Life is a beach

Happiest when sand is between my toes, I love to walk the beach, any beach, and have spent years of my life on the sands of beaches from Rhode Island to Oregon; from Portugal to Costa Rica. I have never lived far from the salty water I crave. With Hannah home here to visit we decided to move to a house on Tamarindo beach to live out our last days in our year of Pura Vida. It has been a great move. We enjoyed the final days and evenings before the move on the white sandy beaches of Playa Conchal swimming in her turquoise waters so clear you could see the sand between your toes. I had one evening swim with my three oldest children and one with my two oldest daughters that will take a permanent spot in my memory bank.

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In between houses we took all the kids on a road trip down south to Uvita where we have owned property for several years now. It is a much greener and lush part of the Pacific coast where the jungle meets the sea and the Ticos still outnumber the Gringos in a positive kind of ratio that lends to a more tranquillo life. We had the run of a lovely new house overlooking the sea where we sat around the dinner table enraptured by the tales of our host who has experienced life to the fullest in his travels from Africa to the Amazon.

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"You haven't lived until you have heard a hyena laughing outside your ring of fire," he told our captive ears.

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So, we have not. Lived. Yet.

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We took the five kids on a trip out to Canos Island which lies some 15 miles off the coast and is a gem. We took a panga, which is a small boat with an outboard and a canopy used by most fishermen here, down the many miles of mangrove lined Sierpe River until we reached the sea. Crossing the bar proved to be a rail gripping ordeal as we exited the river at low tide which meant there was a line of towering waves marching towards us between where we were and our open sea destination beyond. Walter, our driver, who looked about 15 but was probably 30 in true Tico fashion, expertly assessed the breaking waves and kept us jockeying for position until we could get past the white water.

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"Here we learn to drive a boat before we can ride a bike," our guide Michael explained to ease my white knuckled grip on Bella's life jacket.

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Once safely on the open ocean our boat, which seemed so natural in the river, suddenly felt very inadequate. We beat our way across the advancing swells towards the island which lay far in the distance. When we were nearing the island we came upon a pod of spotted dolphins, some of which were sleeping. They woke up, leaping into the air and entertaining us all, except Isaiah, who was feeling a bit sick by then and laid down in the merciful lull while we watched them.

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Once we could see the line of palm trees backed by the thick jungle of the uninhabited island I started to scan the sky, certain that I would see a flock of pterodactyls circling overhead. Canos is part of a chain of offshore islands that includes Cocos and the Galapagos which lie off the Pacific coast, the former being where they filmed Jurassic Park. Indeed, as we approached the island the theme music played in our brains and it felt very familiar from having watched those films multiple times. We snorkeled before converging on the beach for lunch with a small fleet of fellow snorkel and dive boats. The undersea life was lovely. We saw schools of bonita, yellow tailed surgeons, and our goal for the day, a shark. The trip home was also through a pod of dolphins, but crossing the bar at high tide with the surf was easy. Late afternoon on the river brought out the monkeys, howlers and white-faced capucins, and we saw cool bats (photo) and the piece-de-resistance, three scarlet macaws. Fabulous.

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Upon our return we loaded up the Black Panther a couple of times and moved to Tamarindo beach where I am sadly typing out my last morning. Usually we are woken up by howlers in the green space next door and we have had our encounters with bold raccoons partying on our porch all night long. Andy tried to speak to them politely in his best raccoon, which must ultimately be like his best Spanish, as instead of leaving they simply moved their dancing onto the metal roof. One afternoon a band of howlers ran across said roof creating a surprisingly loud cacophany and jumped into the matapalo tree which abuts our porch. We sat in our rocking chairs and watched about 20 of them munching away for happy hour a few feet in front of us (photo). Yesterday I got in the shower and looked out the large window next to me into the watching eyes of a howler hanging from her tail happily eating the yellow flowers growing between us. Magic. I cleaned and she ate and we parted company feeling mutually satisfied.

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In a few minutes I am going to take my final early morning beach walk down to the estuary with my friends - the ladies of Tamarindo. Yesterday Susan and I passed a herd of about 20 cows strolling down the beach, a Tico moment etched in my brain but unfortunately not on my camera. The day before we sat in the estuary with Midge and a pink roseate spoonbill flew between us and an impossibly blue sky - fabulous. These ladies have lived here since Andy and I first arrived on this beach in 1987 and it is always enlightening to hear their stories of this town that has changed so much in the interim. Some things are eternal, fortunately - the line of palms on the beach, the flocks of birds and crocs in the estuary, the eternal sunshine and warmth we will miss. I eye my one pair of jeans which have sat in my closet all year along with my capris and short sleeved shirts and socks and fleece, all of which have way too much fabric to even consider putting on my body here. Even shorts are too confining in the heat. Reluctantly I have placed these strangers in the bottom of my bag, scrolling forward to the day which rapidly approaches when I will be frantically digging them out in the coolness of June in New England.

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Soon the sand between my toes will be replaced by little balls of cotton which rub off my socks. The last of my footprints on these sands will be washed away by the relentless incoming tide and new ones will appear in my wake. My friends here on the beach will greet the new faces of this place which sees so many footprints come and go. And I, in turn, will sink my feet into newly familiar grains of sand which have been tumbled and polished by the waters of a different shore.

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K3