Costa Rica, 05-04-2007
I watch the sunrise through our window, unsure of whether or not I wanted to stay here another night. The sheets are itchy as hell, Nae doesn’t have a sleep sack, and I’m praying my irratated skin isn’t complaining about bedbugs. After chatting with Donal for a time, he offers to drive us to Playa Carillo 7 km away, and tells us about the torutugas (turtles) at Buena Vista. He said we should come back at 8 for a traditional Costa Rican breakfast. Nae and I went to get coffee, and we both agree that if we could shower before bed and sleep in some light clothes, it might be more comfortable. I don’t think it’s bebugs, and the itching as stopped, but I don’t bring up the possibility that we just slept with critters. Donal has been so personable and accommodating we felt it would be a little unfair to bail on him after accepting his offer of free rides.
On the way to the soda for coffee, all the school children were in their uniforms, clumped together waiting for escuela to start. The horses, who appear to know where they live and return there uh-shepherded en masse, were grazing on the central futbol field.
Breakfast consists of white bread, black beans and rice, coffee, and a thick slice of local cheese with creme on it. The cheese has a hard consistency, and is a little sharp, similar to cheddar but white and not as potent. The creme is like a sweet-ish sour-cream the consistency of yogurt. They complement each other perfectly, and is quite filling for a small amount of food. I want to find out if I can get some back in the States.
Playa Carillo Airport
We spend most of the day at Playa Carillo, lounging in the sun, shooting photos, and I venture our far enough to get little body surfing in. The waves are deceptively large; overhead in chest deep water. It sprinkles occasionally, but not enough to push us off the beach. On one of our strolls, a French-accented local girl waiting for the bus points out a crocodile. I’m glad it’s below the bridge and us above it, as she notes that there used to be three, but didn’t see where the other two went. It’s only a 15 meter walk to the end of the bridge where the crocodiles’ territory meets ours.
A large local dog adopted us. He was never really excited, nor did he ask for attention, but he would follow us around, and when we’d stop, he’s stop as well. He’d plop down beside us, back turned, as if spurning us. Occasionally he run off to roll leisurely in the sand or wash off in the water, but had a plodding gate and utterly unconcerned attitude. We named him “Tortuga”, or “Turtle.”
If intentions have karmic currency, I’m able to toss some in the bank on the way home. I’m in the back of the truck and Nae’s in the cab, and we pass a couple laboring along the side of the roads. I’m about to knock on the window to signal to Donal when he begins to stop. So, I don’t exactly have a hand in the matter, but the intention is there. We chat a bit on the ride, I snap a photo of Salvadore and Sarah, and gave them my email. They’re bound for CA eventually; I tell them to drop me a line when they get there.
Salvadore and Sarah
We explore the town further, and end up at Shake Joe’s for a couple of drinks. It’s slightly more expensive, but there’s a nice view of the ocean where the sky changes to a collage of blue, pink, orange, magentas and purple during the sunset. A few drinks turned into six or seven as we sit with a Canadian couple, Chad and Monica, from Calgary. We have one of the few palapas there, and chat until almost 10 PM — late into the night by Costa Rican standards, as far as we can tell. Imagine having ever day of the years almost exactly 12 hours long.
As has become standard this trip, it begin raining and thundering furiously after sunset, but we four celebrate under our shelter, telling stories and talking travel, politics, and photography, and they invite us to Calgary for Stampede. Back at the B&B, we shower, sleep in our clothes on top of the single sleep sack, and sleep a bit better than the night before.