A few updates:
If you have no experience in Central America, it turns out our mystery animal from the previous blog is indeed only a howler monkey, and they sound much more intimidating than they actually are. Had we kept going a bit longer on the trail, the worst thing that would have happened is a possible groping of a testosterone-filled monkey or some poop droppings from the trees above. That’s their weapon, and honestly, I think it’s a more effective tactic than straight on physical attack.
Bible study with my sisters (and now mother!) has been going really well. As in, it’s actually happening, regularly. We’re praying for each other and talking about faith issues together. I’m struggling to go beyond that, though. I know I need to start acting on my faith, but I am consistently held back. After yoga class, we walked along with Eleanor, our yoga instructor, and she said she moved from Canada to Costa Rica for emotional healing, mainly from the pains of relationships and previous men in her life. As it was happening, I felt the tug – she needs Jesus. She’s like the Samaritan woman at the well. Talk about Jesus. Pray for her. I could envision my friend doing it. “You need healing?” he would eagerly ask. “Here, let me give it to you.” And then he would pray for her and talk as long as necessary about this good new life, and there would be a big celebration in heaven. I saw the opportunity coming, and already I knew I would not act on it. Why? Am I really that afraid? I don’t think so. It’s more a matter of boldness and confidence. I want someone to lead me. I want to heal alongside others more confident and experienced than myself. I know it happens, I’m tired of not being a part of it, and yet I do not act.
The new favorite summer drink for the Comptons is a homemade mojito. The first day we were here, we stopped for lunch at a beach front restaurant, where Mama ordered one. That minty hankering hadn’t quite left her when we took a very expensive trip to the grocery store. At the checkout line, she raised her pointer finger and exclaimed, “Oh! Mojitos!” With the very little Spanish she knows, she talked to the locals to figure out what ingredients we might need, and proceeded to race around the store for mint, lime, club soda, and rum. We get home. We have the ingredients, but do the Comptons strike you as expert drink makers who spend a lot of time at home mixing up concoctions? No, all Hoffa wants is a cold beer and a colder glass. His Spanish consists of “Hola!,” but I think mojito might be a Spanish word. Using a lot of hand gestures and repeating “mojito” incessantly, he invited our jovial taxi driver Louis to come inside to make and drink mojitos with us. Louis speaks little more English than Hoffa does Spanish. He came, though, and half an hour later, we’ve got three Hispanic workers – a taxi driver, a plumber, and a delivery man – and five of the six Comptons sipping on mojitos.
We’re here for a while, so the padres are trying to spread out our activities, but we have one down. Despite our ability to do it anytime on Shem Creek in good ol’ Mt. Pleasant, Mama was really interested in paddle boarding here. When we started talking to the locals about this idea, they all responded in the same persistent way: “Oh, no, we don’t go to river. Many crocodiles. Eat our dogs. Eat us.” Well that scared Mama off for all of twelve hours. “Let’s just go to the Experience Nosara place and talk to them ourselves. Surely they wouldn’t get all of these high reviews on TripAdvisor if tourists were dying on the river.” Well that’s encouraging, Ma. What do you expect them to say? Like any good tour business eager for customers during the low season, they assured us that it was completely safe. The next morning, Eight-pack Alan (as I secretly called him) came to pick us up. He is the most ripped thirty two year old I have ever seen. He also has a cougar. When Hoffa told me that, I asked dubiously, “What? You have a cougar for a pet?!” No, Jessica, his wife. She’s eight years older than him. Dang. You go for it Alan. At any rate, our day on the river really was enjoyable, and though we did see a few crocodiles, they did not bother us. Mama was satisfied, and the rest of us enjoyed the excursion.
My favorite exercise is the kind that isn’t intentional exercise. Yesterday, after the intentional run in the morning, I also ended up playing in the ocean for two hours, walking five miles, and doing an hour of yoga. We weren’t walking just to walk, but to actually get somewhere; I love that. I take back what I said about winning a walking contest. It turns out Mama and Rosa Marie can put the spring in their step when they want to. I was the one falling behind on the way to and from the free community yoga class at Harmony Hotel on Playa de Guionnes. It gets dark around 6 pm here, and they walked even faster on our return, a little alarmed by the dark. Are you surprised that we still got confused about how to get back?
Stay tuned. I am working on a pretty funny post. It involves boobs and hugs, so get ready.