Fuck the Sounds of Non-Silence
Well, he showed up. Jim's friend Stefan from Germany. We knew him well back in 1986 and 87 before he flew off to work the German pavilion in Disneyworld's Epcot Center. Stefan turns up like a bad sweary penny every so often. His last visit was a disaster because all he did was scream 'FUCK!' and behave like he had lost most of his marbles. This was just much of the same.
He'd been saying for months he was coming the first week of January, and contacted us to let us know last week that his schedule had changed and it was very unlikely he'd show. Whew, I relaxed just to have him phone on at dinnertime on Wednesday to say he was at the Penas Blancas border crossing and would be soon hitch hiking his way to us. Scrambling to put out clean towels and make sure the bed was ready.
Aaaaaaaaaand we wait, and wait some more. The crossing is only 90 minutes or so from the house. De nada. About midnight we get a call from Stefan. He is waiting for a ride in Belen, a good twenty minutes away. I know Belen, there's a bakery, a small grocery store and a gas station, that is it. We headed off to fetch him.
He reeked, so badly, the stench was incredible. I knew he'd been hitchhiking for weeks, but I'd assumed he'd at least stopped to wash clothes. Nothing doing. I spent a full day doing his laundry, tent, sleeping bag and clothing, hitting it with everything I had in the laundry room. He smelled better by the time he left. Now I just have to do all the bedding in the room. There is a lingering scent and it ain't a pleasant one.
At first it was fine. His screeching and cursing were minimal that first night, but I did go to bed immediately after arriving home, smell or no smell. The stroke has taken the starch from my sails and I'm in my cozy beddy bye at 10 pm usually.
The next day was a horror fest. Screaming, yelling cursing, running about to get him a license plate from a local car and find out about the Las Bolas. The Las Bolas are a nine hour drive south I kept telling him. Thankfully Jim took her off for a few hours because I'd started getting Jim's four weeks of lung crud.
Had to lay down because when we'd been out and about I faceplanted right on the blacktop at the busiest intersection in Tamarindo, tripping on my shoes and falling down amid buses, tourismo buses and oodles of tourist vehicles. Honking horns with streets shooting off towards Villareal, Langosta and Noguis. Messed myself up pretty badly. I have gravel in my knees and palms of my hands plus my stupid back didn't much like it.
By the time yesterday morn had come I was just done, done, done entirely. I think Stefan has some sort of diagnosed thing going on. I don't know if he's schizo or what, but the boy ain't wrapped right. Yesterday morning he was yelling and screaming about how incredibly fucked up Germany was now by the influx of Muslims and I had to just walk out. Took my blood pressure and it was 139/90, too damn high~ Lay down for five minutes with a pillow over my head and it dropped to 90/60, my usual. I know yelling and noise affects everyone differently, but I have to have a large dose of silence daily to feel right.
He talked continually. He talked at such a high volume it was like being a hapless recruit being yelled at by a hostile drill instructor. I started to get the shakes.
On Stefan's last morning here he was almost tolerable when we were out taking photos of the reproduction pre-Comlumbian art work. That guy I could have tolerated because of our mutual love of art, but it was straight back to the yelling.
We took him back to the border with Nicaragua, up to Penas Blancas again. Never have I ever been so eager to dump a guest again. The next time he visits I am going elsewhere and leaving Jim to deal with him. He is less effected by it.
It's hard being around people because of the stroke. I feel many days now like an electrical system with stripped wires. Usually the wires have their nice plastic coating, but now they have nothing, sparking spitting wires that erupt when you least expect it.
I did learn one thing new about myself. I have to have some quiet daily. Large stretches of peace and quiet. Once Stefan got out of the car and carried his bits and pieces towards the border checkpoint I turned to Jim and told him not to speak for the next hour. He laughed, he know what I was talking about. We drove back in silence mostly, just sometimes speaking about how bizarre the visit was.
He'd been saying for months he was coming the first week of January, and contacted us to let us know last week that his schedule had changed and it was very unlikely he'd show. Whew, I relaxed just to have him phone on at dinnertime on Wednesday to say he was at the Penas Blancas border crossing and would be soon hitch hiking his way to us. Scrambling to put out clean towels and make sure the bed was ready.
Aaaaaaaaaand we wait, and wait some more. The crossing is only 90 minutes or so from the house. De nada. About midnight we get a call from Stefan. He is waiting for a ride in Belen, a good twenty minutes away. I know Belen, there's a bakery, a small grocery store and a gas station, that is it. We headed off to fetch him.
He reeked, so badly, the stench was incredible. I knew he'd been hitchhiking for weeks, but I'd assumed he'd at least stopped to wash clothes. Nothing doing. I spent a full day doing his laundry, tent, sleeping bag and clothing, hitting it with everything I had in the laundry room. He smelled better by the time he left. Now I just have to do all the bedding in the room. There is a lingering scent and it ain't a pleasant one.
At first it was fine. His screeching and cursing were minimal that first night, but I did go to bed immediately after arriving home, smell or no smell. The stroke has taken the starch from my sails and I'm in my cozy beddy bye at 10 pm usually.
The next day was a horror fest. Screaming, yelling cursing, running about to get him a license plate from a local car and find out about the Las Bolas. The Las Bolas are a nine hour drive south I kept telling him. Thankfully Jim took her off for a few hours because I'd started getting Jim's four weeks of lung crud.
Had to lay down because when we'd been out and about I faceplanted right on the blacktop at the busiest intersection in Tamarindo, tripping on my shoes and falling down amid buses, tourismo buses and oodles of tourist vehicles. Honking horns with streets shooting off towards Villareal, Langosta and Noguis. Messed myself up pretty badly. I have gravel in my knees and palms of my hands plus my stupid back didn't much like it.
By the time yesterday morn had come I was just done, done, done entirely. I think Stefan has some sort of diagnosed thing going on. I don't know if he's schizo or what, but the boy ain't wrapped right. Yesterday morning he was yelling and screaming about how incredibly fucked up Germany was now by the influx of Muslims and I had to just walk out. Took my blood pressure and it was 139/90, too damn high~ Lay down for five minutes with a pillow over my head and it dropped to 90/60, my usual. I know yelling and noise affects everyone differently, but I have to have a large dose of silence daily to feel right.
He talked continually. He talked at such a high volume it was like being a hapless recruit being yelled at by a hostile drill instructor. I started to get the shakes.
On Stefan's last morning here he was almost tolerable when we were out taking photos of the reproduction pre-Comlumbian art work. That guy I could have tolerated because of our mutual love of art, but it was straight back to the yelling.
We took him back to the border with Nicaragua, up to Penas Blancas again. Never have I ever been so eager to dump a guest again. The next time he visits I am going elsewhere and leaving Jim to deal with him. He is less effected by it.
It's hard being around people because of the stroke. I feel many days now like an electrical system with stripped wires. Usually the wires have their nice plastic coating, but now they have nothing, sparking spitting wires that erupt when you least expect it.
I did learn one thing new about myself. I have to have some quiet daily. Large stretches of peace and quiet. Once Stefan got out of the car and carried his bits and pieces towards the border checkpoint I turned to Jim and told him not to speak for the next hour. He laughed, he know what I was talking about. We drove back in silence mostly, just sometimes speaking about how bizarre the visit was.
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