Joanna Biggar's Blog

A quiet day followed a quiet night of tripping, literally, up and down a trail filled with roots and stems, through the private reserve, aka, jungle behind our lodgings. We were issued headlamps and for two and a half hours slumped through the thick, hot forest full of bugs, reptiles, spiders and moths as big as a man’s hand. And there was ever Carlos, like a cheerful barker, “Scorpion spider, ladies and gentlemen, scorpion spider, step right up.” Actually, I was just as happy with what we did not see, and after my third and final cold shower of the day, was more than ready for a dreamless sleep.

For our third day, we decided against anything heroic.  Read mountain hikes and scaling waterfalls, scuba diving, horseback riding, etc. At about 85 F. and 90% humidity, you get the drift. In the morning we took a leisurely stroll to the village of Drake, where we had landed on the beach from the airport, and where Sir Francis had reputedly crash-landed a few centuries before. Evidently, I caught the spirit. As we followed a wooded path to the beach, we stepped up on a wooden plank covering a small stream. Just before reaching the end, I looked up to see none other than Surfer Dude, who clearly had not gone diving. Surprised, I stepped off the plank one moment too soon and lost a shoe in a deep sink of mud before doing a swan dive myself.

Embarrassed that he might expect such greetings from members of my gender, I tried extracating myself quickly. But he seemed rather other-planetary and appeared not to notice. Everything was “cool,” he said. “Hey, my B&B has A.C.” Doug and I looked at each other in wonder at the mention of a technology we’d not encountered in Costa Rica. And Surfer Dude drifted on, only to make a guest appearance at out lodge the next day, trying to hitch a boat ride.