Why do we like to scare ourselves? It’s always been an interesting question to me. In my case, it dates back to childhood. My sister and I fought a lot when we were kids but we ultimately found common ground and have become great friends. Haunted houses, creepy graveyards, and sadistic murderers’ basements are included in this common ground. My sister and I both have an appetite for horror and thriller movies. Many make me laugh but some really do freak me out. It may not happen right away; But, late at night, when I’m alone in the house, I have to think twice about how badly I actually need to walk down that dark hallway to get to the bathroom.

Yesterday, as a favor to a friend, I shot photos of the annual Haunted Trail at Children’s Specialized Hospital. Michele and Cheryl organized (read…”pour their souls into”) an army of generous volunteers to pull off something amazing. They transform the woods behind the hospital into a fright-fest. Many of these volunteers become ghastly ghouls and goblins for the night in order to make the lives of the patients at the hospital a little bit more normal. Many others toil for endless hours constructing and operating the “stages” for this event. It was simply amazing, though there was nothing simple about it.

From the looks on the faces of most of the kids, they were both frightened and festive at the same time. Screams and laughter were intertwined seamlessly. And, that’s precisely the common ground that I share with my sister and all of these children on this one night each year.

This day holds such significance…the union of two unique individuals, each with so many lovely attributes. Simply, it is a day that was meant to be.

Best wishes to Evelyne and Alan, two of the truest of friends, for a lifetime of adventure and joy.

When at first you don’t succeed, try…try again.

Paul and I headed up to the Gunks for another shot at climbing. We had crisp temperatures and a breeze. The 45 mile per hour gusts the meteorologists were predicting never materialized. The hawks and falcons, on the other hand, were out in force. Paul and I managed to climb “Bonnie’s Roof” and “High Exposure”. I’ve done each of these climbs many times, but it only takes dripping water running down the key holds to make it a little bit more exciting. Overall, it was a nice way of ending the climbing season for me. The notable missing component was Trang. Just about one week earlier, we tried to get onto these climbs but the “third wettest October in recorded history” got in the way.

What also got in the way for us was a detour on the way to the cliffs. First, I thought it was bridge construction…or perhaps road construction. It took a closer look to realize that the river and the road had become one. The detour did give wonderful views of the ridge…a perspective I hadn’t enjoyed before.

We had one last delay on the way home. While taking the detour to get back to the highway, we came upon the scene of an accident. Unfortunately, Paul and I were the “first responders”. Paul was a paramedic a little while back and was adequately prepared with gear in his truck. Apparently, a car had decided to make a turn while a couple on motorcycles decided to go straight. Unfortunately, it was quite obvious that on the road, he with more steel wins. The man’s injuries were minor. The worst thing for him was to have his leather chaps cut off by the paramedic so his leg could be examined. His wife’s leg will need some creative carpentry by an orthopedist. All in all, I believe that they got off lucky. Some surgery and rehab and their lives will go on. Their heads and spines appeared fine. Those are the things that change lives of those injured, and their families.

There was one last detour…a short pit stop at an apple orchard’s roadside stand. It was a reminder that we’re in the Northeast. And in autumn, the Northeast’s got its perks.

My friend, Karen, and I have been trading coasts for over a decade. In the beginning, it was on a macro-scale. I would move to California while she stayed in New Jersey. Within days of heading back to New Jersey (2 years later), she moved out to California. I do believe that we actually crossed somewhere in the Midwest. Then, this phenomenon began to pervade day-to-day life as well. When I had a visit planned to the West Coast, Karen would be heading East, out of pure coincidence. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that she was avoiding me…but perhaps, maybe she was.

Karen holds a very warm place in my heart. I have immense respect for her ability to stand by her convictions and follow her path. I’m also very happy to see her family grow over the years. First, it was Sherpa….followed by Bernie. To say that these two dogs have personality would be the understatement of the century! Then, Karen and Jon met each other. There are a few things that happen in the Universe that causes one to say, “Hey, that’s just right”, and this union falls into that category.

So, Karen and Jon got married a little while ago. This weekend, they came to the New Jersey to celebrate with family and friends. For this event, I waged a personal battle with the natural flow of the Universe and won…Karen and I co-existed on the same Coast for the first time in a very long time.

Warmth, tenderness, compassion, patience, generosity…Love.

Thank you, Dawn and Marc, for showing me, step-by-step.

When it rains, it pours. I always used this saying figuratively. It’s a bummer when you have to use it literally as well.

12 years is a long time. I met my dear friend, Trang, a dozen or so years ago at the University of California-Santa Cruz. We shared the same classes and formed a friendship navigating the treacherous waters of science/pre-medical courses. Earning my first degree in the all-purpose liberal arts degree of psychology, this transition to the more quantifiable sciences took some adjustment. Considering, also, that I had spent four years in college in New Jersey before hitting the west coast, day-to-day life was somewhat of an adjustment as well.

Trang and I started rock climbing together near the end of my tenure in California and when I headed back East for medical school a decade ago, we promised that we would stay friends. We indeed stayed very good friends with shared climbing trips out West being a somewhat regularly scheduled event. Still, there was the plan of an East Coast visit to climb at the fabled “Gunks”. The Gunks has become my home climbing crag. Its three hundred foot tall cliffs are home to hundreds of rock climbs, most with historic significance. Much of American rock climbing history was forged on this iron-hard conglomerate rock. This would be a significant experience for Trang…if it hadn’t poured for almost a week straight. None-the-less, Trang, Edison and I made an attempt to climb. Well, it was a nice hike anyway.

Instead of testing our mettle hanging from the side of a cliff, Trang and I spent most of this trip on safari in the urban jungle of New York City. Being more at home a hundred feet deep in the ocean or a skyscraper’s height off the ground on a ledge than in the city, I was happy to have the guiding experience of several friends. We had a lovely day exploring Downtown, starting with a Chinatown dim-sum brunch, followed by a stroll through Little Italy, the Village, and Soho. These latter two areas left me feeling very “unhip” in comparison to the surroundings, but it did keep me full. Cream puffs never tasted so good…only to be trumped by the Grey’s Papaya hot dog recession special (2 hot dogs and a papaya juice for $2.75).

There was a moment of that day that took us to the other end of the emotional spectrum. It has been several years since the World Trade Center tragedy but wounds are still deep for many people. Much healing has occurred for many but it sometimes only takes a reminder to pull off the scab. Trang was thousands of miles away on that horrible morning; But, no doubt like most people, she couldn’t escape the sharp point of reality. This was her first visit to New York City and time spent at Ground Zero was a necessity…the inconceivable loss of September 11th being inseparable from this city.

At the World Trade Center site, the image of a small child seeking shelter from the rain under her colorful umbrella caught my eye. She stood out so strongly against the grey backdrop of a rainy sky. The color of the small umbrella was taking on the overwhelming darkness of the storm, just as the innocence of this child was attempting to smooth out, just a little, the coarse cynicism born of this tragic event.

On Trang’s last night in New Jersey, we ventured back across the river to Manhattan. This time, we took on midtown, armed with the heavy American steel of my truck. Unfortunately, that was the wrong weapon to choose. We sat in traffic attempting to navigate the bottleneck that the Lincoln Tunnel had created. Trang and I did make it in with a few minutes to spare.

It made me very happy to share a performance of Phantom of the Opera with Trang. Many productions of different shows have spread across the Globe and Las Vegas (Trang’s current home) has no shortage of them. Though I find myself very rarely there, I still believe that Broadway has a unique character and flavor that is lost in the replicating process. Trang had expressed an interest in seeing this show many years ago and I hope that the experience lived up to the anticipation.

I was very sad to see Trang return home today. It was a short visit…too short for such a long friendship. I am glad that friends on this coast that have become very important parts of my life had a chance to meet one of the people who made me so grateful for having had the opportunity to spend some time of the “left” coast. I hope that these friendships will overlap. On a selfish level, that’s a win-win situation for me.

Cocos Island is very far away. It is hard to believe that we left the island 3 days ago. In this age of jetliners, I’ve gotten used to getting places in a snap. 3 days’ travel would get you around the World in a plane. That leaves these small corners of the World such as Cocos even farther away.

The time spent on the seas allowed time to get things together as well as an opportunity to process photos. It also allowed inventory to be taken again.

The trip has taught me a lot. It was very obvious that most of the divers on this trip had experience far exceeding my own. Though I started diving way back (about 15 years ago), it was something that I had put on hold for well over a decade. The waters around Cocos were much larger, deeper, and at times much more violent than anything other fishbowl that I’ve thrown myself into. It was very much a humbling experience. But, though it “scared” me at times, this uncertainty served to increase my drive to learn. And, perhaps one day, I’ll be able to get closer to my goal which is to “move with grace in the belly of the beast”.

Paul and I had one more opportunity to explore San Jose. The City looks different during the day and was much more familiar this time around. We left the map back at the hotel and were able to navigate to those places we wanted to go with only an accidental detour or two. The supermarket was more of a snap and there was no intimidation trying to acquire a empanada. We even managed buying 3 different types of churros…dulce de leche, chocolate, and cream. Though there were some communication difficulties (the ½ dozen for 400 colones only applied to the plain churros, no fillings).

While walking around San Jose, the level of poverty was once again striking. I’ll refrain from making any judgments or criticisms because I still have no answers or suggestions. But, I will try to keep it on my mind as I am comfortably back in my own home.


They should be announcing our final approach into Newark in the near future. And just as sitting behind the steering wheel of my car for a month allowed reflection, so does “lounging” in my airplane seat. Besides, I’m sure I will catch “Bewitched” another time. The diving (as well as getting to and from our selected piece of ocean) was incredible. Though I didn’t get to rock climb for a week and a half, I still got plenty of training for my grip strength trying to not drift (or rather fly) away in the current. The life was grand, frighteningly large, and beautiful. I’m now certified in Nitrox use for diving as well so I have options of breathing something other than regular air on future dives.

I’ve also always had a great respect for Paul and how he lives his life. I have a new appreciation for what he has taught me underwater…and, of course, for keeping me alive.

Yesterday was our last day of diving at Cocos Island. We were going to make it to the other side of the island no matter what. That’s were the Hammerheads like to go. The seas were still high and wild and so we took the small “pangas” all the way out. The currents were so strong that we were like flags fluttering on the descent line. It was a fight to make it down to a hundred feet. We were greeted by a few isolated Hammerheads and the usual gang of Whitetips but none were willing to humor us with a closer pass. The most amazing display of Hammerhead school was still on the first dive of our trip.

Dirty Rock was even more of an adventure. I now know what it feels like to be a sock in a washing machine. But, I was a sock, holding a very large camera, 2nd regulator free-flowing my precious air supply, mask flooding to the top. So, of course, holding on to the rock for dear life with one hand and my precious camera with the other hand, there were no more hands left to clear my mask, fix my 2nd regulator, check my gauges and computer or signal to Paul. I survived the dive, barely, but it was quite the humbling experience. This is definitely not Caribbean resort diving!

For the last dive of our trip, we returned to the site of one of our first…Manuelita. The current had picked up there as well but it was nice taking a quick drift tour of the submarine part of the island. There were no Hammerheads there this time but that was fine.

It is amazing how something small can trigger distant memories. Last night, when dessert was served, I found a small piece of Tiramisu sitting in front of me. I love Tiramisu but I haven’t had it in about eight years. I have reasons for abstaining from one of my most loved treats…it is a test of discipline as well as an honor to a memory. I’m thousands of miles from home in an environment that is almost as different from home as Mars. Even so, I was visited by dreams last night that reached so far back into my history…all triggered by a dessert.


Today, the long march back to Puntarenas continues. I remember how miserable I felt one week ago on the way out. The Scopolamine patch had taken the edge off but I was still ill enough that I didn’t want to get up from the lounge chair on the deck. Of course, that resulted in a mean sunburn that made covering my body with neoprene and submerging myself into a vat of salt water four times a day a bit challenging. I’m happy to report that I may have gotten my sea legs. I feel quite fine right now. Then again, there still lies 21 hours of travel ahead. “Knock on wood”.