Dispatches from the Sea : Part lV(Exclusive piece from sologlobal Sailor Max Mogren)

Bar Trick Inside

Rainy Season Freak Show

Read us online www.potholemagazine.com

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EditorsMike GerhardLock Cooper

Contributing WritersBrijin HalesLock CooperMike GerhardKelly N PattersonMax MogrenKristin Frederick

Graphic DesignPixel de Tamarindo

Guest PhotographySilvia Cooper

ContentsLetter from the Editors

Rainy Season Freak Show

Easy Bar Tricks

Radio Dos

Random Stats

How did they get here?

Party of the Month

Volunteering? In Costa Rica...

What to do while you are in Country?

Tamarindo Quiz

Find Ducky

“Dispatches from The Sea”

Pothole Wish list

Cooking with Chef Sunson

Letters to THE POTHOLE

Horror-scope

Surf picture of the month

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Letter from the Editors

For you tourists out there, hello and welcome to Costa Rica and to The Pothole! We’re a couple of guys that live in Tamarindo and put out this magazine every single month…so consistently in fact, we’ve been compared to the Wall Street Journal.

For you locals...well, you’re probably wondering where the hell we went the last couple of months.

There have been all kinds of rumors going around in Tamarindo and beyond (what else is new) about The Pothole and it’s really, really good-looking editors. Clearly we haven’t been around for the last couple months, and there are reasons for that, but first I feel like we should clear some of the rumors up.

“We’re dead.” When we heard this, we were like, “that’s ridiculous.” Then we got worried that we might be dying. We went to the doctor and the doctor said, “Although some of your body parts are aging faster than they should (my hairline, Lock’s liver) you’re still alive and kicking.” The Pothole shall go on just like us.

“We were bought out by Playboy.” When we heard this, we were like, “REALLY!! AWESOMEEEEEEE!!!” We started jumping all around and celebrating. Lock went and bought a car, planning on putting a Playboy symbol on one side and dollar bill on the other. We called our new buddy Hef, to thank him. Then we called him again…and again…and again. He’s probably just busy with his girlfriends. Until the paperwork is finalized, we’ll be annoying you fine people in Guanacaste.

“We moved back to the states.” Again, we’ve been waiting for a call-back from Hef about living with him for a while.

To be serious, we’re sorry about the delay in entertainment for a while, but we’re back on track, stronger than ever. We have some exciting ideas to keep all of you entertained throughout this rainy season and beyond. We appreciate all of your patience and we promise to be more consistent in the future. To end, I’ll tell you something my second grade teacher told me when I got upset about the lack of valentines in my box on Valentines day. “It’s about quality, not quantity.” I never did understand that because one valentine was from my friend Doug and it said, “you have a poo-face.” Whatever. Enjoy the magazine and we’ll see you soon

The Pothole

PS. Please become a friend of ours on Search for The Pothole Mag…NOW! Thank you kindly.

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Lock CooperEditor of The Pothole MagazineNothing but poor choices..

Mike Gerhard Editor of The Pothole MagazineCan do “The worm”

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Rainy Season Freak Show:

Just in case, you have never experienced Life during Rainy Season, I am going to describe the experience instead of seeing a therapist. This way is much cheaper. Rainy Season, in a tropical setting, is similar to an eighth grade after-school lock-down (but in a steam bath, with a lot of insects and mud.) A Rainy Season can last anywhere from 2 months (i.e., Costa Rica) to 6 months (i.e., Tanzania), but in a steam bath, with a lot of insects and mud, and people acting like eighth graders. And yes, it does rain every day.

Generally, restaurants, shops and entertainment venues close down for the Rainy Season. So both locals and tourists flee during Rainy Season, leav-ing only a few brave and/or chemically-imbalanced, and/or too-poor-to-leave people, left to their own vices. Rain, floods and mud (Oh my!) restrict travel in and out of a town, or village. Critical shortages of basic household goods (like toilet paper and tampons), smokes, rolling papers, and staple foods, turn

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Phase 1: The Honeymoon A temporary state of bliss at the idea of no traffic, no tourists, no noise, no crowds, no lines, and no work! “Now, I finally have some time to myself to (insert verb of your choice: relax, start yoga, read, exercise, practice sobriety, learn Chinese, write my play, paint, sculpt, or lose 10 pounds) “: this phase generally last about two weeks.

Phase 2: Boredom After about a week or two of enjoying one’s solitude, reading one book or painting one canvas, people start to get bored. Then they start searching for other bored people. These bored people tend to find each other at the local bar, at church, or at the supermarket. “What have you been up to?” “Oh, I started my screenplay…blah, blah, blah.” “Oh, I started an herb garden…blah, blah, blah.” “Oh, I read ‘A New Earth’, have you read it yet?”

Phase 3: Intense Connections Intense Connections phase is my favorite part of Rainy Season, although only slightly longer than the Honeymoon Phase. Once bored people have found other bored people, they start to gather and be creative. They have house parties (which sometimes include costumes), pool parties (sometimes in the buff!), beach bonfires, game nights, poetry readings, writing groups, and potlucks. Instantly, intense relationships form (both romantic and platonic.) Note: This is when your partner is mostly like to have an adulterous affair—especially, if you left him or her stranded, alone, throughout the Rainy Season. There is a huge spike in casual sexual activity (shhh…there is not much else to do!) However, the Rainy Season relationship survival rate is frighteningly low. If you are lucky, you will find 2 or 3 “keepers”, or authentic friendships. (My keepers already know who they are!)

Phase 4: Reality, Or Who the hell are these people? Like the eighth grade, this phase begins when cliques form; gossip spreads like herpes; territories are marked; and most of the rainy season couples start to dismantle and feel guilty (or not.) This is when reality sets in and you realize you are stuck in the middle of nowhere in the rain, stranded, with people you don’t actually know, or like, for that matter. Stuck with people you would never hang out with, any other time of year. This is when people get a little coo-coo for cocoa puffs and start demonstrating abnormal behavior (aka, “acting out”): like dancing naked in cemeteries; eating dirt with cottage cheese; trying to make home-made tattoos; starting fights at bars; throwing public tantrums; etc.

Phase 5: Isolation Isolation is the last phase of Life during Rainy Season. It is return to solitude, while slamming and locking the door behind you. It is refusing to take phone calls, or answer emails, from your neighbors. This is when you ask yourself, “What the hell am I doing here?” Is everyone mad as a hatter in this town? Is everyone bi-polar? Is everyone an alcoholic? Or both? Am I? “Am I turning into one of them?!!!!”

everyone Darwinist: fend for yourselves!

People cannot go outside without getting soaked or muddy, and in com-bination with the lack of sunshine and exercise, you have all the ingredients for classic “hut fever”. In addition, everything is wet--all of the time. There is always mud on, in, over, and under everything. If you have a dog, your house smells like wet dog for the entirety of Rainy Season. (And nothing gets that smell out, trust me!)

You can see how all these assaults on the five senses, and depravity of ba-sic human needs, might create some psychological side-effects. I have noticed a clear pattern in human behavior, during Rainy Season, which is ambivalent to race, religion, creed, language, tribe, country, or sex, based on my Rainy Season experiences on three continents:

A STUDY IN HUMAN (MIS) BEHAVIOR

by Kelly N Patterson

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In order to avoid this well documented roller-coaster of phases in Life dur-ing Rainy Season, some people opt to start and stay in isolation phase the en-tire Rainy Season. These people incur quirky monikers in their noted absence, like “Joe the Pervert” or “Riggo the Fat Chef”, etc. Generally, they give the impression of being anti-social, chemically-imbalanced or suspect. However, I can find no tangible evidence, thus far, as to which path, isola-tion or the roller-coaster, has the most fulfilling results. Someone who selects isolation, in order to deal with Life during Rainy Season, may (or may not) achieve enlightenment and peace. However, they could possibly be slipping further into madness.

Those that go through all five roller-coaster phases, may survive with an authentic friend or two. Or, if they have not procured a “keeper”, an authentic friend, then they usually opt for full-time isolation next Rainy Season. I am still studying which path is the most fulfilling in the long run. This Rainy Season, I decided to ride the roller-coaster. Can you guess which phase I am in now? The good news is that just following isolation phase, just when you are on the verge of boredom again, ahh….the rain stops. New people and old friends, family and colleagues return. This is cause for great celebration be-cause you are thinking, “Thank god/allah/buddha/Vishnu, you guys came back; we missed you so much!” Because people are slippery when wet.

1. Drunk phase: These intimate gatherings start to increase their alcohol intake and people start fucking around with each other (despite returning spouses, partners, etc.)

2. “I am sick of these people” phase: This is when reality sets in and you realize you are stuck in the middle of nowhere in rainy season, stranded, with people you are no longer sure you actually like. People you would never hang out with any other time of year.

3. Cabin Fever: This is when people get a little coo coo for cocoa puffs and start doing insane things, like dancing naked in cemeteries; eating dirt with cottage cheese; trying to make home-made tattoos; fights start breaking out at bars; all the rainy season couples start to dismantle and feel guilty (or not); etc.

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Easy Bar Tricks :

Rub your index finger and your thumb together and watch the

smoke rise! Bet someone a million and a half dollars you cant

make smoke come from your fingers without a flame and instantly

become stupid rich yo.

Light that shit on fire! Burn it all the way.

Wipe the residue that it leaves in the ashtray on

your index finger.

Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:

Step 4:

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Take the friction piece off a regular box of matches and place it in an

ashtray folded in half and facing down.

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RADIO DOS10

DOUBLE THE PLEASURE OF AREGULAR RADIO STATION

No matter how untalented, untrained, or tone-deaf you might be, the universally recognizable though largely unacknowledged truth is that when you are alone in your car, you are the best singer in the world. And if you’re locked into Costa Rica’s 99.5 Radio Dos—well, by way of that call sign you dial up the volume on the awesome knob even further. A daily dose of The Dos is part and parcel of the Costa Rican experience, and the station’s multi-genre, multi-decade mix of classic hits can be summed up in three simple words: sheer ear ecstasy. What The Dos is to and does for the world at large lies far beyond the scope of a two-page spread in The Pothole, but in the spirit of rising to life’s challenges I now attempt to craft written namasté in humble tribute to a musical entity that not only rocks my universe but that cannot in any way, shape, or form be defied, denied…or escaped. Quite simply, The Dos is the musical air we breathe. So much so that Tómas King, a Country Day School 8th grader who has been raised right on a steady feed of Radio Dos since birth, was baffled when asked initially if he listens to The Dos. Baffled enough in the obvious of course of it to ask, “What do you mean?” The Dos is that much of a given. Although King has come to love several Dos songs and the ‘80s have against all logic come back into vogue, he also reasons that really, “it’s the only station that works.” Drive-at-five deejay Evan Luck explains that Radio Dos signals from a whop-ping 12 transmitters across mountainous Costa Rican countryside, as opposed to the standard one or two from which rival stations signal. Truly, The Dos is all but ubiquitous, which means wherever you travel, the Radio Dos party moves with you. Even if you travel back in time. The nostalgia factor is perhaps The Dos’s most powerful draw, reminding listeners that we were once different versions of ourselves, reminding us of a time when feelings were new and friendship true. It is said that there is no transport to memory as direct as scent. But surely song is next. By way of ear canal I am channeled to a time of snap bracelets and my reign as president of our elementary school’s official Michael Jackson Fan Club, a time when one’s popularity was in direct proportion to one’s ability to moonwalk, a time when Roxette’s “Listen to Your Heart” seemed rife with a wisdom Socrates himself could covet, a time when hey, didn’t we almost have it all? I am transported to the passenger seat of my friend’s Honda, as we sing, at deafening decibel and with all the strength that remained in our poor, broken, 17-year-old souls: “All out of Love” by Air Supply.

And I realize that the band is aptly named, because as I belted out that song once again the other day via La Dos, I understood that it indeed exhausts one’s entire air supply. Meanwhile, many exhaust entire monetary supplies paying for life coaches, online seminars, and personal development books that promise to provide some semblance of life direction. Thankfully, I have Radio Dos, and if I’m confused as to what is happening around me, Marvin Gaye is there to let me know what’s going on. If I screw up, 38 Spe-cial will give my heart a second chance. And when I begin to long for an exotic vacation, The Dos sends me leavin’ on a jet plane for one night in Bangkok. Except I can’t go to Asia confused about the Chinese Zodiac. Wait, year of the cat? Thank you, Al Stewart. Time and again I marvel at how in tune I am with Dos tunes themselves. I’m in a bad mood for no reason—boom—Enigma, “Sadness.” I’m driving and there’s a terrible glare—boom—“Blinded by the Light.” I can’t remember that last item on the grocery list I left behind—Donna Summer reminds me it’s habanero peppers—lookin’ for some hot stuff baby this evenin’. Phil Collins stutters out “Sussudio” on my way to Ser Om Shanti yoga stu-stu-studio, and sliding open my sunroof I can’t help but think to myself how sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Thirty-two seconds later John Denver feels the very same way. In fact, sunshine almost always makes us high. But there are also those times when The Dos can bring you low. Like when you begin to shout out “If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, c’mon sugar LET ME KNOW” already having forgotten the state of the sunroof. Or when against great per-sonal odds you’re feeling cool jamming to Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and roll down your window to talk to some tan, sculpted surfer when you realize—with a

tangible type of horror—that “Islands in the Stream” by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton is now blaring from your speakers at full volume. In time, you forgive The Dos for this. The Dos takes you to Funky Town and you forgive. You forgive The Dos for everything. The Dos unfurls “Dude Looks Like a Lady” and you are powerless not to forgive. The station, however, is perhaps most in its element when it breaks out of its ele-ment, when a deejay gets that proverbial wild hair and throws on “Funky Cold Medina,” making you want to halt your car and roll out a series of around five to seven cartwheels. At its best those times when you say—wait one hot minute. I believe…yes, I believe this is the Karate Kid theme song. You’re the best, Radio Dos. And I am again transported. The Dos is Daniel-sahn, and I am Elisabeth Shue, standing matside alongside Mister Miyagi, bona fide Buddha of the 1980s. The Dos waxes on and on song after song. Radio Groovy 91.1? The Dos chops out “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” and then—“Abracadabra”—pulls out the crane with the likes of Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger.” Radio Dos-sahn, I don’t need The Cars to tell me it’s magic or Dionne Warwick to remind me I’ll never love this way again. Your kiss is on my list and I’m forever your girl. Shira Gal, co-owner and operator of Tamarindo’s own Falafelmundo (falaf the world!) loves to kick it right along with The Dos. She always has been in the proud fan camp but outed herself as a fanatic who needs help when she made the admission that while visiting the cosmopolitan mecca of Madrid, Spain, she fell victim to an acute case of Evan Luck withdrawal. She put The Dos’s “Broadcasting Worldwide” declaration to the test, shunning the museums and cafés of Europe for a full-on Radio 2 Internet sing-along. The session shot her straight back to the warm pura vida of Costa Rica and her honeymoon period with The Dos, which Gal recalls with spirited fondness. “When I first got to Tamarindo, it was raining and no one was around. I just spent hours playing cards with my boyfriend, listening to Radio Dos, and feeling at home ‘cause Hey! We love that song! That’s a great freaking song, and that song is Madonna,” she said. “Not to mention almost every day I got to dance to songs from Dirty Dancing. Only on Radio Dos.” Gal, a native Israeli accustomed to heavy and seemingly constant news updates, said she finds Radio Dos’s lighter approach to music and life refreshing. “I love that they have only 99½ seconds of news, and those 99½ seconds include a weather report and the top story about a cow that got lost,” she said. It seems her honeymoon continues. Seventeen-year Guanacaste resident Brian King, who freely admits to listening to The Dos not only while driving but in his home environment as well, shares Gal’s sentiments with regard to the station’s style. “A good sunset and The Dos just go together, and catching Evan for his happy hour show is the best way to end the day. He has a re-ally great way of lightening any situation, great humor, and great taste for the classic tunes.” The esteemed host of the popular 5:00 to 7:00 evening show, who via phone inter-view confirmed that Evan Luck is his legal name and not one adopted for deejaydom as I had assumed, said of his on-air demeanor, “I’m very natural and pretty much myself during the show. I don’t take on a different persona, and I pretty much say what’s on my mind,” he said. “In the States it’s common for people to create controversy or bicker and complain for ratings, but I just try to be myself and interact positively with the callers. It’s a longer, slower approach, but this is what our listeners respond to.” Really now, I ask you—who could fail to respond in kind to a man whose mission is a longer, slower approach? Who could fail to love a man who can keep you rocking nonstop from 5:00 ‘til 7:00 five days a week? Yes Evan, I have no doubt that your ap-proach inspires quite a response, a response that involves a laying down of the boogie and some movin’ to the groovin’. Continue to play that funky music, white boy. Gotta keep on playin’ funky music. And play on he plans to. Luck relays that he hopes to broadcast live from various beaches around Costa Rica next year and is currently working with Dos station manag-ers and technicians to organize how it will all go down. Until he makes it to land of sand and sun, at least a few Guanacaste residents will continue to do their part to ensure that the region is well represented on-air. Witch’s Rock Surf Camp owner Joe Walsh, a man whose #1 preset in his truck is 99.5 and who has plastered the poles of his eponymous restaurant with Radio Dos bumper stickers, remembers rocking out to Dos tunes on his first visit here 13 years ago and has been reporting surf conditions for the station for the last two. “Yes, it’s true. I do the surf report for The Dos. I grew up in San Diego and always heard surf reports on the radio, from the old-school lifeguard surf report hotline to Bird at South Coast Surf Shop in Pacific Beach. I figured that since I live on the beach in Tamarindo and stare at the waves all day long every day I’d probably be a good candi-

by Brijin Hales

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date for doing radio reports here. Plus, I had just watched Anchorman and was feeling pretty inspired to deliver the news,” he said. “It was actually one of our musicians at the surf camp, Tico Hendrix, who was friends with the Radio 2 crew and who hooked me up with the first meeting at the station. Radio Dos seems pretty cool, and it seemed to be a good match so I went with it.” Whether airwave or Pacific wave, like any true surfer, Walsh knows when to go with it. Listeners can catch his surf reports every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday airing a few times throughout each day. The process by which he delivers them is intricate. “People think I do the radio report in the studio, but I do it on my iPhone from Tamarindo or wherever I’m at (today I’m sending one from California), or sometimes from the boat if I’m on a surf tour. I got this nerdy iPhone hack and use the ICE data plan and my laptop to bang out reports from the most remote corners of Costa Rica. It’s actually really cool if you’re into that kind of stuff. Sometimes people stop me in the street or in the water and ask me when the next swell is coming; it happens pretty frequently. I study tons of swell and wind reports and try to give the best forecast I can,” he said, conceding, “Ev-ery once in a great while I’ll miss a report because the waves are simply too good.” Fellow surfer and Dos devotee Brian King said that 99.5 means more to him than breaking surf and breaking stories. It also has fulfilled the noble goal of bridging the mu-sical generation gap between B. King the father and T. King the son, who now recognizes and appreciates music from The Police thanks to The Dos. Brian King says that he and Tómas not only enjoy the old-school tunes together but get a kick out of having heard Rex Barnes, another local surf character, phone in on multiple occasions. “Tómas and I have heard at least two call-ins from Rex,” he recollects. “One was just a weather report from Tamarindo. But just knowing Rex it was classic to hear him on the radio.” Tómas King reiterates and elaborates, “We’ve heard Rex more than once. But one time he just called to tell Radio Dos about the beautiful sunset he was looking at and how there was no way theirs was that good there in San José,” he said. Rex Barnes himself was unavailable for comment. By unavailable for comment I

mean I was unable to find him based on the directional cues given me, which were: “He drives a sort of silvery truck and hangs out down by the beach.” I did spot Chris Farley in a van down by the river, but no luck with Rex in a truck by the beach. Next time. In the meantime, I will continue my quest to out all closet Dos fans, all the hipsters who pretend to like house but when alone in the car secretly purr “Total Eclipse of the Heart” with a visceral fire that would make Bonnie Tyler beam.

Although I consistently lock into the Dos on my dial, I have never—like the fabled and elusive Rex Barnes—dialed into the Dos via telephone. I do plan to. But when I dial The Dos it will not be to contribute a traffic report or to wax rhapsodic on the beauty of a Guanacastecan sunset. I doubt I’ll even request a song. No, I’ll just call to say I love you. I’ll just call to say how much I care. I’ll just call to say Radio Dos, I love you. And you can bet your sweet Caroline that I will mean it from the bottom of heart. Because when it comes right down to it, La Dos delivers more than mere hits. It delivers the biggest bingo/bull’s-eye combo of them all—something that is comforting in its familiarity but that still doesn’t fail to electrify. Something that rocks and is rock-solid at the same time. Something that not only makes life more fun and more harmonious but that morphs your very steering wheel into a drum set and enables you to say at the end of a very long day: My friends, the tide was high and the heat was on, but like a smooth operator I man-aged to ride like the wind and sail on. I rocked the Casbah, rode the peace train, walked like an Egyptian, and well, I stayed alive. Yep, I’m alive and kicking. And I will survive. It was just another day in paradise, and yes, I feel wonderful tonight. There are shadows in the moonlight, and I’m wearing my sunglasses. Honestly, it was a long and winding road. But I took it to the limit. And tomorrow I will rock the same way as today, because when your station is called The Dos, you always can say: Do that to me one more time. At least, if Captain & Tennille don’t beat you to it.

“Moonshadow” by the artist formerly known as Cat StevensAlejandro León, Tamarindo’s smile doctor

“Maniac” by Hall and OatesJulie Javelle, CDS-G class of 2010 graduate and animal rights activist extraordinaire

“Surfin’ USA” by The Beach BoysDrake Ballard, CDS-G class of 2010 graduate and tech guru

“True Colors” by Cyndi Lauper Andreina Poletti-Levitt, yoga addict and Surf Like a Girl proprietress

“Night Moves” by Bob SegerBrian King, die-hard surfer and owner of King by the Sea

“The Big Payback” by James BrownLock Cooper, Pothole co-mastermind and ice-cold deejay

“Mr. Roboto” by StyxOded Friedman, co-owner of Falafelmundo and maker of a mean tahini sauce

“Hotel California” by the EaglesLuis Vega aka Luis del Sushi, the friendliest and my favorite AutoMercado employee

“Trampled Under Foot” by Led ZeppelinJoe Walsh, owner of WRSC and the Ron Burgundy of surf reporting

“Don’t Stop Believin’” by JourneyMargo Wilson, incoming CDS-G sophomore and diva at large

“Electric Avenue” by Eddy GrantTómas King, incoming CDS-G freshman and surf prodigy

The “Radio Dos Dos Dos Radio Dos” jingle itselfSusie Katus, CDS-G art and history teacher and resident eco-girl

Uno Dos Favorito [as inset/graphic]

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8.5 : 100,000

NUMBERS STATS POTHOLE SAYS...

96 billion pounds

25,000 quarts

Ratio of deaths from shark attack per year todeaths involving alcohol per year.

Lord help us if sharks start drinking.

The amount of food that is wasted in the US each year. …sooooo you're saying we haven'tfully reached our fatness potential?

The average amount of saliva produced by ahuman in a lifetime…enough to fill 2

swimming pools.

After the family with 4 kids stayed atmy condo complex last week, I'm worried the

pool is full of a different bodily fluid.

1 The rank in the world Costa Rica is on the Happy Planet Index.In other words, Costa Rica is the happiest place in the world.

45 Number of places we could think of inTamarindo that (legally) sell beer.

Please let us know if you knowof more…for research purposes strictly.

10 quadrillion The estimated amount of calculations theaverage human brain is capable of per second.

Does it mean we're below average if we can't calculatewhat 10 quadrillion is, even with the use of a calculator?

1.5 The amount of material able to beheld in the human stomach.

I just saw 1.5 liter bottles of rum onsale at the store…coincidence?

3,525 The population of Tamarindo, according to Wikipedia.Sometimes we wonder if everyone is having a big party

somewhere without us. I'm sure our invitation just got lost inthe mail or something.

23% The amount of Costa Rica that’s protected by nationalparks, wildlife refuges or forestry reserves.

Ticos, keep up the good work!

HA! Suck on that Disneyland!

Random Stats12

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8.5 : 100,000

NUMBERS STATS POTHOLE SAYS...

96 billion pounds

25,000 quarts

Ratio of deaths from shark attack per year todeaths involving alcohol per year.

Lord help us if sharks start drinking.

The amount of food that is wasted in the US each year. …sooooo you're saying we haven'tfully reached our fatness potential?

The average amount of saliva produced by ahuman in a lifetime…enough to fill 2

swimming pools.

After the family with 4 kids stayed atmy condo complex last week, I'm worried the

pool is full of a different bodily fluid.

1 The rank in the world Costa Rica is on the Happy Planet Index.In other words, Costa Rica is the happiest place in the world.

45 Number of places we could think of inTamarindo that (legally) sell beer.

Please let us know if you knowof more…for research purposes strictly.

10 quadrillion The estimated amount of calculations theaverage human brain is capable of per second.

Does it mean we're below average if we can't calculatewhat 10 quadrillion is, even with the use of a calculator?

1.5 The amount of material able to beheld in the human stomach.

I just saw 1.5 liter bottles of rum onsale at the store…coincidence?

3,525 The population of Tamarindo, according to Wikipedia.Sometimes we wonder if everyone is having a big party

somewhere without us. I'm sure our invitation just got lost inthe mail or something.

23% The amount of Costa Rica that’s protected by nationalparks, wildlife refuges or forestry reserves.

Ticos, keep up the good work!

HA! Suck on that Disneyland!

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How did they get here?

INTERVIEW WITH HENRY I met Henry when I was driving down the road right after the town of San Jose de Pinilla. I was heading towards Avellanas, just cruising, reggae on, when I saw an arm swing out from the road side. I knew this was someone looking for a ride, but I hadn’t made eye contact to see who it was or give a quick judgment to see if this was a good dude or not, but it was too late. I had already stopped. Whoever it was, was running for the car and was getting in. I decided not to sweat it. A little man appeared at my passenger window and didn’t just jump in. He stopped and politely asked if I was headed to Avellanas. I told him he was in luck, he jumped in, and I hit the gas. He was polite from the get go and I was glad to give him a ride. I do this for almost anyone on my way to work every day. It keeps the commute interesting. I’m sure now that my car is well known now as “the other bus to Avellanas” I asked him his name. I heard a “Henry” through the wind coming in the windows and we shook hands and continued slowly down the road. He was noticeably tired and kept sighing every minute or so. It was a hot and hazy morning and who knows how long he’d been walking in the sun before I picked him up. Who knows what his story was, but I was intrigued because it seemed as though he wanted to say something but had to think on it for a minute. He didn’t look like the typical Nicaraguan you might see leaving a construction site in our area. He had a pure streak of indigenous look in his face, he looked even Mayan to me. He had that Mayan beak nose. We started right into conversation and Henry told to me he was from the Mosquito Coast (the name comes from the Caribbean Moskito Tribe) of Nica-ragua, in the low lands that reach the ocean. To date this area is still some of the most remote and cut off in Central America. So much so, that today many communities there don’t even consider themselves part of Nicaragua or under Nicaraguan rule. They never really have. The region didn’t come under Nicaraguan control until after World War II and was never truly a part of the Spanish Empire before that either. It was actually British and then U.S Territory before Nicaragua’s but it was Henry’s people’s long before everyone else’s.. This was all easily explained to me as Henry spoke both perfect English and Spanish. Both languages he inherited were left behind by the occupation of the Spaniards from western Nicaragua and the British and Americans to the east. His ancestors took both languages on but not by choice. After looking at it a little closer, it looks like Henrys people are a forgotten people. We drove for a few minutes longer until he quietly asked me to stop. “This is where I live,” he told me. He pointed and smiled at a tiny little concrete house at the top of a small hill. It was a powerful sight. The little red house must have been painted de-cades ago. The paint seemed to be disappearing into the concrete. Around the house were maybe two acres of scorched earth, burned down trees and nothing but ash and the house lay right in the middle of it. It’s almost as though someone burned the entire property with the intention of trying to get rid of the old house as well. He opened the door and stepped out and walked to my side of the car, but this wasn’t goodbye. I wasn’t going to ask about the house or why it was the way it was, but I was still curious. “Do you live alone here?” I asked “No, there are seven of us in the house, we all came together” Came together? “Well, you know, snuck in together” “Is it your family? “None of them are. We are all men, here to work, here to send money home at some point. There is no work where we live. It’s much worse than here. Here, we at least can eat. There, there is often no food and the only work you can get is from fishing. There are no fish left and no one to pay us for them if there were. We had to move on and come here. We had to survive.” I turned off the car. He wanted to tell his story. His words sounded like they had been held in a bottle under pressure for years and were finally ready to burst out. He kept going. I kept asking questions. This stuff fascinates me because it is a real account of what many Nicaraguans are doing here, how they got here and what their intentions are. It’s a large wave of people. It’s a

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story that’s always changing. “Can you earn enough to actually send money home?” “Yes, I can make enough money chapiando – (cutting tall grass by hand with a machete) to feed my family back home but it takes weeks or even months to get the money to them. I have to take it back myself, or send it with people I can trust. “Do you have people you can trust?” “Very few” “How do you cross the border?” “We take a bus directly north from San Jose, sometimes we get a group Taxi and the rest we walk until we get to where it’s safe again. We have no papers, no ID’s so we can’t go through the easy way” “Is there a border?” “No, we walk through the fields, then the mountains, there is a trail.” “How long does it take to get to your wife and village from here?” “Most of the time I can do it in four days and three nights. Sometimes it’s too windy or the rain is too heavy and we have to come back.” I can imagine this little guy, taking bus after bus just to get somewhere where he then must walk into an open field off the side of the road somewhere. From there, he knows he has days of hiking ahead of him with little food and no shelter. He can’t spend any of the money he has with him either- which is prob-ably no more than $150-$200 from what he tells me. It is for his family. That is his mission. I imagine that he would have saved up that money for weeks and that same money would have to last his family until the next time he could get off work, make the hike and come to his village again. He told me how people like him have gotten very sick and died making the hike through the mountains, bitten by a snake or gotten lost, disappeared or just never arrived at all. “Those are the risks” he says, “but we have to do it.” I spent another fifteen minutes asking him about what he thought of the Nicaraguan government and the comparison of the two countries which is a topic I’m always interested in hearing the opposite views on. He made faces and didn’t comment much. I don’t think it’s that he didn’t care about it or wasn’t aware, I think he comes from another world where there is no real public ser-vice, no real roads and very little commerce if any for his people. It’s doubtful there are many Nicaraguan Flags flying around those parts either. “People simply survive there.” he tells me. “And sometimes for people, that’s just not enough. It gets too hard, we have to change, to improve.” We all have that feeling sometimes, we all try to make our lives more fruit-ful, we all struggle but on different plains. Henry’s story is heavy. He is really in the true grind of desperation. In the political and in socio-economic chain, Henry is the lowest. He is chained to the two ton weight of real poverty. He is here without work papers, earns the lowest salary possible, has no real rights or someone to speak on his behalf, has nothing to go home to in his mother country who doesn’t even acknowledge his existence. He is in a hole so deep it’s difficult to see a way out. This is the life he was born into and this is how he got here, to Avellanas, to chop grass. All of this reminds me of one of my favorite Bob Marley Songs… Bob was great at relating to the man who was down on the rock since he himself grew up in the same circumstance. Henry’s story is repeated all over the world million times a day. The cir-cumstances may be slightly different but the core issues are the same. People in need often walk elsewhere. Some stay right there and accept it like the “untouchables” in India and so many more in the old as time caste system. The same truth lies in nature everywhere you look. When nourishment runs out for the Lions, they must expand their boundaries no matter the risk, in order to feed their pride. Same with the bear, same with the wolf, same with us.. Now how do nations turn their backs on people like Henry? Easy, Henry can cost money. Take the United States for example. If Henry were a Mexican, crawling through a tunnel into the state of Texas, he could become a problem. Not because he was Mexican, but what does he carry with him? What are his intentions? This is where the enormous grey area comes into play. He could immigrate simply to make an honest living and try to maintain his family and

by Lock Cooper

15

Lock Cooper

even be a valuable addition to the workforce. But what if Henry was in La Mara Salvatrucha and came to expand an ever growing crime syndicate? Gang members often go to jail, and jailing them costs state and federal government hundreds of millions a year. No country wants that. To put it simply, the system in place as it stands makes the case that poor people can cost much more money than rich people.. it’s cruel, but it’s true. In the case of a North American coming to Costa Rica, what if, let’s say it was a he, was a convicted rapist and he came avoid further charges in puravida land? I, as a government wouldn’t want him in Texas or Costa Rica either, but the problem still stands that when the gates are open, it’s difficult to weed out the weeds. That policy, or lack thereof, can be a blessing and it can be mess. There are examples of it all over our planet. As a government or a citizen, I wouldn’t want the “bad” version of Henry collecting any freebees that my tax dollars paid for. I wouldn’t want him to bring his entire family either. Some of them might be pregnant or sick coming into the country only to be more mouths to feed, and ad to the already stuffed hospitals and clogged healthcare system ( I’m speaking generally). That is just a shallow point of view though. The truth today is that Henry is everywhere in our world and he is not going home or away. Us humans can be pretty crafty when we know that something not too far within our reach is “better.” In Henry’s case in Costa Rica, it takes a few bus rides, some cold nights and a lot of walking,.. but still, “better” is attainable. Henry is happier here, he’s probably put on some weight most likely and maybe his daughter will finally get her teeth fixed the next time he sends money. He isn’t doing anything wrong in his own mind, he is just trying to get better, live better. His being here is justified in his world. We finished our chat and he turned around and walked up towards the house. I told him that I was always on this road and that he could count on me for a ride any time. I haven’t seen him since, but I’m very glad I stopped that day. I don’t pretend know how to solve the immigration problems of our world,

I don’t think anyone can- but maybe just shed a little light on the individual case compared to the millions out there. It also might do us all good to wipe our eyes and realize how lucky we are to be the ones who read Henry’s story from the comfort and the safety of our circumstances.

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Volunteering? In Costa Rica... Part I V18 By Mike Gerhard

THUS FAR...- I paid thousands of dollars to volunteer for 3 months in Samara, Costa Rica. - The owner of the program is not allowed to go to Samara for beating up his wife in front of the whole town.- Our only volunteering in the first 3 weeks involved landscaping a lawn at a school, equipped with one machete and a few purchased flowers…within an hour of the kids being there, all the flowers were picked and the slightly better looking lawn unnoticed.- I slept in a 10x10 room with 3 other people, no A/C and only a fan for the bottom 2 people (I was on top)...and a serious mosquito/other bug prob-lem.- I had already once woken up to an eye that was randomly swollen shut and later a huge rash that was only cured post IV.

At this point in my trip, the daydreams I had just a month before of me possibly meeting the girl of my dreams while volunteering in Costa Rica we’re pretty much gone. I had mosquito and other unnamed bug bites literally all over me, my eye was still swollen from something that had attacked it, I was getting weird rashes, the house that I would potentially bring a date back to had 7 other people living in it and was usually a mess, I rarely slept, causing my eyes to sag like Kris Kross, I smelled pretty horrible for 2 reasons (constantly soaking my skin in OFF and being forced to shower outside with a hose since our 1 bathroom was almost always occupied by the 5 girls) and I was pretty much always covered in mud from having to hike 2 miles to get into town. Even if my perfect girl could look past what she saw on the exterior, I didn’t know how I’d be able to swoon her after inviting her back to my place and lighting candles while 7 other people sat around us, playing drinking games. I really couldn’t imagine any girl being impressed with my 10x10 room, which I lived in with 3 other people and an unholy amount of bugs and mosquitoes…on top bunk. All I’m saying is I had a lot of obstacles to overcome.

I reminded myself that finding a girl wasn’t what I had come down to do. My goal was to try to give back a little bit and help people who weren’t as fortunate as I was. Although I wasn’t exactly impressed with my living arrangement, at least I had a roof over my head.

…which is right about the time the roof over my head collapsed.

Since we lived tucked away, back in the forest, trees basically surrounded the house on all sides. We were all sitting in the front patio (thank god) when all of a sudden we heard an ear-piercing crack, then what sounded like a car crash right behind us. When the girls finally stopped screaming, we ran to the back to see what the hell had happened and found that a tree had fallen on top of the house…right above the bed which was designated mine. So at this point I realized that not only did I find myself in a point in my life where I looked like a homeless man, smelled like a homeless man and did as much work as a homeless man (the only volunteer activi-ties offered so far to us was working at library for gringos to rent out books while at Spanish school or helping a European woman run her daycare business and refused to do either)…I was now homeless. Awesome.

We quickly informed our fearless leaders, the owners of the volunteer program, and they contacted the owner of the house. The owner came down to take a look at it, but said there wasn’t much he could do at the time. He assured us that it probably wasn’t going to rain any time soon, so it wasn’t that big of a problem for the time being. Exactly 2 days later we realized the property owner wasn’t much of a me-teorologist as we woke up to water running down the walls and flooding our entire house. We rushed to try to get everything off the floor throughout the house and wondered what the hell we were going to do now that we didn’t have any volunteer-ing to do and no house to live in.

The lady that cleaned our house (for far too little pay) was unbelievably gracious and agreed to let her little house become overwhelmingly cramped by allowing the

6 volunteering girls stay there. As for the other guy and me…well, the owner of the house informed us that he had a little one-bedroom apartment up the street (with only one bed) that we could sleep in. Although I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in a bed with another guy, I was stoked to hear the room had A/C. We spent the entire rest of the day and night clearing out all the crap from the house so that everything wouldn’t be ruined. We were exhausted and definitely ready to hit the sack (especially in an air-conditioned room).

The other guy and I trudged through the mud, up to our one bedroom apartment and were stoked to see that the lights were on and it actually looked really nice inside. Finally, I was going to be able to get a good night sleep. We were filthy from all the work we had been doing, trying to salvage the house, so we were looking forward to taking a shower as well.

Upon reaching the apartment, it begun to rain once again and I was relieved for the property owner that we got everything out of the house or off the ground just

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in time. Soon thereafter, however, I felt like burning his house down after seeing that he had forgotten to leave the key under the mat as he had promised.

We really didn’t know what to do…I would have broken the window to get in if there weren’t bars on it. The girls had already left to go to the house cleaner’s house; we didn’t have a cell phone or house phone; there was no internet at the house; the nearest hotel was over a mile away (raining and muddy at night); and we were exhausted. We were forced to go back to the house and see where we could figure out to sleep. The bunk beds weren’t an option because although they were off the floor, water was leaking directly onto them and all the mattresses were already stacked up in the laundry room. The only real option was the shitty, tiny wicker couch. We flipped a coin and unfortunately, I lost.

I grabbed one of the mattresses and threw it down onto the kitchen floor. It was the least wet place in the house, only having about an inch of water or so. I may have gotten about 20 minutes of real sleep that night, if I was lucky. To say the least, I was in a rotten mood the next day and could have killed the landlord for forgetting to put out the key, but because he was so apologetic and immediately gave us a key for the next night, we let it go.

We finally thought the worst was behind us and headed up early to the apartment to get a long night sleep. We cranked the A/C and passed out in about 10 seconds flat. A couple hours later, however, the other guy woke up to go to the bathroom, and quickly thereafter woke me up with yelling “OH SHIT!”

When stepping off the bed, he stepped into something kind of gross feel-ing. He turned on the light to see what it was and, unfortunately he was being literal when he yelled “OH SHIT!”

Apparently, between the apartment not being used for a long time and the first heavy rains of the year, something happened to the septic tank. When we used the bathroom, it had caused it to back up and flood our new apartment with about 2 inches of shit. I used my skills I obtained from playing that game as a kid where you’d try to get around the room without touching the floor because you were pretending the floor was lava. This was definitely the more advanced game, with a far worse penalty for falling.

We got out of the room with as little poo on us as possible and hiked down, once again, to our flooded house to have another miserable night sleep on a wet mattress.

Tune in next time to hear about the volunteer manager getting run over by a drunk driver and more volunteering shenanigans.

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see article in Costa Rica Spirits Magazine 2/2009 http://emagazine.costarica-spirits.com

We offer:- Roundtrip / Sightseeing Flights- Photo Flights with your own camera or our aerial photographer with high quality cameras- Chartered Roundtrips, stopping at the destinations of your choice including, Manuel Manuel Antonio, Corcovado, Arenal and Tortuguero- Flight Instruction

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What to do while in country

”ALTOS DE EROS SPA” You’re stressed out, you feel bunched up, tired, you’ve fallen and you can’t get up, whatever it is, just go to the spa. It really does work. The mecca of spa’s happens to be very close to us who live in the Tamarindo area and you know what? You don’t even have to drive there if you don’t want..they’ll pick you up. Hakuna matada. Altos de Eros is in the hills of Cana Fustula is the real deal. They were nice enough to invite me and my wife to spend a day there to experience what it is to be pampered in style. As we were on our way there, I thought about me getting a facial and laughed at how I know my friends were going to punch me in the arm and laugh when they read this, but when it’s you sitting on that table with scented teabags on your eyes, mini sponges massaging grapefruit oatmeal something into your face while simultaneously getting your feet rubbed, you could care less about a bruise on your arm. This spa really understands what it takes to make you forget about the world and just relax. We luckily didn’t see the bill at the end of this marvelous experience but I can easily say it would be worth every colone, peso, dollar or cordoba.. Not only are you overlooking an entire jungle valley while you get your treatments, but there is also a spanning view of the beaches of Junquillal, Negra, Lagartillo and Avellanas as well. It’s a perfect setting with no distractions and when they hand you a very full glass of white wine at 10am, it suddenly seems ok to day drink. We arrived at about 9am not really knowing what to expect. The long driveway seems to run up and down hills through the forest for 10 miles. It felt like we were heading to the bat-cave. The journey down this road leaves you guessing for a while but when you finally arrive, you’ll probably smile when you see the first view of the pool, the jungle and ocean off in the distance. I think I said something lame like “awwwwww yeeeeeah.” Everyone speaks to you like they have been massaged all week- Puts you right into the mood. They guide you down steps and past a little waterfall feature they’ve created, I imagine for the sound effect (which works) and then you meet the magicians. These are the people that are about to turn all of your stress into something that went out with the hot towels. You are handed a bathrobe and they leave your room for a moment while you get into your new costume. They seem to know when to come back in and then it starts… goodnight. Bon voy-age. Whatever.

I had an hour and a half full body massage to start the morning off. I thought it would be rude if I passed out so I tried my best to stay awake… yeah, not so much. That plan didn’t work so well.. by the time my second foot massage began, I was in lala land dreaming of waves or something cool like that. I was in heaven. This is a good way to start the day I thought. It made me wonder how many fortunate people out there actually have the luxury of starting their days like this. What would the world be like if we all could do this? I think war would be a joke as. We’d be too mellow to fight. That would be great. After my massage, I was led into another room. I was basically sleep walking at this point. I saw a stone tub in front of me filled to the top with milk, honey, floating lime slices, coconut shavings and who knows what else. It looked like I was going to jump into a birthday cake. Next to the tub, the potion. They leave you with a very good glass of white wine just to top it off. They know what they’re doing here. I jumped in, the smells hit me and again…bye bye. I didn’t sleep really, just another deep sense of relaxation and general well being. I think that glass of wine lasted probably three minutes. More thoughts came of “this was a really good idea” and “I want to live here.” Once I left the bath finally, it was time for my facial. “Why not?” I thought. On came more great smelling stuff all over my face and neck, warm cloths, very gentle movements and more foot rubbing. Perfect. Now that that was finished about an hour later, I was in Zen master world. One with the universe. I know the grand finale is coming too- the food. It was ready for us when we got out of our last treatment. A custom buffet set up for two with shrimp kabobs, chicken Satay, three different salads, all kinds of salsas and plenty of fresh fruit, juice and more wine. They didn’t forget anything. This whole experience had earned my praise and the food was a marvelous finishing touch. We ate slowly and everything seemed to taste just that much more delicious because of the state we were in. Perfectly full and perfectly relaxed is a good way to roll. People who have these types of treatments in their regular life must be much more positive, clear headed and one would imagine happier. The day at Altos was transformation from when we walked in. I’ve been to spas before but this isn’t just massages this is an experience. The downside? Complaints? Meh. Didn’t really enter my mind. Was pretty much in a good mood all day after that.

21 By Lock Cooper

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2323 Tamarindo Quiz

Find Ducky

Every month, The Pothole will place a rubber ducky somewhere in the Tamarindo area that, when returned, the finder of the ducky will receive a $50 cash prize.Email us at potholemagazine@gmail.com when you have ducky.

The following is the clue to lead you to where it may be:Word Key : 1k 2m 3n 4o 5q 6p 7s 8r 9l 10a 11t 12v 13u 14b 15w 16c 17y 18d 19z 20e 21f 22g 23i 24h 25j 26x Puzzle: (in Spanish and a letter mix)2-16-4-20 19- 6-10-23-19 10-16-13-7-14 7-11-10-2-10 17 8-10-8-20-23-11

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Dispatches from the SeaPART IV

Mack and I expected some sort of military fanfare as we sailed our shitty little boat into Mexico -- a strafing by US fighter jets, getting searched by the Coast Guard, anything to make us feel a little bit outlaw -- but nothing hap-pened. It was kinda foggy, and at some point we entered Mexican waters. I guess you could smuggle just about anything into Mexico: worth knowing! This was when the whole Tijuana Border “Drug War” domestic-ter-ror-propaganda was in full swing so we decided to head as far South as possible before checking out the coast. We kited San Quintin for a few days and then continued onward to Bahia Tortugas -- about halfway down the peninsula -- and the only convenient port to get fuel on the West Coast of Baja. A better name for this polluted bay would be Bahia Pelicanos. We didn’t see a single turtle but 20,000+ pelicans were shitting all over the place. As retaliation for a business deal gone bad, a big Mexican fishing boat had recently dumped TONS of rotten sardines just off the town of Tortugas. Little stinkers were washed up all over the place and it seems every pelican within 100 miles had caught wind of the stank. There were so many in such a feeding frenzy that Mack caught only pelicans while trying to fish. We got sick from kiting the poop-flavored waters here.

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www.oilfreefun.com

from Max Mogren

Mack reaping benefits

from a lobster trap we

found washed up on a

remote and rugged shore

in Baja.

One very stoked resident

of Tortugas, Baja.

The first tree we saw in

desolate Baja... atop a

mountain near Magdale-

na Bay.

We also traded a blow up doll and tube of lube for laundry service: double teaming the doll just didn’t appeal to us so we pawned her off. Huge Gringo sportfishing yachts were taking on barrels of diesel, cases of Paci-fico, and, ironically, fresh locally-caught fish. The Mexicanos at the Muelle laughed at me for needing a mere seven gallons of gas, so I led them in a rousing rendition of Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” to assure them my manhood was intact despite burning so little. Me encanta la gasolina! Sorta. We spent a few weeks around gorgeous Magdalena Bay, snagging some bitchin’ waves and occasional kiting. Running low on supplies and completely out of cash we had to get going. A few days later at sunset, we found ourselves rounding Baja’s tip and that long line of lights called Cabo San Lucas. Apparently about 30 years too late, we didn’t even consider stopping. We’d heard it was too expensive, too hideous: a paradise lost because way too many people found it. As we entered the Sea of Cortez at the onset of winter, we had to watch out for El Norte, fierce winds from the North that kick up steep seas bad for sailing but great for kitsurfing. Just after dawn we made it to the remote anchorage at Roca Frailles as a stiff wind built from the North. Here we spent five days waiting for the wind to subside and had our best kiting since hitting Mexico, made friends with some great yachties, discovered phenomenal bouldering and snorkeling, and had a damn good (though hungry) time. Our destination, windsurf and kiteboard mecca La Ventana lay a mere 60 miles north -- about a 10 hour sail in ideal conditions. We were exhausted, starving, and filthy after a month of exploring the remoter stretches of Baja. All that remained in our pantry were raisins and rice. A dozen friends awaited us in La Ventana, and we could hardly wait to clean up, drink some beers, catch up with friends, chase tail, sleep on land, and look for winter jobs. La Ventana is great for kitesurfing in steep wind swell which makes it a horrible place to anchor a boat. As such, our plan was to anchor at a small bay called Ensena-da Muertos and then walk/hitchhike/kiteboard the ~12 miles to La Ventana. We had no idea what to do with the boat while based in La Ventana and hoped an option would materialize. The most ridiculous option imaginable materialized.

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Running out of food, we made a go despite El Norte, and after a rough night battling upwind we found ourselves anchoring in the pristine waters of Ensenada Muertos. The Bombay Sapphire blue waters were so clear one could see the anchor 35 feet down and 200 feet away. A

Twenty minutes later we were piling into a pimped out monster truck bound for La Ventana. Our 6’5”, 280 pound, heavily-tattooed driver -- a true renaissance man and the owner of that palapa restaurant -- had recently retired from a nine year career as an all-pro NFL of-fensive lineman. Though you’ve probably never heard of him you are doubtless familiar with his handi-work: for years he bashed excep-tionally huge holes in the defense through which star running backs Marshall Faulk and Reggie Bush ran through for record yardages. I speak of Kyle Turley, one hell of a football player, surfer, artist, musician, businessman, and now activist in the fight to properly treat head injuries in professional sports.

After kiting our faces off for a week in La Ventana, Mack and I head-ed back to Ensenada Muertos. Kyle offered us the guest house in his mansion, free food at his restaurant, use of a whole fleet of boats and vehicles, and jobs. Our goal was to develop watersports in the bay and to help promote the area. My title? Director of Fun.few tasteful mansions were

tucked away in the gorgeous mountains rimming the bay, and a huge palapa sat on the hillside over a pefect beach.. We’d heard the palapa housed a restaurant so we quickly got our kitegear to-gether, dinghied to shore, and went in search of break-fast.

Suprisingly modern, this seemingly-deserted palapa restaurant of-fered free coffee, WiFi, an ATM, and had a menu you’d expect at a nice sports bar stateside. A few framed football jerseys alluded to owners who’d come through the NFL. We pulled our limits from the ATM and ordered a few breakfasts each. As we were gorging ourselves, a few GIGANTIC Gringos showed up and asked if those were our kiteboards outside We shot some shit, hit it off, and so began the strangest chapter in El Viaje...

Mack and I went from camping aboard a $5,000 boat to sharing a $500,000 guest house behind a $5,000,000 mansion. We started eat-ing good again and gained back a lot of the weight we’d lost over the trip. I realized that my current boat, the 27 foot Sin Fin, wasn’t ideal for sailing to Patagonian Chile, so I made it my new goal to work as hard as I could in hopes of earning enough to buy a solid boat within a few years time.

Mack and I got the ball rolling on our own kiteboard business, threw some kick ass parties at the restaurant, drove around in the gas-guz-zlingest roofless truck imaginable, kited almost ever day, made count-less new friends, and gained a very interesting perspective on the lives of the rich and pseudo-famous. Like all things too good to be true, it was. Forty strange and stress-ful days later I fell out from that crew and -- even broker than I’d been before, and now at odds with my once friend Mack -- I set sail for La Paz...alone

Captain Max

Hypocris

y can b

e a d

amn g

ood tim

e!

Hypocris

y can b

e a d

amn g

ood tim

e!

Sunrise

as vie

wed

form

the b

alcony a

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the g

uest h

ouse.

El Cardon Tequila Bar and Grill, Ensenada

Muertos, Bahia De Los Suenos, Baja

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“Surfboard with engine”Because sometimes you just don’t want to paddle.

“Wave Machine”This puppy cranks out a constant 10 foot barreling wave for us to use on those days that the waves just aren't there, there are too many people in the water or our human cannon isn't working properly.

“Shark Repeller” It's not that we don't like sharks…we just don't want to be their lunch.

“Ion-mask coating for electronics”This new product will coat your phone, ipod, camera with some kind of ion protection crap that makes it so water won't ruin it. I personally don't like to be contacted while sitting in my office, let alone out surfing, so I won't be using it for my phone, but I do want to buy a battery powered coffee maker and be able to make coffee while out surfing. It's going to be awesome.

“Human Cannon”Do you ever have those days where you feel like surfing, but you're either too lazy or hungover to paddle out? Well, we have too and found a solution to the problem. Load us into the cannon and shoot us out past the break. Full day of surfing without the trouble of paddling…

“Cooling Suit”Unfortunately for us, being so classy with our tuxedo wetsuit will make the water, here in Costa Rica, feel like it's 150 degrees. Therefore, we'll need to wear a race car cooling suit underneath it. Anything to stay classy.

“Tuxedo Wetsuit”We, at The Pothole, consider ourselves to be extremely classy people. So classy, in fact, that we feel formal attire is appropriate even while surfing.

A small list of things we didn’t get for Christmas, but we are crossing our fingers for next year.

Pothole Wish list26

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SO SLOW ON MY MOTO ROJO A poem by Dr. Seussio

I would never consider myself to be the least bit vain…but for some reason I was that night it started to rain.I was on my moped and didn’t want to get wet…I thought I’d be fine even if I flew like a jet.I was on my way to Langosta and it was already dark…I kick myself now for not just finding a dry place to park.My headlights put out roughly the light of just one candle…I was stupid for protecting my foot with only a sandal.I was getting super close and therefore too cocky…unfortunately for me, that part of the road is extremely rocky.I was already soaked only a block from my goal…when all of a sudden I screamed,“HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A BIG POT-HOLE!”My moto went left and I went right…it was me vs. the road and I knew I’d lose that fight.I felt a sharp pain in my foot once I hit…when I stood up, I couldn’t walk, not even one bit.I got to my girlfriend’s house all bloody and dirty…I asked for a glass of rum and not just because it was beer-thirty.The surgery really sucked and so did the stitches…I had to go through all this shit while run-ning the little place next to Witch’s.I know you look cooler when you go super fast…but my foot just got better and I don’t want to end up in a cast.So if you want my advice, you should just go really slow…but if you don’t want to listen to me, please look out for the guy in the little red moto.

Cooking with...CHEF SUNSON

CHICKEN SATAY AND PEANUT SAUCE Satay is a dish that originated in Indonesia. It consists of your meat of choice on skewers, which are barbecued and served with some delicious sauce. There are endless variations to this dish. This popular street food makes for a great party appetizer or served as

a light meal simply accompanied by some Jasmine rice. A few points about Satay: You can use a grill pan should you not have access to a BBQ or if it’s raining outside. Also, if you are going to use the traditional wooden skewers be sure to soak them in water for 10 minutes prior to cooking, they will burn, they are wood after all.

Lastly, have fun with satay and get creative, try using a sweet potato instead of meat for example.

Lock called me at about 8:30pm as I was starving, about to have dinner and asked me if I wanted to make the recipe for the magazine. Since all I had in my fridge to eat was macaroni and cheese, hotdogs or macaroni and cheese with hotdogs in it, chicken satay sounded absolutely delicious.

Since I was so hungry at the time and literally couldn’t wait to go to the grocery store, take all the cooking supplies and everything down to the bbq by the pool, and cook the food before eating, I asked Lock if he’d like to stop and pick up a pizza on the way. He said, “obviously!”

After making some Pothole modifications to the recipe (buying pre-made peanut sauce), and driving over to our top-secret designated BBQ location (we like to use a pool bbq which is super nice, but neither of us live), we scarfed down the pizza and begun throwing the stuff together. Immediately we saw that we

MARINADE Ingredients•1 cup plain yogurt • 1 teaspoon freshly minced ginger • 1 teaspoon minced garlic • 1 tablespoon curry powder • 1 tablespoon turmeric

• 1 1/2 pounds skinless boneless chicken breasts, cut into strips or you purchase tenders10 wooden skewers • oaked in water for 10 minutes • Vegetable oil, for grilling • Fresh cilantro leaves

DirectionsCombine the peanut butter, soy sauce, red chili paste, brown sugar, and lime juice in a food processor or blender. Puree to combine. While the motor is running, drizzle in the hot water to thin out the sauce, you may not need all of it. You can do this by hand but you will want the sauce

to rest for a couple of hours to all allow the flavors to combine. Pour the sauce into a nice serving bowl and garnish with the chopped peanuts.

PEANUT SAUCE Ingredients • 1 cup smooth peanut butter, pick an all natural variety if available, the less added sugar the better • 1/4 cup low-sodium soy sauce• 2 teaspoons red chili paste, such as sambal find in the asian section of market • 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar • 2 limes juiced

• 1/2 cup hot water • 1/4 cup chopped peanuts, for garnish

DirectionsCombine the peanut butter, soy sauce, red chili paste, brown sugar, and lime juice in a food processor or blender. Puree to combine. While the motor is running, drizzle in the hot water to thin out the sauce, you may not need all of it. You can do this by hand but you will want the sauce

to rest for a couple of hours to all allow the flavors to combine. Pour the sauce into a nice serving bowl and garnish with the chopped peanuts.

were supposed to marinate the chicken for at least 2 hours. Since our time machine isn’t working right now, we were forced to marinate the skewers for about 12 seconds instead.

We also immediately saw that the recipe tells you to soak the skewers in water before put-ting them on the grill. We contemplated throwing the skewers in the pool for a while, but decided instead to take our chances that these specific wood skewers weren’t the type of wood that catches fire. They did…big time.

Basically, at the end of the day, we burned chicken and dipped the burned chicken in pre-made peanut sauce…and it was actually delicious. Another meal mastered by The Pothole. PS, the pizza was delicious as well.

Mike Gerhard

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Horror-scope

Your drinking problems will continue when you try to play beer pong and realize that you’re short one cup.

Stop bragging to everyone about how you were sober for 14 years…everyone knows you’re re-ferring to the first 14 years of your life.

Every cigarette you smoke takes minutes off your life…stay out partying later instead of going to bed in order to make up the differ-ence.

Some words to live by this month: neighbors, other houses, trees, your street.

Don’t look at the cup as half empty…instead, hit the table so that the shot of sake drops into it and yell, “SAKE BOMB!” However, if you’re on a plane while reading this, don’t do that…just go ahead and look at it as half empty…you may be a nega-tive person, but at least you won’t go to jail.

If you’re on the beach at 12 o’clock and a gorilla starts running north from where you’re standing at 22 mph, then 20 minutes later a cheetah starts running after the go-rilla at 34 mph, at what time will you realize that you’ve done too much acid?

You’re going to become the kind of person who likes putting hot sauce on everything…God help you when putting in your contact lenses.

If you saw Saw 2, too, then you saw two versions of the same Saw.

Give 110% in everything you do…except for when it comes to stating how much income you made during tax time…you’ll just end up having to pay extra taxes for no reason.

You’re going to meet someone really special this month…they’ll be smart, beautiful, funny, nice and rich. You’ll fall in love with that person, but then realize that person is so far out of your league, you’re not even playing the same sport.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, A, B, Start. If you know what that is, high five! Good luck in your quest to find a girlfriend.

You’re going to start a new relationship this month and screw like rabbits. Just remember to clean up the celery and car-rots from the bed afterwards…you don’t want ants.

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Surf picture of the month31

Submit your photos to potholemagazine@gmail.com and if we pick your picture you receive $50

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