Say Hello to My Little Fiend

I hesitate to use the word airport to describe a lone gravel runway with a windsock for a control tower and a cemetery for a terminal, but there I was, at the Puerto Jimenez Airport. Despite my displeasure with this obvious non-de plume, I had little chance of arguing the point given my limited Spanish vocabulary and the fact that the security guard was a howler monkey. Sorry...I know I should avoid meaningless hyperbole like that. There were no security guards. Besides, given the proximity of the cemetery, I had a feeling I knew how they might deal with complaints. Satisfied with having survived the flight intact, I left the airfield by vaulting over a chain link fence and caught the first cab out of town.

Ominous clouds gathered on the horizon as we began the two-hour journey to Luna Lodge, my base camp while I explored the surrounding jungle. Late May is the start of the rainy season in Costa Rica and it looked like Nature was not about to disappoint. After an hour of quiet introspection I grew tired of my own oppressive thoughts and decided to strike up a conversation with the driver:

Me: "¿Que es su nombre?" Translation

Guy: "¿Usted habla español?" Translation

Me: "Una poco, sí" Translation

Guy: "Excelente. Mi nombre es José. ¿De dónde es usted?" Translation

Me: "Colorado" Translation

Guy: "Ah, Colorado! Eso es una coincidencia. El dueño de la casa de campo es de Colorado. Ahora he estado ayudando a clientes de la impulsión a la casa de campo por varios años. Consigo satisfacer a muchos de gente interesante. ¿Usted ha estado a Costa Rica antes?" Translation

Me: "Uhhhh..." Translation

Guy: "¿Usted no tiene absolutamente ninguna idea qué estoy diciendo, usted?" Translation

Me: "Ummm...¿Desee sentir mi burrito?" What I Thought I Said
What I Actually Said

Guy: "Pare el hablar con mí, por favor." Translation

We continued the drive in silence, pausing on occasion to observe a number of interesting birds. About halfway through our ride the sad sky split open and let loose a torrent of tears. Costa Rican rain is a completely different breed. It does not leisurely fall in drops, as one might expect. Instead it hurtles, speeding through the air like liquid bullets. Sheets of it rush towards the ground as if shot from a cannon. Tilt your head towards the sky with an open mouth during a daily storm and you are liable to drown in it. I would have issued a sarcastic quip to the driver along these lines but it appeared we were no longer on speaking terms.

The tires of the old Land Rover sprayed mud across the rutted dirt road as we trundled through axel swallowing potholes and deepening streams. Water coursed down the windshield, only to be smeared by torn and battered wipers. The foliage got progressively dense and began to encroach on the road. The rainforest was certainly living up to its namesake. Despite the downpour the verdant jungle was all around us, vibrant with life. I smiled inwardly. Outwardly I belched, just for good measure. As we got closer to our destination the rain began to ease, then stopped completely.

Luna Lodge was a lot nicer than my typical choice of accommodation but it was the last stop on the road before Corcovado. In fact, it was the last stop on the road altogether. There were no towns nearby, nor shops or fruit stands. Just long stretches of empty beach bordering a dense and bewildering jungle. We were on the edge of nowhere. The lodge was truly spectacular though, and nestled perfectly into its surroundings. A massive wooden deck rested high up in the canopy, where simple but elegant meals were served. My room was spacious and comfortable, with large screened windows to keep the bugs in. There was even a flushable toilet, though you were asked to place your soiled paper in a wastebasket so as not to plug up the pipes. To be safe, I just balled it all up and put it under my pillow, confident that the Fecal Fairy would do her thing. I cannot even begin to express the utter disappointment and loss of innocence I experienced when I learned it was the cleaning staff that picked up after me.

As I settled in for my first night, I spied some movement out of the corner of my eye. Sitting there, precariously balanced on the edge of a Bird of Paradise in a vase next to my bed, was a tiny lizard. Curious about my discovery, I plucked a winged termite off an opposing wall and placed it on the wall closest the vase. In a blur of movement the lizard leaped from the plant, dashed forward and nabbed the termite from behind. A few bites later the satisfied lizard hopped back onto his perch. It was an amazing sight.

In the middle of the night I awoke with a start, feeling the pressure in my bladder. Blindly reaching for the headlamp I had left on the nightstand, I accidentally knocked over a glass of water. The glass tumbled into the nearby vase, knocking it over and startling me with a splash. I grumbled at my misfortune, groped for my headlamp and flipped the switch. There was water everywhere but luckily nothing had broken. I took a step and then froze. The lizard, which I had completely forgotten about at this point, was right next to my foot, frozen in the beam of my headlamp. Careful not to step on him, I picked up the vase and fixed the flowers. Since I have lost a bit of my sanity over the preceding year, I carefully described what I was doing so the lizard wouldn't be frightened. While comforting a tiny lizard in the middle of the night may sound strange to some of you, this sort of random occurrence has become commonplace in my world. "Okay buddy, time to get back on your plant," I said, and lowered a palm to the floor. Now most of you will begin to doubt the veracity of the story at this point, but I promise it is true.

I swear to Christ, Buddha, Vishnu, Zeus, C-3PO, or whatever other deity you bow before that the lizard hopped onto my palm. I was so shocked, that when he scurried up my arm onto my shoulder and around to my back, that my body instinctively jerked and I accidentally sent him sailing towards the floor. He was thankfully unhurt. Once again I bent down and extended my hand. This time he hopped into my palm and stayed there. I slowly stood back up and walked over to the vase. He was light as a feather but I could still feel the pads of his tiny feet on my skin. Holding my hand towards the Bird of Paradise, he skillfully jumped back onto his perch. I stood amazed for several minutes before remembering how badly I needed to pee. After relieving myself I lay back in bed and spent a few more minutes looking at my new friend before turning off my light. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.