Deep in my heart, I know, from experience, that planning is futile. You can have a general idea, but grip too tightly and the pressure turns that which is lively and light into a cold, hard, useless thing.
Yet part of me still wants to create plans, believing they´re diamonds. A shining, glittery plan has as much value as a sparkling gem in life: none. There is no nourishment, no shelter, no companionship, no comfort. It is pretty, but has only false value.
Sunday morning I left my jungle retreat on the Osa Peninsula with only a promise of a ride to Quepos, back near Manuel Antonio. Maybe the shuttle would continue to Monteverde, maybe no. Investing energy into plans A and B was for naught: when we arrived in Quepos, the shuttle driver, Alex, pointed to a bus to Puntarenas, and from there I could catch another to Monteverde.
Maybe. He spoke little English, and my ability in Spanish has plateaued at confident misunderstanding.
As long as my nose points north, all is well. This bus is super deluxe: cushioned, reclining seats, wide-open windows, and Funky Town playing on the radio, as good an omen as any for traveling. It´s burned in my brain now, a soundtrack for the afternoon, to use as an antidote for the siren song of plans.