good Friday

We never did make it to Paraiso. But we sure as hell came close.

Now I'm by no means a religious man, but I can read the cosmic signs. Good Friday in Costa Rica, with small-town processions following pall bearers carrying Jesus to his symbolic burrial. And there we were, driving back up into the clouds after dark looking for Paradise - the small town of Orosi, to be exact, whose thermal baths had eluded us all trip. It was supposed to be the last stop before San Jose, but when we came upon that last dirt road still 20 kilometres or so out, it was decided that enough was enough. We had finally run out of time. And I was not going to tempt fate on this night.

Not that the Carribean did not provide its own glimpse into heaven. This morning we woke up to the first real clear day in Puerto Viejo. It was impossibly hot and a national holiday, so everyone was at the beach. We went back to the roughest section and got beat up by the waves as surfers avoided us. I don't think I ever had that much exhausting fun in the ocean before.

And then there were the monkeys from the day before. Those famous white-faced monkeys from our last trip. They approached us rather calmly and photogenic, but got ultra aggressive when they saw our plastic bags. They hissed, showed their teeth and started chasing everyone in sight. One German girl almost lost the t-shirt and napsack she had left by the beach. Some excellent pick pockets, these monkeys. Lesson learned. The next time we came across them, I was ready with a stick. I smashed it on the ground and yelled back. He backed off, confused at my challenge. The bigger monkey had apparently earned a little rainforest respect.

But there was something about that Cahuita National Park that was so perfectly beautiful in its own, untouched way. Like every last uprooted cocunut tree laying submerged in the water had been purposely placed there to have its picture taken.

And all I could do was obey. And snap away.