Admittedly very abstract, not only in response to my past attempts to navigate the fine line between originality and theft, but also in response to a recent trip Playa Montezuma on the Pacific Coast in Costa Rica. I had gone there 5 years ago after playing a festival in San Jose and was blown away by it's peaceful nature. It seems I wasn't the only one, however. Awaiting us was a disgusting, trash-strewn beach, sport-fishermen, infested waters and not a single place to camp in the entire town. Apparently, the last remaining campsite closed its doors after participants in a camping trip emptied out their host's house the minute he turned his back. Not wanting to spend out time in a seedy hotel, or at a seedy bar, being propositioned for restroom encounters by stumble drunk internationals, we packed our bags and took a hike, eventually finding a certain degree of solace about 6 miles down the road. The cause of this madness? If you'd believe it, yoga retreats (the town is overflowing with them), the American notion that the world is simultaneously their playground and their toilet and the eerie gray area where these two cultures meet. That said, the juxtaposition of said extremes seems only fitting for this offering.
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