The weeks leading up to that was a fun spiderweb of logistics; we had to get everyone's things to a variety of future homes and houses of parents, shipping in boxes and loading in cars. While driving with stuffed to the gills cars, many TED talks and podcasts were listened to (check out the "How Did This Get Made" podcast). The blustery winter weather that blanketed pretty much everywhere slowed us down a couple times but we would not be stopped.
Finally we made our way to a train station outside of New York City, with the help of George's aunt Julie. She was more than happy to give us any extra assistance we needed, and George was even happier to decline said assistance, often repeating he "didn't want to impose." So on the way there was a hilarious push and pull between the two, with Nick and I egging them on for extra fun. It culminated in my getting her to stop by Dunkin Donuts on the way there so we could grab some extra food before our trip, much to George and Nick's chagrins. The former because of the aforementioned imposition, and the latter for the choice of unholy food place.
We probably looked rather odd in our light clothes as we headed for LaGuardia. Nick was the worst off, wearing just two t-shirts, and George and I in a sweater and hoodie respectively. It was well below freezing outside, so we double timed it into inside the airport terminal (well, not Nick really, who is impervious to outdoor cold). From there we headed for our gate, not having to go through any cancer blasting nudie machines, thankfully.
It's 15 degrees outside at the train station; Nick just doesn't care.We landed in San Jose airport around 8:30 PM, and took a shuttle to our hostel in the heart of the city. After we dropped off our minimal luggage, we ventured out into the streets looking for food. Bypassing all the familiar McDonalds and Quiznos signs, we opted for a promising looking small restaurant, and there we all ordered authentic Costa Rican breakfast meals, each being a different variation of beans and rice.
My meal caused the most commotion though. It came with sauce, which I naively poured all over my dinner after testing just a little of it. I did not notice the innocuous strips of red scattered in my food like little landmines, and halfway through the meal one bit did a sneak attack on my mouth and set half of it on fire.
"Rub the bread all over your tongue!" George suggested, but it did little to abate the spice, even after eating the whole last slice. I mostly just breathed heavily, blinked, and generally spasmed, dramatically dealing with the flaming mouth.
Naturally we agreed that we should all have a turn with the picante slivers of red. Nick went next, nibbling a bit experimentally, then thoroughly chewing the whole thin slice. He managed to keep it together better than me, but his red watery eyes and very focused look betrayed his difficulty. "I'll just have a little rice here..." he said before hastily eating the rest of his food.
George was last and had a similar response as I did, urgently searching the table for some sort of respite substance, now that the bread was all gone. By this time our waitress had come over, and she suggested a packet of sugar, which worked better than anything else we'd tried to that point.
Our bellies full, the fires basically gone, we returned to the hostel. We admired the view of the city from the rooftop bar for a bit (fantastic view), but it wasn't long before we settled in for the night in our sparse four bed room, resting up for the second half of our journey to our home away from home.
Not your average hostel roof