I’ve recently arrived home from a short road trip.
In Costa Rica, it’s best to be prepared for the unexpected. On the second leg of my journey; the first being a trip to Parrita, I found myself spending the night, at a favorite haunt. An old style Tico palapa, right on the beach. It’s a gathering place for turtle lovers. We share meals there and swap stories.
The other guests that evening were a group of Austrailian youth. They were adventure students, of the organization, World Challenge. They were not chatty kids. Not with us anyway. However, they did come to life when, in an instant, the earth jumped and shook for a long, five seconds. They made comments about calling home. (Not a good idea.)
Earlier, I had walked on the beach and encountered this Ridley in labor. Gnats swarmed her face. I tried to be undisturbing – but I was disturbed. It didn’t look right, but what do I know. “I don’t know nothing ’bout birthing turtles.”
No one was around, so I continued on my walk. Returning, I saw tracks, leading to the ocean. She made it!
I was tired from my day, which made it easier to find sleep, in my concrete, box room. My bed, was made of crude planks, nailed together. You feel the wood through the thin mattress. A rusted, oscillating fan, hung from the ceiling. It droned, and moved the otherwise stagnant air.
In the night, I had gone to the communal bathroom, and had not long returned to my room and secured the flimsy lock, when something on the other side of the door began to howl and moan. It sounded like a strangled, human voice, pitching as loud as it could. I heard an equally distressed, mimicking sound, in the distance. OMG. I was not going to open the door. I was so grateful to be in my room and not trapped on the toilet, vulnerable and alone.
The following morning, I awoke to the sound of crashing waves. I could tell they were big.
I grabbed my camera and ran out side to do eyeball assessment.
As I perched on driftwood, I saw to my left, a dog digging up the freshly laid eggs.It was sad.Broken turtle eggs, vultures and dogs, blanket the beach.There’s no red carpet for these Ridley’s.
After a surf sesh…a good breakfast and many hugs, we headed north ~ to our home, that is our reality, away from reality.
As we traversed the difficult country backroads, washed out from the raining season, I thought of Dorothy.
There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.
As much as I love adventure, I treasure my casita. Upon opening the crooked door, of my little house, my coffee pot and jar of peanut butter were illuminating.
There’s no place like home.
*This all took place at the infamous beach, that in September, was mobbed by tourists, wanting to witness the “arribbadas” or arrival – of the turtles.