocolate muffin and wouldn't take any money for it. We spoke of what I'd do. She attempted to bond with me and the lady running the fruit/veggie market today by speaking bad or gossiping or something about Frank. I agreed as much that he was crazy, as she said, by saying, "muy loco." But who isn't? I attempted to offer a different light by calling him, "especial," but she wasn't buying - it was loco or bust for her. Hahaha. I love that lady. Mi gusto for having known her.
I also saw mi mejor amigo de Latin America, as I called him today, Xavier. First I told him of my departure, then he handed me the remote control, as he likes to do, while I waited. I surprised him with the idea of working on my tooth, again, but he quickly saw that it needed it - apparently it had chipped or something. He had his assistant go next door and buy coffee and cake for us while he brought out his drill and no pain-killers one last time.
This was the one time I wasn't really buying what he was selling. Yes, he did drill and refill. He also sprayed it with the air gun whence he was done, and I felt the sting. That doesn't happen when all is well. And today, he was busy, a busy little bee, with many people waiting and two rooms of clients being served by him alone, and maybe that is why he didn't really hear me when I stated that I didn't think that all was well. Plus, he probably figured he did a quality job filling it, which I bet he did. Maybe that wasn't the problem - maybe he missed a bit of decay the first time around - I dunno.
I wondered on a couple of these things as I waited around post filling for us to have time to eat our cake. Sure, I was also digging the hbo and cinemax movies in English with Spanish subtitles, since I only have a computer. And then we ate. And drank. And made initial plans to potentially set up a mobile dentistry for him in my new home, with kickbacks for me and the property owner. Being near Dominical at the end of the work day wouldn't hurt, either.
Confident that my teeth pain would go away soon, he gave me some sensitive teeth toothpaste (I had returned today a free unopened toothbrush that he'd given me, as I now have my super-duper sonic care to rescue my teeth from oblivion), we shook hands, and I was on my way. I emailed him information on how to reach my new home this evening and included in there that my tooth was in mighty pain. No questions or negotiating he told me to be at his office at 8 AM, his opening time.
So, I'll push back my departure time by an hour or so, but at least my teeth will likely all be in order, unlike my computer. And I'll get to see Dr...my friend, one more time. Then, it's back to solitude. Not for 100 years, although sometimes it feels like that's how long this book writing endeavor is taking. And so I take it, what else is there for me to do?
(Refer to the map above for about where I'll be living, in Tinamaste. 14 min (after the 45 min walk) drive to Dominical. And pull the map out to be able to see where Orosi is. and where you are. and how far apart we are. etc etc. maps are fun!)
My first couple weeks here in Orosi, I kept myself landlocked to this small family town and the surrounding areas I could reach by foot and back in a decent amount of time. Then, the urge for more called out, as it does. "Bout the same time, my computer started eliciting some major problems. So, to the bus I went!
There's only one bus that passes through Orosi - a modern, but not bio-diesel, green and white Benz. It goes back and forth from here to Cartago. From Cartago, the former capital until some type of rumored political nonsense moved it to the major airport hub, San Jose, not too long ago. In either Cartago or San Jose, I can catch all sorts of buses going wherever I'd like; I figure I could travel by bus anywhere in this country for about $10. The major catch - you have to be able to find the buses!
Neither Orosi or Cartago - one of the largest CR cities - have street signs. Me, I've learned to observe, since the Orosi bus does head out to Orosi in the same spot it drops people off. I've learned to ask for directions using very simple Spanish like, "Donde el autobus a Orosi," from which I pick up much more from the hand signals than the language, unless they speak in kilometers, which helps. While I'm talking, I might be patting myself to make sure my wallet pocket is zipped and still containing a wallet, considering on one of my first trips, my keys went missing - I kept them on a carabinger which I clipped to a belt buckle and one fine bus trip, I heard my keys jangle, looked down, saw them, thought that was weird that they jangled w/out movement, only to find later they were gone. I think somebody in the seat behind me may have been successfully practicing their slight of hand. Cost of manufacturing a replacement key: 400 colones or 80 cents.
Another one of my observations has been color - the Orosi-Cartago bus is the only bus I'd seen in these parts that was wholly green and white, and I've made this trip many times now in this past two weeks. Yes, I will note that it also says in big block language "CARTAGO/OROSI," but the green white is a nice hint about what I will be reading. These observations worked well up until yesterday, an impromptu day when I had some circumstances that prompted Frank, the hotel owner here, to say, "those odds don't even exist."
Yesterday afternoon, I went to snap off a pic of my new stellar gringo stache -
from my webcam, mainly to save time. When I went to actually take the pic, however, I received the dreaded blue screen instead of a pic w/less pixels than my camera. I followed the instructions my computer gave me - restart computer and run a system diagnostics check. Done. No problems detected. Webcam pic attempt #2 - blue screen.
I recognize my 4 1/2 yr old laptop may be on it's last leg, but I just got it a hip replacement, and I wanted that operation to carry it through the completion of my book. If not that, I wanted my money back from the operator, since the computer fix may have fix a part of the problem, just not the main problem (I have a 30 day money back guarantee). So, I decided lickity split to hop the bus to Cartago and hopefully see the one guy that speaks English at the computer repair store.
I'm a bit frantic and bummed now - if he's not here, then I may have to delay my move to San Isidro. And regardless, my computer may be damaged and might not see me through completion. Indeed, it froze the other day and required a system restore. It's hurting. I felt that hurt and because of it, searched for a feel good food on my way to the computer store.
Dark chocolate bar for $4? no. Pastries of various sorts? no. Ice creams that didn't move me? no. But I did look for them all. Fresh fruits - i was really only feeling pinapple, but I didn't bring a knife and napkins. So, computer store with my feelings dogging me.
Not only was the English speaking tech not there, no techs were, just the sexy receptionist. My guy wouldn't be there until Viernes. Well, that's a pickle. I communicated that my computer was having "problemas," that were, "muy mal." Maybe she'll pass this on, maybe not. Regardless, I left and headed out.
I started trekking on a street that I thought, but wasn't positive, would lead me to an ice cream shop I tried and loved last week - remember, no street signs. Success. Even better - the same young girl, I think, who topped my single scoop coffee ice cream with a bit of mango ice cream. This time, I needed chocolate, so I ordered a single, and even though she packed in a bunch of it, I changed my mind and made it a double with cream chip on top. Price - $3 when I left the change as tip.
From there, I walked to WalMart - supporting the monster, yeah yeah yeah - about 2k, mainly because it's on the bus route home (for one more day) and because I didn't know where else to go for a tarp. I looked all around the sporting goods section and didn't find one, and then located one elsewhere in the store - for 9,000 colones, or $18. I'm pretty sure I paid significantly less in the US for the same crap plastic blue tarp measuring 3 meters by 4 meters, and because I didn't have an immediate need for it, I decided against. I but a couple other products, I pay in US dollars because they are one of the few places in this country that takes them, and I move on.
I walk a couple blocks to a cafe I'd noted prior. I look in - no prices on the pastries. I decided that, like in America, this establishment would be past my reasonable budget for food and drink. I didn't need my first coffee w/cream or cappuccino in a month that badly. I move on down the road. I find a bus stop sign. I wait for maybe 5 minutes and decided for various reasons to continue on to a different bus stop.
I get there. It's unmarked, but there are 2 ladies waiting. They get on a bus that is not the Orosi bus. I wait. The Orosi bus comes. I hold my hand out to note I am here for it - it keeps going, to my chagrin. I move on to the next bus stop.
It is now raining, so the next stop was welcome, because set back about 10 feet from the street, there was a restaurant adjacent to a bodega, which had an awning jutting out from it. These shops were run by some Asians (not common in these parts), who seemed to live in the apartment upstairs from them. I felt like I could be in America, or anywhere else in the world.
I pulled out "notes from a dirty old man" and read, allowing Bukowski to entertain me on this day that was seemingly not going my way, and yet, not kicking my ass, either. I would occasionally brave the rain to see if I spied the Orosi bus, but it was coming down pretty hard, so I mainly stood, read, and waited.
There was a brief, less than 2 minute lull in the rain. I didn't take advantage by going to the street. In that window of time, the faithful green and white bus came and did not stop at my stop. I held my arms out in a universal sign of, "Hey, what the fuck, it's your job to stop right here!" The driver cared not, from what I could tell. I waited some more.
The shop owners don't seem to mind this here Gringo kicking it under their awning like a good ol' hood-rat, so I get back into my book, where I'm being thoroughly entertained by Hank's crass, lovely tales. Reading and more reading, and probably only 5-10 minutes went by, which could have been a sign, but it could have been 20-30 minutes, the typical amount of time in between buses. It was green and white. I may have looked up at the NAMES on the bus, I may have imagined I did and was satisfied, I may not have. Like I said, it was green and white; I got on.
It looked different. Plus the driver gave me back change after I purposefully gave 5 colones less than the fare - 5 colones may as well be garbage, as they're worth a fraction of a penny. I wondered immediately if I got on the wrong bus. Two Tico's engaged me in conversation. One of them wore a baseball hat that said Texas on it. They loved my cowboy hat. We clearly had a connection. Yes, it's a small world after all.
I knew in a short bit that I was not on the Orosi bus, as I was able to read the route - thank goodness the same letters are used in this country, unlike numerous other countries I could be in. I decided to take it to the end of the line, which I figured correctly would still be on the route of the Orosi bus.
Now, I was walking through Paraiso - Paradise - for the first time. It's not my idea of paradise, but to each their own. Nonetheless, I was drawn to something. I thought maybe it was the skateboarders on the basketball court adorned with graffiti. I walked around them, thought of taking a picture, and walked on.
I saw the Orosi bus rounding the corner. I could catch it. If I do, I'll never get this moment again, with these kids, or whatever, and I likely would never step foot in this town again. I stopped acting like I was in a hurry. I let the bus go on.
I snapped a couple pics of the kids. I went into a macrobiotics store and inquired about clove oil - they didn't have any. I walked to the main crowded road. It smelled of emissions. Diesel emissions. Not clean burning. I wondered on the local lotto, sold all over, often by people who set up a table on the sidewalk or in a small room in a building that opens onto a main sidewalk. I snapped a picture and walked around the corner, down past the macro store, to the next bus stop, where the air was a bit fresher.
I pulled out my book, read, and waited, with a crowd this time, though I set myself apart. "You know I don't like being stuck in a crowd," (Mr Axl Rose - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErvgV4P6Fzc&ob=av3e). (and, if you wondered, duh, yes, of course i karaoked this song this past summer. Sweet Child O' Mine, too). Henry and I blended our styles (I'm recognizing over this last couple months, as I read my 1st two works of Henry Charles Bukowski, born Heinrich Karl, that my writing style and living style and even thinking style is more similar to he than practically anybody i can think of...i dig that) as I read - my style influence by the reading, his style influenced in my imagining of our similarities. As I finished reading a naughty, lip-licking poem supposedly, and probably, sent by a hot-to-trot young pretty thing to old man Hank, the Orosi to Cartago bus pulled up. I know because I did look up this time.
The bus was more packed than any bus I'd been on yet in Latin America. If it's this packed tomorrow, there'll be no space for my bags; I doubt it'll be like that. It was so full, I had to remain standing on the walk up steps and move aside at every stop. Such is life. Besides, I had the best view, with my face practically in the massive front window, which was sweet for ascending and descending the mountain to get to Orosi.
Somewhere along there on the ascending side, as I was checking out my immediate surroundings, I took note of something I didn't think I'd see again - my carabinger with the hotel key attached, hanging from a knob amongst knobs and dials in the front of the bus. I didn't even pretend to pretend I knew the Spanish words, I merely grabbed the 'binger and said to the driver something like, "a es mi," and pointed to myself. I then snapped the binger around my buckle and showed him my other binger. He said something and drifted off into a low mumble, probably understanding that I wouldn't understand, and yet satisfied that the binger had re-found its person.
I smiled wide now. The double scoop was great. The rest of my occurrences were...well, they were life, and I was alternately enjoying or dismissing or cursing or standing back or idling on or...Now I was somewhere else, happy, spiritual, connected. I actually could hardly wait to tell Frank and his girl this story - they knew enough about my computer problems, he knew the key had been lost or taken, I didn't inform him where I had gone that day, let alone that I had gone, as is my way, and we could use a good story, instead of awkward interactions, before we parted ways. Yes, I was happy, and kinda wide-eyed and in awe the remainder of the ride.
Frank enjoyed the story. Appreciated the nuances that had to fall into place exactly as they did for me to reacquire the keys that night, my 2nd to last in this town. I told him after I was leaving either Wednesday morning or Friday, depending on what I'd do with my computer. I've decided - I will deal with it and get on living where I can really live.
I said my goodbye to Francesca today. She gave me a chocolate muffin and wouldn't take any money for it. We spoke of what I'd do. She attempted to bond with me and the lady running the fruit/veggie market today by speaking bad or gossiping or something about Frank. I agreed as much that he was crazy, as she said, by saying, "muy loco." But who isn't? I attempted to offer a different light by calling him, "especial," but she wasn't buying - it was loco or bust for her. Hahaha. I love that lady. Mi gusto for having known her.
I also saw mi mejor amigo de Latin America, as I called him today, Xavier. First I told him of my departure, then he handed me the remote control, as he likes to do, while I waited. I surprised him with the idea of working on my tooth, again, but he quickly saw that it needed it - apparently it had chipped or something. He had his assistant go next door and buy coffee and cake for us while he brought out his drill and no pain-killers one last time.
This was the one time I wasn't really buying what he was selling. Yes, he did drill and refill. He also sprayed it with the air gun whence he was done, and I felt the sting. That doesn't happen when all is well. And today, he was busy, a busy little bee, with many people waiting and two rooms of clients being served by him alone, and maybe that is why he didn't really hear me when I stated that I didn't think that all was well. Plus, he probably figured he did a quality job filling it, which I bet he did. Maybe that wasn't the problem - maybe he missed a bit of decay the first time around - I dunno.
I wondered on a couple of these things as I waited around post filling for us to have time to eat our cake. Sure, I was also digging the hbo and cinemax movies in English with Spanish subtitles, since I only have a computer. And then we ate. And drank. And made initial plans to potentially set up a mobile dentistry for him in my new home, with kickbacks for me and the property owner. Being near Dominical at the end of the work day wouldn't hurt, either.
Confident that my teeth pain would go away soon, he gave me some sensitive teeth toothpaste (I had returned today a free unopened toothbrush that he'd given me, as I now have my super-duper sonic care to rescue my teeth from oblivion), we shook hands, and I was on my way. I emailed him information on how to reach my new home this evening and included in there that my tooth was in mighty pain. No questions or negotiating he told me to be at his office at 8 AM, his opening time.
So, I'll push back my departure time by an hour or so, but at least my teeth will likely all be in order, unlike my computer. And I'll get to see Dr...my friend, one more time. Then, it's back to solitude. Not for 100 years, although sometimes it feels like that's how long this book writing endeavor is taking. And so I take it, what else is there for me to do?
ps - maybe smoking the cigar actually helped bring out some sensitivity today that wouldn't have otherwise have shown up, and I may have gone into the wild w/a major toothache w/out said tobacco induced red light flashing warning sign. maybe. i dunno. i am grateful that i'd found dr torres to watch over my mouth, however.
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