After getting up multiple times during the night and tiptoeing through the sand and grass to the bathroom, I got up for good at 7:30 AM. The security man was sitting a couple of cabins down and Dennis passed the hut before I picked my barefoot way to the bathroom, the door of which locked on the outside with a latch and hook. When ready to leave, I pushed the door but it wouldn’t open. I pushed again harder. No question, I was locked in the bathroom. What’s that song: “Seven old women locked in the laboratory/They were there from Monday to Saturday/Nobody knew they were there . . .”? Someone had hooked the outside latch or it had fallen and latched itself. After much pounding and finally my muffled yell, Jess blearily came and opened the door for me, admonishing me to be quiet because others were sleeping. Well, what’s a person locked in the loo to do?
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The security man, who sat up all night guarding the area |
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Some of Tina and Denis's rescued street dogs; they get fed regularly and petted and loved here |
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One of the rescued street dogs; this one always eats lying down |
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Jess and Cat relaxing |
I wandered on until I was nearly at the point when I realized that the soles of my feet were getting blistered in the grating sand. I decided to return to RT and put on my water shoes (which I should have worn in the first place), so turned and walked back toward Tranquilo . . . and a considerable distance past it. I turned around and walked back but couldn’t find Tranquilo’s signature gate that I was looking for, so walked considerably farther, now back toward the point again.
I turned around when I realized that I had gone much too far. Finally, I decided to try to find Victorio and ask directions of him. When I came to the spot where I thought his house was, I left the wet sand and headed for a sandy cut that I thought led to his house . . . and scorched the soles of my feet on the boiling hot sand.
A young family was playing in the water nearby. I waded out and asked them where Rancho Tranquilo was, pronouncing it “Rancho Tran·key·O” as I supposed the “l” was pronounced “e,” which a single “l” isn’t. After a long bit they seemed to understand and pointed in the direction of the point. I started that way again but the little girl came after me and signed that I was to go the other way. Then the whole family, seeing my bewilderment, came out of the water and escorted me down the beach. I told them in sign language and very broken Spanish that I had blisters and burned feet, and I hobbled along just at the edge of the water where I was most comfortable.
When we got to RT--which I hadn’t recognized despite its gate and arched sign because its gate was behind the dunes--one of the men gave me his sandals and then ran painfully up the boiling sand dune and down the other side to RT’s thatched bar. I bought him a cold beer in thanks, which he quickly drank before rejoining his family on the beach. His friend was not satisfied with one beer and hung around to down two. I didn’t care. They were my rescuers and I would have bought them half a dozen in thanks. Beers were only about 20 cordoba ($1.00) anyway.
By the time the little family helped me return, it was 12:30 pm. I had been wandering the beach for 3 hours! The blister on my right foot was about the size of a quarter and had burst. The one on the left was still deep and less painful. My chest was deeply sunburned where I had neglected to apply sunscreen.
Dennis got me a pan of water and I sat in the shade, drank a cold beer, and soaked my feet. Then I applied Neosporin, several layers of second skin and bandages, and two pair of socks.
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My blistered feet in their bandages and socks |
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My sunburned chest and arms after my beach ordeal |
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Before dinner pic of me and Tina |
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Dennis, Jess and Tina at the thatched bar and hammock area |
Three backpackers from Denmark arrived. They were 20- and 21-year-old boys who had just graduated from gymnasium and were taking a break. They were going to stay and surf for a few days.
After a bit, Jess and Daniel and I walked down to the pulperia, a small hole-in-the wall convenience store that sold cigs, beer, and a few tiny bags of snacks. We bought a couple of bags of plantain chips, nachos, and a small pack of four Oreos. We walked back, and Jess and Daniel went surfing again. I took a nap and then lazed in the hammocks and talked to the Danes. They were young and hungry so quickly plowed through the snacks.
There was no vote for dinner. I overrode everyone and opted, as the oldest person there, for rice, curried chicken, and cabbage salad. It was delicious, cooked by “Mommie” Tina’s cook.
Beer and bed after dinner. Tomorrow’s our day of kayaking and the party for Jenn’s Peter.
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