Comma Dot Comma

We woke at 3 am (or rather, I woke, and Dr. G simply neglected to sleep) for glimpse of the Perseids. We spread an old blanket at an archeological site northeast of the city lights and lit Costa Rican vanilla-flavored cigars. Then we leaned back below the indian ruins to watch the meteors burn. It was a cool ninety degrees, with a breeze.

We decided to go back to the lava field and do a little exploring on our own, without the huge groups or the droning guide. We found a little-used side trail diving back into the forest in the direction of the lake and decided to take it. It was nice to be away from other humans. A few hundred meters in, a group of javelinas crossed the path in front of us. Some howler monkeys seemed to be following us, shouting from the tall trees on either side of the trail. Eventually it petered out (alas, no lake) and we turned back. At the junction, the trees were shaking wildly– some white-faced capuchin monkeys were jumping from tree to tree in search of fruit. Cool!

We had four hours of driving ahead of us, along the lake and westward across the peninsula to the beach at Samara. We stopped for lunch in a small town along the way, where I ate a grilled sandwich with shredded barbecue chicken, thick slices of tomato, and a spicy sauce. Dr. G ate tipica with stew. It always feels so great when you have little idea what you are ordering and you get something delicious. Our trip was uneventful, and we arrived at Entre Dos Aguas in Samara in late afternoon as the rain began to dump again. We waited it out in the common area, swinging in hammocks and sipping the country’s beer, Imperial. These cheap beers are all the same but it seems necessary to drink the national beer of the country you are in. The rustic wood furniture in our room radiated mustiness that the fan could not dispel and all the towels and sheets felt damp, even though they were artfully folded into flowers and fans. There were no other rooms, but the fresh-from-New-York-City young owners promised us a better room the next day. We wandered down to the beach in our inadequate raincoats and surveyed a lovely yet trash-littered white sand beach before eating at the New Yorkers’ recommended restaurant, where my grilled tilapia came smothered in a rich fresh avocado sauce with chunks of sweet pepper, onion, and avocado in it. Anything with fresh avocado wins points in my book.