My long-term goal was to build financial independence as a freelance writer. I had been writing online articles and interviews at work, and I had just published my first feature story in a local magazine. After a year of night school to complete a Certificate in Feature Writing, seeing my first feature story in print was motivating to say the least.

I set up in Blogger which was free and simple to use. I had the option of placing Google AdSense on my blog, but I decided not to because it didn’t fit into my goals at that time. I landed in San José, Costa Rica and had forgotten that I had inquired here and there about teaching English until on day two I received a message inviting me to an interview. Though hesitant to start a new job right away, I took the position teaching business English in a local financial institution convinced I’d have enough free time to write and to explore my new surroundings.

Just three months later in May 2008, I published my first travel feature in the Central American newspaper, The Tico Times. Writing content for websites followed as did numerous opportunities to write hotel reviews and real estate feature stories. I was on fire!

In March 2009, I started handing out my new business card. After a lot of thought, I decided to go with the working title “Writer. Blogger. Traveler.” At the bottom of the card I listed creative copywriting, web content, freelance travel, hotel reviews, profiles, features and corporate communication as my areas of expertise. I didn’t want to limit myself so early in the game.

In May 2009, I had an unsettling conversation with one of my students who out of the blue said his lawyer told him not to talk to a journalist. I explained that I was really more of a “writer” with a passion for travel and that I didn’t see myself as an “investigative journalist.” Classes continued.

I have a B.A. in Communication and a B.A. in Political Science with a regional specialization in Latin America. And I remember quite well from my studies the heavy burden journalists carry in this oft-volatile part of the world. Even though I was at that time a member of the Society of Professional Journalists (I need to renew my membership), I considered myself more in the vague category of “writer” since I wasn’t working a regular beat for a news organization.

In August 2009, I moved my blog into WordPress, became a member of the Blogher publishing network, started to grow my Twitter network and was busy applying tips from Nomadic Matt’s eBook entitled How to Make Money With Your Travel Blog. I also added my first sponsor to my blog’s home page who paid me US$25 a month for the link. My dreams were coming true!

In March of this year, I made a new business card. The working title reads “Writer and Social Media Consultant.” I’m experimenting with ways to highlight the social media side of things.

Two weeks ago I went on a hike with a group and when responding to the question “What do you do?” I said, “I’m a writer.” One person responded, “You’re not a journalist?” Another person responded by asking, “So, do you write poetry?”

Who am I? As modes of communication take new and exciting turns and as more and more people take the freelance route, I wonder how working titles will evolve. Or, perhaps they will just grow. Here are a few working titles I’ve come across lately:

Freelance property writer, copywriter, journalist, blogger
Writer, journalist, blogger
Author, journalist, blogger, and periodic talk radio host

To all of you running blogs out there, how do you answer the question “What do you do?” and what kind of responses do you get?

I’m not often moved by yoga-speak. When I hear about aligning my chakras or a more esoteric call to “release my inner child,” I feel alienated. This instructor’s words were simple and real: “This is your life.” The location was paradise. Combined with the close connection to nature the outdoor studio allotted, the entire experience gifted new insights, and not simply escapism.

He took a few steps before turning back to the group to explain that you not only have to know what the quetzal likes to eat (aguacatillo) and where its nest is located, but you also need a lot of patience. Making eye contact with everyone in the group, he added that “the most important ingredient to seeing a quetzal is luck.” This is how my guided hike through the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve in Costa Rica began.

Scanning the forest with an ear to the sky, our guide picked up the pace. “Quickly and quietly,” he whispered. “I think they’re at their nest right now.” We dashed down the wide, gravel entrance to the park. I thought we’d be running deeper into the forest. Stopping at the road’s edge, he set up his scope and peered into the forest. He cupped his hands at his mouth and replicated the quetzal’s hollow, two-note whistle. “No, they ‘re not at the nest anymore. I think one flew up the hill. Let’s go!” he said.

We repeated the same scenario a couple of times. We scurried up and down the trails examining the treetops and listening for its call. I started to think that the anticipation of actually spotting the elusive quetzal was going to be the reward of the hike.

That’s when our luck took a turn for the better.

Through an opening in the thick canopy of trees, we spotted its crimson chest. “It’s a male!” informed our guide. It didn’t have the long tail feathers I had always associated with male quetzals. Its rectangular tail, typical of birds in the trogon family, was pure white, unlike the female’s tail which has black markings. I learned that we were looking at a young male; the tail plumes take a few years to fully develop.

Satisfied and feeling lucky, we continued down the trail…only to spot a second male quetzal with slightly more developed tail feathers! More than satisfied and feeling especially lucky, we returned to observing plant life and eruptions from nearby Arenal Volcano through the spotting scope.

“If we return the way we came, we might spot more quetzals,” said our guide. Feeling lucky enough to want to push our luck, we forwent exploring new parts of the forest for the chance to once again observe the mythical bird.

It was an unusually clear day. Located on the Caribbean slope of the Continental Divide, the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve gets a lot of rain. Hiking uphill, we saw our guide stop and set down his scope. Water break, I thought. He planted the legs of the tripod and angled the scope. With unprecedented calmness, our guide gestured to a nearby branch. Regally perched and wearing a mohawk-like crown in shades of emerald, the mature resplendent male quetzal’s long tail feathers fluttered in the wind like a pennon kite. Speechless.

Side note: Quetzals don’t sit still for very long. Because I had photographed the quetzal on an earlier hike in the Monteverde Cloud Forest (read about that hike here, with photos!), I decided to spend these moments just observing.

Not all dogs in Costa Rica have it so easy. Read my previous post about Costa Rican artist Francisco Munguía’s street dog exhibit in downtown San Jose.

Fulfilling and finding new cravings is one of the pleasures of travel. To recall the first time you ate a carne asada burrito at one of the tiny taco shops in California, enjoyed an ice-cold cerveza with friends after riding bikes to the waterfall in La Fortuna, Costa Rica, or paddled around the pond in El Retiro Park in Madrid, Spain incites a joie de vivre. This joie de vivre comes from the inspiration we get from the fond memory, the experience of enjoying life in the moment and the hope that one day we might be lucky enough to return.

Back in Costa Rica, I’ve arrived excited to fulfill cravings while discovering new ones. Many people will find it hard to believe that there are things I crave in the capital. Before your mind wanders, the first thing I looked forward to seeing was the brilliant green landscape typical of the Central Valley.

To fulfill one of my food cravings, I headed to La Hoja al Aire restaurant for one of my favorite dishes: trucha al aguacate. Alas, I was late for lunch, so that will have to wait.

Now it’s time to revisit and discover new favorites along Costa Rica’s sandy shores. If there’s something you crave in Costa Rica, let me know!

The ad says: “Bog about Cambodia’s unique findings before going on-board.”

I’d say that inviting people to share their experiences in the growing networked public sphere as they fly out shows a lot of confidence in what the country has to offer. What do you think?

When I read this sentence, I was reminded of the bike ride I took along the Mekong River between Kratie and Kampi to view the freshwater Irrawaddy dolphins. It was a 15-kilometer ride along a paved, albeit bumpy, two-lane road lined with homes and stores. People were busy working in the nearby fields, repairing mopeds, making sticky rice snacks and carving dolphin sculptures to sell to tourists.

As we pedaled along, kids ran to the side of the road to scream hello and wave. Some would continue with “What’s your name?” and “How are you?” If the mother were nearby, she’d often follow with a sua s’dei, which means hello in Cambodian. If she were holding a baby, she would pick up its arm, wave it back and forth and repeat in a high-pitched voice, “hello, hello.” Some kids would run to keep up with us while others stood in place with arms stretched out and palms flat looking for a high-five. The kids who were inside of the house would stick their heads out of the windows to join in the cacophony of greetings.

While this particular bike ride stands out in my mind, I was often struck by the flood of warm smiles, the genuinely kind greetings and the persistence to survive throughout Cambodia. In a country that has suffered so much tragedy in its recent past, seeing how the people forge ahead is certainly a lesson in the endurance of the human spirit.

In Cambodia during Pol Pot’s violent and inhumane regime, millions were relocated and forced into slave labor in the countryside in an attempt to create an “agrarian utopia,” which consequently sparked widespread famine. This is when insects and arachnids entered the Cambodian diet. Today, fried crickets, beetles and tarantulas are sold in markets, on the street and in restaurants.

I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. The only thing that tends to make me queezy is a viscous texture. (Read my earlier post Snot Yam and Hairy Chicharrones.) So when I popped the large, pilose spider into my mouth, I just hoped the bulbous body did not explode with a mucilaginous surprise. Check out our bizarre foods audition by ContemporaryNomad.com:

This brings me to tip number one for those of you who might find yourselves wondering how to successfully complete a mahout training course while saving body…and face:

1. Place your foot in the harness to pull yourself up onto the elephant’s neck. Do not attempt to leap directly to the top, unless you are over six feet tall and can do at least ten pull-ups. If you don’t believe me, take a look at the video of our adventure by ContemporaryNomad.com:

Tips continued

2. Wear long pants if you are going to be riding on the neck because your legs will chafe against the elephant’s rough skin.

3. Wear shoes that are unlikely to slip off, or just don’t wear shoes. Tevas are okay but flip-flops are not. It’s a long way to the ground, so the fewer the distractions the better.

4. Use more balance than brawn. While you will occasionally need to clench you thighs to hang onto the neck and to command the elephant to turn left or right, staying on the neck for any length of time without completely exhausting yourself requires balance.

5. If your ride in the basket on the elephant’s back, bring a pillow because sitting on the wooden seat while swaying back and forth gets very uncomfortable after a couple of hours.

“No problem,” said our host flashing his wide set of pearly whites.

In between treks, we decided to do a home stay in a Pnong village just outside of Sen Monorom town in Cambodia’s Mondulkiri province. A handful of thatched-roof huts dotting the village sat between rolling hills and a river, the latter area doubling as the toilet. Mr. Hung pointed to the hut we’d be sharing with his family of eight. With so many people sleeping under the same roof, I couldn’t help but wonder where Mr. and Mrs. Hung got “busy.”

The candles were blown out by 8:30 p.m., but I decided to stay up with my headlamp and write in my journal. As much as I love hammocks, I had never spent an entire night in one. I couldn’t see much through the diaphanous mosquito net but I felt cozy inside of my camouflage-colored hammock, which stretched from beam to beam across the hut.

Replacing the familiar sounds of car engines and horns, I heard a pig snorting and ramming its head into the door made of cane. The pigs, which wandered in and out of the hut all day, were just learning that their domestic curfew had ended. A scratchy transistor radio hummed softly. A fire had been burning for most of the day on the dirt floor separating the raised wooden planks which served as both a dining table and a bed. The air was smoky and warm. It was within this ashen-choked room that I realized that action is not reserved for city folks.

Twenty minutes passed. Music continued to emanate from the transistor radio. I didn’t have a pillow, so I used my fanny pack. Every time I shifted, I couldn’t help but feel precariously perched even though I saw that the hammock was securely tied. I heard mumbling from my nearby friends who were also dangling between beams. “I’m not telling them to turn it off!” hissed Thomas. “It’s only 9:00 p.m.”

Shortly thereafter, the volume on the transistor radio climbed. I heard more mumbling, but this time it seemed to be coming from the other side of the hut. We don’t speak Pnong, so I couldn’t figure out why they would want to drown out their voices. Blankets rustled. I heard a deep exhale and then a moan. I lifted my head turning my ear in their direction. Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing, I questioned? The radio suddenly got louder.

At that moment I thought: what anonymity and concrete walls swallow up in the city, scratchy transistor radios devour in the village.