Day 9, May 20, 2015.

For once in our trip, we ACTUALLY slept in. Not like a rest until 7:00 am, but a snooze until 8:30 and a nice, quick breakfast at the hotel.

Our morning began with the screening of another locally-directed film — “Los Volatiles” by Alexandra Latishev. Originally, we were supposed to watch a documentary about the Costa Rican World Cup soccer team, so we chose a sports bar as our venue for the screening and lunch afterwards. But plans changed. So we watched the life story of a mentally challenged man named Jorge, as he embarked on his mission to become a radio DJ and find love. The movie was really long. Jk it was 55 minutes.

But considering 76% of our program fell asleep during the film, it felt like much longer. Of all of us, Arnelle definitely enjoyed the documentary the most. As is evidenced by her attentive facial expression in this selfie. The weirdest part about this venue was that we were watching a documentary in an open-air sports bar on the side of the road. The solution? Pull down the curtains. But in Costa Rica, “curtains” are apparently just mini-garage doors. So they pulled down the mini-garage doors and we had our very intimate (not) setting for our film viewing. Following the movie, we ate lunch at this bar. Ordering off of a Spanish-only menu is actually much more difficult than I had anticipated. Thankfully, nachos is a pretty universal term. After lunch, we drove to the Editus Academy for the Arts for a presentation on the “History of Music”.

As appreciative as I am for all of the planning that goes into our trip, this presentation was stinking of some major bull-honkey. The man began to talk about how important music was, and how all the physicists in the world study music to figure out how the world began. Then, he asked if we knew about quantum physics. Apparently, he did not either. He told us that radiating positive energy could heal any ailment. And that if you just believed hard enough, you could heal yourself. The only problem is that some people love the attention of being injured and sick so much that deep inside they don’t want to be healed. That’s when he lost me.

Not everything he said stank of pure horse manure, though. Other than waving his hand over Clay’s back and claiming to “heal” her of her pinched nerve, the rhythms he made with instruments and with us were pretty cool. We each got an instrument and had to create music together. Fairly haphazard trying to create a unique rhythm with 97 bongos and maracas everywhere, but we made it work. Just like I made that doo-rag work. As a descendant of Russ Hedden, it’s in my DNA to be able to rock a solid doo-rag (even if I actually have hair underneath it). We returned to the hotel after listening to this man rattle off cliches and try to tell me that the sounds of Jupiter would cure my fever (but only on a Thursday…Jueves). The highlight of our trip thus far soon began.

We took about an hour and a half driving past the beautiful skyline of San Jose and through various forest paths to an incredible villa.

Patricia’s friend allowed us to rent out their HOME for the evening for dinner and a private concert by Santos y Zurdo — two musicians: one who plays electronic music and the other who plays a mean electric sitar. Also on the villa was a pond with a docile crocodile inside. We asked the owner what he fed it…”usually we just throw people in when they get too drunk.” He proceeded to offer us wine. A really great host, indeed.

But actually it was fantastic. The chefs on hand prepared chicken, sausage, steak, and pork chops plus tortillas and a delicious sauce for dinner. After I tried to find the Hawks v. Cavs game on ESPN, we had to settle for soccer and keep a close eye on the ticker at the bottom of the screen (probably for the best that I didn’t have to see what happened live). Then, the dance party began. The waiters pushed away the tables and Santos y Zurdo helped us dance the night away. And dance we did.

Three nights in a row, Patricia organized incredible nights of dancing for us and each night seemed better than the night before. The music was so awesome. Normally, I’m not super into the whole electronic music scene, but these guys made it work.

Thankfully, our group has become so comfortable with one another that we are willing to make complete fools out of ourselves for the sake of having a good time. This included, but was not limited to: swing dancing with Jessica Cooper, the Assistant Director of UGA Costa Rica, swing dancing with BOTH Professor Aurora and her TA Constanza at the same time, throwing it back to Grease and hand jiving on top of Jack laying on his back on the floor of this classy villa, droppin’ it like it was hot with THE Spenser Simrill, galloping on an imaginary pony on a stick, and snarfing down an entire piece of cake in one bite so I could continue dancing with every fiber in my body. A few notes — I did invent (and tweak) a couple dance moves.

1. The Shopping Cart (revised): Perform your typical shopping cart motion, however, take various stops to take your coupons from the coupon machine and vary your item selection because let’s be honest, the tastiest stuff is on the bottom shelves. For fun, do it with friends and help each other out by placing groceries in each other’s carts!
2. Usain Bolt: Instead of simply dropping your badonkadonk to the ground over and over, take an added challenge and throw up the pointed arms when you hit the floor. You’ll be sure to earn a gold medal for this one!
3. The Fisherman: Swing your arms together left and right as if you are rowing a small boat. Stop the boat. Pull out your tackle box. Put bait on your fishing line. Throw your line out into the water and reel in the lady of your choice. Pull her into the boat and pick her up to show your friends what a catch you’ve made!
4. Macarena (revised): Perform traditional Macarena. However, when you place your hands on your hips and the music plays “Ayyyy, Macarena”, don’t just wiggle what your mama gave ya. Shake it all the way to the ground. For bonus points — throw in a little Usain Bolt action.

By the end of the night, I might as well have just taken a dip with the crocodile (I’m referring to my profusely sweaty body).

Other than the fact that one of the girls on our trip managed to rip the sitar player off of his stool and have him dance with her for half of the concert, the best part of the night may or may not have been the bus ride home. Not only did we have the best bus rider, we had the best DJ. His aux cord was aflame that evening. A dance train erupted in the aisle of the bus as we shouted the lyrics to Bruno Mars songs driving through the streets of San Jose. It felt like we were on our way home from prom. Except I wasn’t in a tuxedo and there wasn’t a stripper pole on this bus. We took down San Jose this week, and we were ready to tackle the world.

And by world, I meant my bed. I was knocked out as soon as I hit the pillow, only to be awoken by a knock at the door. We opened the door and a squishy banana plopped onto the floor. I’m still confused as to the events that transpired, but my main mistake was walking out into the hotel lobby in my American flag boxers. When a girl salutes your boxers and starts to say the Pledge of Allegiance, you know it’s time to go to sleep.