Playa San Miguel, Costa Rica -- evening

The music of Marco Antonio Solis is playing while I sit at this table writing these words. I just got back from a couple of hours at the beach, and I'm dripping clean shower water onto the floor. There is a thin, pervasive cover of clouds, which doesn't appear to be moving until after sunset, which should take place in about an hour. I wanted to take advantage of the remaining (albeit weakened) daylight to write. But before writing of my day yesterday, I will ask for a glass of water to accompany my sweet bread ("pan dulce") as a substitute for a late lunch.

Upon my request, I was awakened by a shout from Michelle; I'll guess that the hour was approximately 7:30am. However, I was already lying awake, almost certainly due to an internal clock rousing me to rise for a long day of travel (which in fact it was). I showered, got dressed, and ate breakfast, along with all other normal morning rituals and preparations to depart on my journey.

After breakfast, I sat with Joe for several minutes, so as to prevent my departure from seeming too curt. Also, I wanted to drink a glass of water to hydrate myself a bit before my expected loss of liquid in the form of sweat. Toward the end of my glass of water I raised the issue of payment with Joe. I told Joe that I had a 5000 colon bill and would only ask for 2 "rojos" (i.e., 2 - 1000 colon bill, which are the color red) as change to meet the original asking price of "15," which I had interpreted to mean 15 hundred colones per night. When I had first arrived, Joe had asked for 15, but I had negotiated down to 12, saying that I was on a budget. So yesterday morning, after the great food and lodging, along with the friendly and informative conversations, I had decided to pay the original asking price of 15 per night, which would put the total bill at 3000 colones. Well, Joe flipped out, asking me incredulously if I was serious. My immediate reaction was one of confusion, but then Joe quickly clarified that he had agreed to the rate of 12 dollars per night, thereby putting the final, total bill at just over 18,000 colones for the two nights. I told Joe that this was money that I simply could not afford to pay. He was furious, saying how much of a shame it had to end on such a sour note after we had had such a good time. I felt a bit ashamed at my apparently false assumption of the meaning of "15" and "12." But I kept silent for a minute or two, while Joe fumed. He eventually pulled out a calculator to multiply 380 by 12 (the exchange rate of colones per dollar by dollars of room rental) to arrive at 9180 colones total. I went into my backpack to pull out an extra 5000 colon bill to give in addition to another 5000 colon bill already in my wallet. I told him to keep the change, that it was not much, but it was the least I could do. Then, I went off on a monologue of my own, explaining that I would not apologize for the misunderstanding since it was not in any means intentional, but that I was certainly in agreement that it was a shame to end such a good time on a somewhat bitter note. I told Joe that the misunderstanding would not take away from the good time I had, and I hoped that the same would hold true for him too. I told him that, when all was said and done when the sun set, he would have the 10,000 colones in payment for my time and that that was something. Then, I'm sure I reiterated the first part again: that the unintentional misunderstanding was as shame, but that I would not apologize for it. I believe my rationality and firmness, coupled with my still-expressed gratitude cooled him off.

I thanked him again and offered my hand for a hand-shake; he accepted and told me to keep in touch by email. I picked up my backpack and plastic bag, and walked out of the rancho. As I passed the bathroom, I yelled 'thank you' and 'good-bye' to Michelle; she returned the 'good-bye' and wished me luck.

From there, I walked down to the beach and left Manzanillo. My long walk had begun. I walked two, three, or more kilometers before I heard a truck coming down the beach from behind me. Since I was already beginning to feel tired, I turned to stick out my thumb. The guy took me in and drove me only about 500 to 800 meters, near the edge of where the Rio Bongo empties into the Pacific. I had left Joe and Michelle's rancho at about 9:15am and low tide (to cross the river) was scheduled for 11:57am; however, due to my fast walking and the ride; I arrived at 10am. The river was on its way out, but there was not yet a dry passage. Surveying the scene, I determined that it looked shallow enough at its shallowest to be forded. I took off my sneakers and socks and rolled up my jeans to above my knees. At its lowest point, there was an islet in the Rio Bongo. First, I crossed from the southern shore to the islet. I did this with little problem, all the while my twenty-pound backpack on my back and my plastic bag held up in the air. Now I had to cross the wider and deeper portion from the islet to the northern shore. I set off immediately. Upon entering, it seemed easy enough as the first crossing. But then I reached the deep section, where the river current was its swiftest. The riverbed was not solid, and in fact gave way very easily, as if walking on the surface of mushy oatmeal. As a result, the water level reached to above my navel. I tried bending forward to prevent the bottom of my backpack from getting wet, but it was useless. I even tried walking on my tiptoes, to gain any extra height, but I'm sure that too was useless. Also in the process, the legs of my jeans had fallen back down to my ankles. When I reached the north shore, I was soaked from my abdomen down to my pinky toes, and the bottom of my pack was wet too. Worst of all, I had forgotten to take my wallet out of my back, left pocket. My wallet is still damp this very minute.

Anyway, I sat down on a dry, dead log to begin to dry off. I also put the black bottom of my pack in the direction of the very strong sun to dry quickly. After several minutes, I walked back to the river's edge to rinse my feet and then walked back again to the log as carefully as possible to enable minimal surface contact with sand and dirt. When I got the log, I propped my feet up to dry in the sun. After nearly ten minutes, I brushed off the sand and dirt in order to put on my socks and sneakers again. Once that was taken care of, I set off again on my grueling beach hike.

Well, the time has come for me to take a shower. I'll stop here. When I write again (perhaps tonight), I'll pick up the story on the other side of the Rio Bongo, explaining especially my episodes at Punto Coyote and Rio Coyote.