Nicoya Peninsula

A drive to Puntarenas with my GPS "voiced" woman insisted I "turn right" every 400 meters or so, and I finally got to the ferry, second in line with a nice fellow from Virginia seemingly running the logistics. Once the car was on, I went up to the upper deck and saw these kids just waiting for me to give them the nod so they could dive for me. I shook my head and said no thank you. Boys killing themselves for coins ? Not on my watch.

The journey from Punarenas to Naranjo took about an hour, during which time the clouds were doing their surreal things in the sky, making the rest of us know our place in the world - and our significance.

The road, as usual, was highly-holed, but the surrounding scenes were lush, green and misty. I tried to do the usual photographing as I drove because the countryside was invitingly licked with that orange afternoon glow. When I tried to capture the descending clouds on some of the rolling hills, while steering and shifting gears, I must have hit some button or other to stay out of an oncoming car, and this is what I got, which is actually an evocative inside-out image of clouds and trees; perhaps it is just an acquired taste...

As it was beginning to dusk down to dark, and I had decided not to stay in the town/city of Nicoya, I found myself on a long, winding, road that was heading for Samara, a place I was interested in seeing, but not necessarily at 7:30 at night. I got here, booked into a little hotel with the disagreeable man from Washington, D.C. and his equally evasive wife from NY, ate a little supper and hit the sack; it rained somewhat heavily overnight, but I woke to the sounds of birds, dripping water, and blue sky patching, so I threw on my clothes and hurled myself out the door down to the beach where I had a walk along the water - a very different water from Bejuco, as it is a protected cove, and the shore offered rocks and heavy pieces of coral; there was no dead wood in sight, and I believe I found the only shell out there. The sand was bigger and coarser until I got down where the waves were; there it had the soft, muddier texture that is wonderful walking underfoot. This is the time of day for Ticos on this beach, and there was great activity around launching two small boats, cheerful chatter lacing together the souls working on the project. The walk gave me a sense of the spirit of the place, where I understand Ticos actually own some of the businesses; from what I saw there were loads of real estate enticements, just like the other beachy spots in CR.

I am going to try to head to Nosara, but it's a real journey from here on rambly roads and over rivers. I may change my mind and head straight for Tamarindo; these are the joys of solo traveling.

One word about truckstops: The "Sodas" along the highway where the biggest trucks pull in are generally the places of tastiest eating. I stopped at one yesterday where women were doing all cooking and serving, truckdrivers or other men were doing all the eating and television watching. I seem to be an oddity in these places, but like Thomas Wolfe, I like my options open when it comes to food eating and ordering. I LOVE the notion that shrimp and rice always comes with french fries, which I never bother with, but the arroz con camarrones was a yum, and with it came a little salad, with fresh, green curly lettuce and ripe tomatoes - tastily dressed. Cousin Brookie practically rolled her eyes at my gusto for a meal, and I love the freedom of being in one of these sodas where I can shovel in my arroz con camarrones with the kind of mannish relish that I KNOW my mother would need her smelling salts were she to witness it.