We're back. Bruised, battered, (but not broken) and with soaking wet belongings - and with some new friends that we will be hopefully going to meet again when Rob and David and I come back in October.
From the beginning though...We got all of our pictures taken for Geoff's U.S. builder people yesterday, then headed off to Atenas for dinner with Mike and Sharyn, and to stay with them for the night.
Dinner at Los Mangos Dos was incredible as always, and since it was Saturday and therefore NOT Kareoke night, also fairly uneventful. Los Mangos has "Bocas". Roughly translated this would mean "mouthfuls", and they are little mini meals. I had ceviche of course, but also had two other Bocas, which included fish, salad of two different sorts, and a Quesadilla with chicken and cheese. I was stuffed. Then we went to El Balcon (The Balcony, but it sounds so much more sophisticated in Spanish) for dessert/coffee, where I consumed more sugar in one sitting than I normally would in a week. They have an iced Cappuchino that puts the Tim Hortons equivalent on a level with a Slurpie. It honestly has to be the most sinful thing ever to be put in a milkshake glass.
We had planned to go out after dinner to Puerta del Sol, to visit with Cali and the others. Geoff did go, but Mike and Sharyn had opted to stay home, and I had eaten 'way too much and decided to stay home with them. Flaca (the dog) had donated blood and was a little tired and sappy so she fit in well with the rest of us.
Today Geoff and I started out eating Breakfast at a little soda near the market in Atenas (mmmm, gallo pinto con queso frito y cafe con leche!). Then we headed to Punte Leone, and the beach.
This is definitely the most beautiful beach I have seen in Costa Rica. The sand is white, the water is blue - almost but not quite Carribean, and you can see across the gulf of Nicoya to the mountains on the penninsula. There are very few people. There is a resort here, and the owners have tried to block access to the beach for anyone who is either not staying there, or willing to pay $20 per person for the privilege. The law does not allow them to do so completely, though, so we went in through the back way, down a long, very rutted and muddy lane to some roadside parking.
A short walk brought us to the "bad" beach, then Geoff showed me the route around the point to the "good" beach. The downside was that the tide was pretty high, so getting there involved a bit of climbing, some slippery rocks, and getting pretty thoroughly wet.
It was well worth it! We sat and drank iced tea, attempted to get in the water (a little too rough), and lazed around under the trees. Eventually (being rainy season) the weather turned and it started raining, so we decided to head back....
Er...
The tide, high when we got there was now, well, highest. The little bit of beach that we had been able to walk on was gone, leaving a bunch of sloping and slippery rocks, and
a rather excited ocean pounding on them. Following the "never leave anything in the car" rule, we were carrying all of our overnight stuff, plus purse, camera etc... with us. We managed fairly well for the first while, playing a sort of leapfrog game, where one of us would go ahead of the other, find a more or less secure and somewhat dry spot, grab the bags and try and keep them out of the water, then the other one would come to that spot, then move to the next more or less secure spot - then we would perform a combination tightrope, juggling and clown act to pass the bags between us, and so on.
This had resulted in nothing more than bruised knees, shins and elbows until we got to the last corner and discovered that the waves were smashing on the rocks, and that there was no way to go except to climb along the rock face above the water, or be smashed against the rocks at the bottom. Geoff had both bags at this point, with no way to go forward, no way to go back, and no way to pass them to me. Even without the bags it was next to impossible.
Fortunately a family that had been on the beach and that was just about to leave looked back at us, about half a km away, and figured that without help we would never make it. They turned back and hiked towards us through the rain, and reached that nasty final corner about the same time we did.
At great risk to themselves, the Dad and his older son started out along the rockface to us, initially retrieving our bags and taking them to a safe spot on the beach. Geoff at this stage found he was more or less able to manage, although he was moving rather like a fiddler crab at one point. Naturally the men had all assumed that I was unable to climb around the face, so while all of this was happening they were all yelling at me to stay where I was! This meant that I couldn't move until they weren't looking or I would provoke another round of shouting and gesticulation. I was fine until about the last 20 feet. I did the rock face itself without incident, or help much to their surprise, but then had to slip into the surf and try and move fiddler crab style over the final little bit.
For those of you who were with us at Cypress Lake, the bottom was like that bit of Georgian bay. Loose rock or very slippery underfoot, but the water was warm, salty and full of bits of sand and coral and the waves were much, much bigger and felt like sandpaper.
Needless to say I slipped, landed on my stomach and started to be sucked in by the tide. I floundered there, being swamped by waves and bashing my knees and elbows on the rocks under the water, with our new friend hanging on to me like grim death, (which it actually would have been if he hadn't been there), then finally managed to flip over on my back and grab Geoff's hand and got my balance, and with only one more wave and a scraped elbow managed to get on my feet.
My circumstances were not improved by the fact that I had a visualization of what I must have looked like floundering around and splashing my arms up and down, being sucked back and forth in the waves and bouncing on the rocks, flipping over on my back and so on, that I started laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
Geoff was laughing at me as well, but our new friends did not really see the humour so much.
But we made it. Everything we own is wet, including the inside of the car, and with the exception of my purse and camera, which somehow managed to stay dry despite all.
It could have been an awful lot worse. I have a bruised back, and front come to think of it, and have managed to bash the same knee that I always do. But I still have an intact spine and skull, many thanks to Geoff and our new friends.
To end the night on a fun note, Geoff and I, too weary from our escapade to cook dinner, decided to go out. We went to Clarita's, a restaurant/bar on the beach named after the owner's dog, and for less than $20 had tuna steak and half a kilo of ribs. (Geoff had the ribs). The tuna steak was in a teryaki sauce, and came with mixed cauliflower, broccoli and carrots (all fresh) and about a tablespoon of wasabi. In the dim lighting, I mistook the wasabi for a broccoli tree, and put the entire thing in my mouth, and started to chew.
Poor Geoff thought I had eaten nuts or something and was now foaming at the mouth as I spat the wasabi out into my hand. I can still taste it. You can bet I won't ever look at broccoli quite the same way again.
