This time of year, Costa Rica is a living inferno. I try to stay cool by exposing as much skin as
possible without attracting attention. However, clothing or no clothing, it’s all the same. 100% humidity night and day.
My sister-in-law, her husband and their three teenagers who are
vacationing on a mountain top have graciously invited my husband and me to
share a rented villa overlooking the lush rain forests and Pacific Ocean. Mini-van and swimming pool included.
Each morning out on the veranda sitting cross-legged on a
leather back chair (common in these parts), I luxuriously sip my mug of Costa Rican coffee, mesmerized by the panoramic view of jungles with swooping
birds and chirping insects. Over by the garage, the black monkeys howl as they swing from the trees angrily throwing kumquats on the tin roof as a warning for us to keep our distance.
There is little sign of civilization, although we are only a
few miles from Playa Giones, a tiny coastal village carved out of the thick vegetation where ex-pats and surfers come to get away from it all. This place is known for its great surfing. My nieces and nephew, and even my husband, give it a shot. They return with swim suites full of sand and stories to tell. I prefer to relax by the pool admiring the exotic flowers.
Much to my surprise and delight I discover Playa Giones
is the home of the "Nosara Yoga Institute", a yoga paradise with the most spacious yoga studios tucked away in the towering jungles, surrounded by lush
foliage, wind chimes, and an aura of serenity.
There are no fast
food restaurants or chain hotels. We eat
practically the same meal every day - fresh fish, beans and rice, sometimes
avocados. With fish this fresh, you really don’t need anything else. The roads are dangerous
with hair pin turns and ruts the size of monkeys. And when it rains hard the mud slides make it near impossible to maneuver our borrowed minivan up the mountain.
The story goes that my sister-in-law Wendy rented the house from a guy named
Rusty back in Plano. Rusty owns a small rustic hotel and beach bar, "Casa Toucan", in Playa Giones where all the surfers with
sun soaked skin and tiny bathing suits hang out.
Apparently Rusty is quite a character. One morning we discover a sticky pad note on
one of the herbal tea boxes in the cupboard that reads “To Rusty. Heart Heart Heart, Margie.” We learn from Wendy that Margie is not the
name of Rusty’s wife. Oh, well, I suppose what happens in paradise, stays in
paradise.
