Coffee with Clyde by SKYPE at 8am.
9am. Taxi cab (friend of Manolo's of course) to my "hostel" summer camp room with barn door windows and great wads of bananas in the front yard (by a Magic Noni Tree.)
By 9:45am, sprayed with SPF & natural eucalyptus oil bug repel (which I also spritzed around my bed and mosquito net for good measure) I hurry down the road to rent a $5 bike for the day so I can make my 10am first RENTAL HOUSE appointment with "Sondra". I'm nervous. (That's standard for me.)
Horribly red-faced from the heat and the hurry, soaking from perspiring under all that greasy Sporty Spray: what if she doesn't like the look of me?! I'm dirty and rumpled and probably look untrustworthy. (And dehydrated from losing weight to that slippery chicken dinner.)
+ Cross 2d bridge over river, Rio Negro (amazing views down into the slow, dark rio water, deep shade of tall trees in both directions - up to the mountain and down toward the beach.)
+Look for the road on the left by the garbage (wow. no lie. Can't miss the huge pile of black bags, some torn open by dogs amassing flies. Collection is on strike.) okay.
+House is directly behind the trash. (Really, these are the directions you want to give? okay.) Oops. SO directly behind in fact that I didn't see the little gate on my first pass ... but the next gate is not "red picket". Go back, clumsily maneuvering the bike in a tight U-turn on this little dirt road, like a middle-aged woman who hasn't been on a bike since age 10. (Oh, Wait ...)
I'm anxious about approaching, possibly the wrong house, calling out to a stranger (in Spanish?) (but she's from Houston originally-?)
"Hola!" I try brightly.
She's gorgeous.
She's a massage therapist; nothing like the Yoga & Massage gals I've met already who live casually in a hostel-gone-commune. This woman is glamorous; in dorky gym shorts and '80s knee socks she would stop traffic. She'd stop your conversation.
But then we get talking, about why the house will be empty so long (5 wks) and her plans: Italy, Spain, a little France to see a friend's new baby. She speaks at least 3, working on 4 languages. So far.
After she gets back from that she's only have a few months before moving completely to Brazil.
I mean: Glamorous.
She leads me by bike over to her friend, Denise's house who is also renting out a plac; a little open air house, 2 bedrooms, jungle, garden, river going by: perfection at the end of a gravel road. Available now, before she goes home to the US for a long visit (425/mo).
They're both lovely and amiable and Denise has a daughter that hangs on her legs then yells for assistance from the toilet then hurries off to find a tree to hang on. There is, unexpectedly a Giant Fountain (really, like from a mall atrium, if your mall is Mayan.) It's very tall - taller than the house by a few inches - with a cement base pool deep enough to get well past your knees. If only it was filled with water, I'd leap in and sit down, it's so hot I'm melting from every pore and desperate. I'm beginning to weigh my decision on which house solely on which might get more breezes.
Sondra's little cabina with it's wall-less living room and barn door windows in between the rooms (all with locks which are required Every Time you leave the house around here) is on a little garbage road but it ends AT a BEACH. She warns me that, because the rio breaks out immediately next to the swimming area, it creates a swirling, dangerous current when it joins the Caribbean. "Walk down the beach ten minutes south for good swimming." That's a good landlord.
Denise's jungle house, up on the hill, has stairs (cinder blocks) that begin just under the bedroom window and go 30 steps down to the shady, dark water of a neighboring river, chilly as it comes out of the mountain. (Rio Cocles) It's fine to have a swim, she says, and shows me around her garden: basil, spinach, melon and papayas will come later...
After this, Sondra takes me to the PURE Jungle Spa where they work and it turns out: all the products are hand-made, balms and tinctures, flower spritz, natural chocolate soaps; some are made by Denise in her kitchen I think. I'm totally impressed. Again. It may be love.
Sondra and I sit and talk, sipping Agua de Sapo (this home-made ginger/lime cooling drink) for 2 straight hours. We talk about life and she gives me local advice and general advice and I soak it all in; "don't be afraid" (including using Spanish in public) and " you have to be grateful right now for what you have, not always afraid to lose things, not 'what if?' Even if it will go, this or that, my job or my boyfriend = Right now you're blessed, enjoy it."
Sometimes she's speaking my thoughts, sometimes she sounds like Clyde's stack of books. It's spooky and wonderful. She tells me a private story of pain & illness and how her friends cured her with natural medicine and Complete Love. (She doesn't phrase it at all like that, she describes what they did and the truth is pretty clear to me. These people are wonderful. Unflinching, unhesitating, no-questions asked, stick beside you in Kosovo -- I even brought my toothbrush, kind of generous, fearless women friendship based in a "well, of course" kind of LOVE.)
We talk about Energy Healing and all the local healers she knows, praticing different forms. I tell her about Healing Touch and cancer. She tells me not to be alone, "there's no reason to feel alone, you can always come here to the spa, hang out, practice your Spanish, call me, we drink wine around here."
3pm - Back at Vista Verde Hostel, waiting for the heat to break so I can bike up to the supermercado and still make it for a late day swim: after 4.30 the sun eases off but sunset is 5.45 so you don't have a lot of time.
(what have I eaten today? still paying for that dinner.)
Super Old Harbour Mercado: coffee, milk in a box, cheap bread (Bimbo, like Wonder), jam and a papaya= $15.10 ouch. Many things in Costa Rica may be cheaper, food is not one of them.
4.30 The husband of Katty (who has yet to say hello) is just outside my window, playing some coin-throwing game with a German friend. They're not drinking beer. This confuses me. I wouldn't play a drinking game in 100 degree heat without drinking. Adding to my confusion at seeing them in action is that for 20 minutes before, I was sure they were playing quarters from the sounds.
"Quarters? Naw. Too silly for such grown men but it must be - sometimes a coin hits glass. Well, it is steaming hot and after 4pm -- makes sense."
But no. Smoking yes. Iced beverages (?) but no beer.
So I change and walk up to find a beach I've been told is quiet enough for swimming -- horribly self-conscious about this process. Just Wearing a bathing suit is painful, being seen in one is a test of inner strength. But I force myself & go & unwrap & creep past sharp rocks at the water's edge, getting through to smooth sand and into a tide pool so warm it's like bathwater in shallow spots. There is one other woman in the water - a local girl, who it turns out when she stands up, is quite pregnant. There's also one couple nearby on towels, gringos who are not thinner than me so I should feel Normal and Fine and not a Circus Freak. But, sadly, it's not that simple.
After a long day of moving, unpacking, biking, meeting people, biking, a lot of heat, a little swim -- I'm too spent to go find the shower room and carry a bunch of gear. I love that every place, every house and business and some beaches, have outside showers. Cold water which is just what you want anyway.
Later, sitting on the porch railing of the upstairs lounge I try to get a WIFI signal.
Fail. Try again.
Fail. Fail. Fail.
Hey! one little bar, hanging on for dear life ... gmail?mmmmaybe.
Keep trying. Skype? go fish, sister, but it did dial Clyde's number at least before it failed again. Even Google chat didn't work. ahh well.
Welcome to Vista Verde.
Love reading your blog Sarah!! You write so well, it feels like I'm there with you! Hope you're having fun and we look forward to having you back stateside soon, even if it's just for a little bit! :)
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