Day 68: Traveling muralist and more sushi

These are the two bums that follow me around everywhere I go.
Can't get rid of 'em.

Sun is shining now pretty regularly.

We met Jaime the artist today. He asked through the window if we had a tire pump. He got a flat from the next town over in Dominicalito while riding here to visit his friend, the pool guy. After the pump failed to help him several times, Mike offered the next best thing – his bike. Granted, the handlebars suck and tire leaks, but he could at least get home to get his patch kit. And regardless, if he stole it, well, one less thing we need to leave behind.


Jaime told us that he used to live in the house next door – the one scheduled to be a bar and restaurant someday (most likely four years from now given the tropical work ethic). The interesting thing about him was that he lived there rent free in exchange for his talent. He painted the seascape mural that wraps the bottom of the house. After that, he lived rent free with meals included at the Villas Rio Mar resort while painting their concrete fence. He’s a wandering muralist looking to marry an American lady to get his green card. His only problem is that he falls in love too quickly with each Gringa he meets and has been left by them all after their first time under the covers. Personally, I thought that was a little too much information for a first encounter and probably something he might want to tell close friends (or no one at all). Eventually he left and returned with Mike’s bike, patched his tire and invited Mike to a waterfall (he declined) before he headed home.


While Mike was learning intimate details of Jaime’s love life, Matt made the executive decision that he required one more sushi session before saying goodbye to Dominical. I headed to town earlier than the guys and secured a spot at Maracatu, a reggae bar with big cups of coffee and a solid internet signal, to upload blog entries and look for jobs. That meant Mike and Matt had to come get me regardless of the rain that started about a half hour after I left. You haven’t experienced rain until you come here. Walking through some spurts is as blinding and vicious as getting dosed with a fire hose. Mike took a detour to buy me my own umbrella for the rest of the walk to Dominical Sushi. I told him that was very husbandly of him until he admitted his purchase was purely selfish. He wasn’t sharing his umbrella.


We headed to the restaurant after the rain downgraded to a downpour only to find it closed. Of course. Matt’s boycott list is now cursing all of us just for associating with him. We asked a neighboring business if they knew what time they’d open but he couldn’t help. We waited ten minutes before deciding that the rain was light enough to leave. As we turned the corner, we were face to face with the pretty Tica sushi chef who asked for five minutes before inviting us to her dinner table. Within an hour, we were rolling in salmons and tunas and shrimps with all the right fillings. I have a feeling they won’t ever be on the receiving end of Matt’s boycotted restaurants.

Just an FYI, day number three of poop in the bed.