Sunforest!

I think we were always expecting to be hot during the Central American start of our journey, but we were a little surprised at how wet everything (sheets, blankets, pillows, clothes, etc.) is, and stays, todo el dia, todos los dias.  It takes a minute or two to get used to sleeping on a wet pillow, but, you know, an extra beer before bedtime or an hour on the beach during the day help sleep come ever more easily. (Yeah, I’m sure this one’s going to garner a lot of sympathy.)

I also think that we were expecting more sunshine and less rain; turns out, this is a common mis-expectation (wonder if that one’s going to get past the grammar police?) among visitors to the southern Costa Rican Caribbean coast. Niko, the neighborly bartender/hostel manager/dog-rescuer/temporary rice-cooker (when everywhere else is closed for the night and your favorite ‘two fools’ are starving because they are less-than-adequate planner-aheaders) can attest to this. In fact, he has. On our second or third trip to his bar-within-a-hostel, that is located literally right next to Pachamama (our host for the week), Niko, who was in a special state of BAKEDITUDE (if this one isn’t a word it probably should be; definition: funnily f*cked up but still fully functional), and who had become acquainted enough with Joy and I to leave his bong on the bar when we showed up, expounded about a couple of guests who had been staying at his hostel earlier in the year. Guests he wasn’t very fond of, you’ll see.

"Dumb bastards say to me," Niko starts, “'Niko, why does it rain so much in Punta Uva? Why isn’t there more sun?'"

I says to them, ‘Because this is a f*ckin RAINforest you dumb sh*ts, not a g*ddammed SUNforest!!’ Stupid idiots,” he went on, “I wonder if they ever even read anything in that stack of guidebooks they carried around with them."

“Yeah, dumb bastards,” Joy and I affirmed in unison, sharing a quick glance that relayed our relief at not asking Niko that very question- as planned- and our gratefulness that we’d left both of our guidebooks back on the damp bed.

“Besides that,” Niko continued, providing more insight into how such an easy-going (trust me, it would be very difficult to be both more easy-going than Niko and breathing air at the same time) person could become so perturbed at two patrons. “Motherf*ckers signed up for two weeks- blocked up my best room- and then left after two DAYS! Screwed me straight out of a week and a half’s worth of lodging.”

“All because of a little rain?” we asked- I can’t remember if it was Joy or me who asked, but it’s always safe to assume that all smart, thoughtful questions come from Joy and that all stupid or juvenile ones (e.g. “Did you see all the naked ladies suntanning on the beach today, hehe?”) come from me.

“Nope,” Niko said, breathing in through the mouth, out through the nose, and setting his lighter back on the bar, “it was because of the howler monkeys. They asks me, ‘Niko, don’t you have any “monkey-spray” you can use on your monkeys? Their howling is keeping us up all night.’”

“Monkey-spray?” Joy asked (relevant question)

“Yeah,” Niko said, “for my monkeys. What the f*ck? They think I own the g*ddammed rainforest? If that was the case I’d have turned this mofo into a SUNforest a long time ago- I promise you that.”

“So what did you tell them?” Joy again.

“I told them dumb damn cheeseheads that they should take their stupid asses back to Michigan, sit on their fluffy f*ckin couch with their cheap-ass wine, turn on The Discovery Channel, and pretend they’re in the Caribbean!”

“So it’s not a huge surprise that they left early?” Joy said.

“Not really. No,” Niko said as he handed us each another Pilsen to help with our slumbers that night. They did help, too. As did the three-inch-tall shot glasses that Niko poured full of tequila for us all as he toasted our new marriage.

We stumbled back to our bunk that night, taking turns asking each other if we knew why there seemed to be more rain than sun in the area, and if we’d remembered the monkey-spray. Then as we climbed through the mosquito net onto the sponge of a mattress, Joy asked me if I had been coughing lately. The cough and cold I had had during Christmas was a doozy; in fact, I had coughed non-stop, and completely in lieu of sleeping, during the night before we got on the plane to go to Costa Rica.

I told her that I actually didn’t remember coughing at all since we had been on the Caribbean coast. Pretty funny thing about being down here: your swimsuit may never dry until you FedEx it back to Alaska, and your feet may stay in a constant state of prune-ness, but the natural humidifier can knock the stuffing out of a king-sized cough!