Sunday, January 17, 2010 -- LOCKED IN THE LOO, BEACHED, AND BURNED

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?

The security man, who sat up all night guarding the area

Some of Tina and Denis's rescued street dogs; they get fed regularly and petted and loved here

One of the rescued street dogs; this one always eats lying down

After a Nica breakfast of rice and beans, eggs, papaya, and coffee, we lazed in hammocks, read, wrote postcards, snoozed, and I wrote in this journal. The rest of the crew were feeling a bit under the weather after their late night and drinking.

Jess and Cat relaxing

About 9:30, I decided to walk down to the point where the ocean enters the estero (see map right,  just above the word Jicquililo) because Tina had told me that different shells collected there. I slathered on the sunscreen, forgetting my chest, left my sandals at the gate to the beach, and ran across the soft, dry sand to the cool, wet, hard sand of the beach at low tide. I was in my bathing suit and a pair of nylon shorts. I walked along the surf line, beachcombing and wading into the ocean to get wet when I got too hot. I traveled, head down, picking up olives and cowries, bits of stone with holes in them, and some pretty pink shells. I ran into Victorio (I think that was his name) an Italian who had come to Rancho Tranquilo for a drink or two the night before. We talked and he pointed out the group of trees behind which was his house, a birder’s paradise, he said. I told him that I would stop in on my way back from the point.

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.

My blistered feet in their bandages and socks

My sunburned chest and arms after my beach ordeal

Before dinner pic of me and Tina

Dennis, Jess and Tina at the thatched bar and hammock area

None of us was very hungry, so we opted for a salad lunch—veggie salad and fruit salad. Very tasty. After lunch, I donned my shoes and decided to take a short photo journey down the dirt road before the Rancho. Was I crazy or what??? I got no more than 500 yards in the broiling midday sun and choking dust blown up by motorcyclists, vehicles, and cattle. Then I turned around and returned to RT. Jess was out surfing, so I walked down the beach to get a shot of her, but got nothing special. Finally I settled into a hammock.

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.