Costa Rica (Part III)

I woke to the sound of howler monkeys and construction trucks. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains. What time was it? Our flight had touched down at 3:00 pm yesterday, but between tardy luggage and a highway with more single lane bridges and potholes than asphalt, we hadn't made it to the hotel until after sunset. We'd had every intention of sleeping in. 8:45 am. Well, so much for sleeping in.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. Andrea and I each ordered the howler monkey breakfast, perhaps out of a sense of retribution against the simians that tried to wake us shortly after sunrise, or perhaps because it was one of the few all-meat breakfasts on the menu. It tasted surprisingly similar to a plate of bacon and eggs, and served as a lovely sidedish to the three mugs of coffee that made up the lion's share of my meal.

We meandered our way down to the pool after breakfast, just in time to grab a deck chair and watch the groundskeeper take care of some pesky coconuts. I gratefully accepted the fruits of their labours with a polite 'gracias'. I sat down in the chair next to Andrea, and took a long pull of fresh coconut milk. Delectable. I popped the top of my flask with my thumb and dropped in a healthy dollop of Irish whiskey. Perfect.

From the pool side at Costa Verde, we could see into infinity. The Pacific sparkled beneath layers of rainforest, separated by the thinnest sliver of golden sand. Andrea and I smiled at one another. It was a million dollar view, but we both prayed that it would never cost that much.

You couldn't escape the heat, even in the shade. I'd already slathered on as much sunscreen as I could stand, a vain effort to preserve my all-too-flammable skin. The humidity wasn't enough to soak your clothe as you left the room, but it was close. Day or night, the heat was always there.

I reached into my bag and fished around for a Costa Rican cigar, a Torpedo that I'd had mailed to Canada along with 49 of his closest friends, just so I could have a cigar as soon as I arrived. I severed the end with a gentle press on the clippers, and gently drew life into it.

No matter how moist you keep a humidor, you can't beat the natural humidity of the tropics. It'd been bone dry when we landed, but less than 24 hours later it was as supple as the day it was rolled. And, I might add, it made a perfect pairing to my whiskey coconut.

Alas, all good things must came to an end, and thus it went for the bountiful blend of Ireland's finest and the freshest nectar the rainforest had to offer. I eased myself out of my deck chair, and gently rose to my feet. Standing up too fast is a rookie mistake as far as a veteran cigar-smoker is concerned, and one that has dire concequences. Ah, I noted happily, it appears that the pool bar is open.

I was halfway through my Best Spanish Phrase ("Uno cerveza, por favor!") when I was interrupted by the bartender.

"I know you..." he said with a smile, as he reached out his hand.

"Ivan?" I replied with amazement.

We shared a hearty handshake. Somewhere, near the back of my head, I heard the first few bars of "It's a Small World After All".