When we arrived on Saturday, after a frigid pre-dawn shower and a five hour bus ride, the sun was shining and all was right with the world. My group of Trainees quickly departed for the house we had rented, and found it to be spectacular. Warm showers, towels, plenty of beds, and a second floor hammock whose muted colors called out more loudly to me than the possible lumpiness of the mattresses.
Quickly making our way to the black sand beach a block from the house, I experienced the immense joy of diving into water that didn't seize up my chest. The beach was a long 'L' and I was so enthused by the warm water that I decided to swim across the corner, past a sunken vessel that lay a little ways off shore. As I got to the ship I could see trees growing between the sides, and cascades of vines and flowers falling into the ocean from the deck, set against the rusty hull the green was beautiful. I had little time to enjoy it though, because no sooner had I passed the ship than I myself ran aground. Thinking for several terrifying moments that I had stumbled (dog paddled?) upon an offshoot of the distant reef I had noted from the beach, I could only think of a shredded abdomen, so I supported myself on my arms and scurried forward on my hands through the six inches of water that lay between me and a long flat rock, like a primordial amphibian first stretching its appendages in the shallows of time. Unlike said amphibian however, I evolved rather more quickly once I realized that I could simply stand up, and need no longer fear getting pounded into the hard surface. Finding myself thirty feet from the opposite shore, near a sunken ship, standing fully upright, I could only laugh as I lowered myself from the rock and swam the rest of the way to the shore.
That night, as we went out for dinner and in search of a place to dance, I decided to bring my flashlight, which allowed to walk along the beach, but necessitated frequent calls of 'Foco! Foco!' to illuminate what seemed in the misty moonlight to be vicious dogs or roaring rapids, but once unveiled by my electric-blue foco took their true forms as stationary logs and tiny creeks.
The next morning, after I woke up to a chorus of birds and howler monkeys, and I enjoyed a plate of Potatoes in Jerk BBQ sauce, we headed to Cahuita National Park, wisely choosing the 'optional donation' entrance over the mandatory $7 fee station. The park was gorgeous. The part we saw consisted of a trail through the jungle shadowing the shoreline about twenty feet away. We alternated between sand and soil while trying to pass sloth-like groups of tourists and stationary groups of ticos in order to get deeper into the park. Our plans were foiled when a sudden rainstorm descended and caught us about an hour away from the last shelter at the park entrance. Up to that point I had seen 1 Howler Monkey, and no new fauna would enliven our trip, but that was pretty exciting. The rain fell in such quantities that I decided to take off everything but my bathing suit, and try to tuck my shorts and sun-shirt under my arm where they would get less wet. The theory may have been sound (I have my doubts), but in practice it was a complete failure. Every centimeter of everything I brought was drenched. The rain and the wind were so chilly that I had to jump into the ocean several times just to keep warm, and once we got back to the park entrance, the rain stopped. The man at the bus station didn't bat an eyelid when a gang of shirtless gringos showed up, holding their clothes and asking to pay with bills that, though wet, were surprisingly resistant to water. Waiting for the bus, I wrung out my shirt and my shorts, and produced perhaps a liter of water. Nobody could have had a better vacation
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