The Monkey Trail

We've all heard the common preaching of "you kids have it so easy, when I was a kid I had to walk through three feet of snow to get to school!" Sure, that sounds like no easy feat to myself, I have no affinity for winter, but I think I have most people beat when it comes to daily treks to school. Where I lived even an inch of snow would have meant world-ending disaster but I had plenty against me nonetheless.

Let me set the scene: Costa Rica, air so humid you can't tell where it ends and your sweat starts, heat like you wouldn't believe it, and socioeconomic factors leading to many an unpaved road. A small rural community known as Colon sits near La Paz, an international school quickly making a name for itself, between it is a road known as "The Monkey Trail" mostly for the common appearance of howler monkeys but I theorize it has to do with the fact that you have to be bananas to take it.

I, Sebastian, lived in that rural community and attended that school, therefore I had to brave that lonesome primate trail. I was, and am, bananas. For a while, this meant my mother would drive me to school, so I had no complaints, what with her working all the way back this meant her making the drive four times a day. Many cars were deteriorated. Being far from affluent a change was needed, so we scraped up and bought a low priced motorcycle. Commonly, I will tell people I drove a motorcycle to school at the age of 13 to sound cool, but honestly, it was a scooter which eliminates any prospect of me being a laid back bad boy type, I'm not anyways. Despite certain facts, it probably sounds cool being that young with my own transportation, it wasn't. The Monkey Trail has three steep hills that were the bane of my existence. Once a day I would fall off and injure myself, never severely luckily. Keep in mind that rarely do others pass by here and there was no semblance of cell phone signal. Had I been dangerously injured, I'd be on my own.

Costa Rica is broken up into two seasons, dry and rainy. I'd imagine these are self-explanatory. For half the year these roads would be so dry that they'd be covered in a fine dusting that would turn a press on the breaks into a tumble for the inexperienced. I was inexperienced. The other half of the year would bring the blessed rains that would turn the trail into one big mudslide that I did not manage properly. I can recall one day where I passed the trials of the trail despite pouring rain, that is, until I hit what was usually a creek but was then a river. My motorcycle shut off from waterlog and I had no option but to walk. Eventually getting a ride to school. At the time I was self-conscious for all the wrong reasons but showing up to class drenched in river water leaving muddy footprints as I went, all I wanted was to go home but how could I?

Just like prior cars, that motorcycle too gave way to the indomitable simian trail. A new approach was taken, I began to take the public bus to school. This was no over the Monkey Trail bus. Waking up at 5 to catch a bus at 5:30 to take the long route around and still ending up late every day to school and never getting home before 9. Naturally, my grades suffered as I had even less time to slack off from my responsibilities. My breaking point was reached when I fell asleep on one bus heading home and woke up an hour in the wrong direction and without enough money to get home and no phone. Only the kindness of an elderly woman who I had never met before and probably never will again got me home. Then it happened three more times. Only one solution was left.

At this point, I must have been 14 or barely 15 when I decided to walk to school every day. This meant passing over those three hills every day which was approximately a three-hour walk and a dread of rain. On the bright side, I got to keep the 2000 Colones (four dollars) I had for bus fare and put that towards boozing on the weekend (sorry mom). What you have to understand is that I would walk, but my goal was to hitch a ride on a barely trodden road. The plus side of sticking your thumb out on such a treacherous and empty trail is that most people will pity you enough to give you a ride. Approximately one out of every two cars would pick me up, but somedays I wouldn't see a single car.

These were long days for me, I can remember breaking down crying on multiple occasions thinking I'd never make it home, but my feet would keep moving. Howler monkeys would populate the trees and give me company. I spotted more snakes on that road than most people will see in their lives, and not just the small cute ones that are friendly if you know how to grab them. One time I even spotted a jaguar lurking when my motorcycle broke down.

Near the end of my time in Costa Rica my mother would let me drive the car to school now and then. The dry season had once again covered the road in a fine dusting, and we were planning on replacing our tires that weekend. I was doing fine till I made it to the last hill, the steepest of them all, when I began to go too fast and hit the brakes too hard causing us to swerve. Time ground to a hault, I looked at my mother in the passenger seat, to my left was a steep drop into a ravine, to my right was the face of the cliff, forwards was more steeper road. An attempt was made to slow down my pushing against the wall to my right, but quickly we flipped and spun what felt like a thousand times. It's still happening in my dreams at times. When we finally came to a stop I took time to collect myself. I was fine, physically, anyway. My mother was mostly alright, she had busted a finger pretty bad, well I suppose I did it, but nothing severe. The car was destroyed, a lifeless husk, the final gift I gave to the Monkey Trail.

Not long after this, we moved back to the United States. Most people I have met here have complained about the school bus system, I never did.