The shrill of the insects and the birds awaken me before 6:00 A.M, or perhaps it is the smell of fried onions, potatoes and eggs. Tabra is already awake and preparing breakfast over her portable propane stove. I reheat the remainder of the coffee that Louis had brought yesterday and inhale both coffee and jungle. We have little on our agenda today except reading and writing. This year, for my birthday, Art gave me a mini Acer notebook computer and I spend much of the day writing this journal.
Late morning, we take a short hike down the dirt road behind Tabra's property and cut back up to the main road behind Nuria house. She is Tabra's closest permanent neighbor, an attractive woman in her early 60's, husband deceased, who lives on several hectors of land. Her permanent caretaker lets us through the barbed wire fence at the back of her property, restrains the dogs and allows us to pass through the field and garden and up to her back veranda. Tabra calls out to her, announcing our visit, and several minutes later she emerges in a form fitting ivory decollate neglige, black lace bra peeking through and revealing an ample cleavage. She wears white toeless slippers and her toe nails and nails are French manicured. Her skin is a rich creamy brown and her teeth are perfectly straight and white. I describe her in such detail because her appearance was surprising to me in contrast to the wild of the Turrubares area. The three of us sit on padded patio chairs overlooking her garden, lush with mango trees, blossoming hibiscus and other exotics that I cannot identify. She speaks no English, but Tabra's Spanish is quite good and I try to decipher their conversation. Nuria is involved in the politics of the area, angry about the illegal quarry, active in a recycling program and delighted that a new highway is already under construction that will connect San Jose to Turrubares. She is confident and strong.
The afternoon is rainy and the clouds obscure our mountain view. We gather fallen mangos for lunch and sit by the pool but the constant drizzle chases us indoors. We drive to Alma Tierra for dinner, about 30 minutes away. Alma Tierra is an intimate bed and breakfast Inn, restaurant and yoga center. We made dinner reservations when we arrived in Turrubares two days ago. The inn is owned by an American couple, the woman an acupuncturist who studied at the East West School of Chinese Medicine in Santa Cruz, California. A group of 4 Americans, traveling together, are the only other guests. Wine is offered and I gratefully accept a glass of Chilean Cabernet. Up until tonight, we have dined in simple local restaurants offering only beer. Awkward introductions are made, but there is no chemistry between our two parties. Two tables are set on the outdoor balcony overlooking what I imagine to be a lovely view, swallowed by the darkness. The kitchen offers just one set menu each evening and tonight they are serving cream of fennel soup followed by mango chicken and rice. Dessert is a petite but delicious macaroon.
Tabra drives cautiously back home, careful not to hit the "stones" in the road. There are fewer toads out tonight, and I wonder that there are any surviving at all, since they sit frozen in the road, stunned by the headlights. Once back at the cabin, I walk out to the pool hoping to see one up close. Three large lumps sit at the edge of the pool, seemingly mesmerized by the light, illuminating from the pool. My Costa Rican guide to animals informs me that they are Cane Toads. They are eight to ten inches diagonal from their firmly planted rear ends to the tips of their nose. The are delightfully lumpy, a mottled brown color, with bulbous gold and black eyes. The skin on their throats and belly is pale and silky and they sit motionless, save for the vibration of their throat. They allow me to get very close and I take numerous photos of them before they tire of my bright flashing light and hop off into the darkness. I long to touch one, but restrain myself, remembering somewhere that their skin is toxic and not knowing if my touch might harm them. I am delighted, amused and inspired and may need to add a Toad Charm to my line of jewelry.
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