My alarm rings and I reach under my pillow to squash the yell of the rooster cry I have chosen as a ring tone. It's 7am and time for me to get up and dress for my run before it becomes unbearably hot. If I don't jump out of bed right when my alarm crows I will never jump out. It is a thing I know about myself. Choosing the wiser, I jump off my top bunk and grab my running clothes off the end of the bed to change in the bathroom quietly while my roommate sleeps. I brush teeth, splash cold water on my face, pull my hair up, and change my clothes. Stepping out of the bathroom, I am quiet and do my best to keep the morning light out of our bat cave of a room so as not to wake Stacey who is still breathing sleepy breaths. Close bedroom door and walk through the crew mess to the main deck where the exit stairway bobs gently in the early morning tide. Half asleep set mechanical instincts move my limbs this morning as I pull my Smiths down over my eyes and set my iPod to my jogging playlist. I tie my shoes, do a few stretches, and start to jog down the dock. My eyes start to enliven a bit and legs groan in defiance to their early use. Ignoring I run past Mario who waves hello with a pervy smile. Run past the new sailboat that looks like it belongs to Swiss Family Robinson, chocked full of early rising hippies and Captain Ron look-alikes. The marina is swimming with mullet fish, box fish, and beautiful jellyfish batting themselves against the walls like blind patients in a mental ward. I run past the security guard with a nod onto the long dirt road that leads to the marina exit. Tails exit the road in a flurry as iguana after iguana leave their early morning sunshine perch to a location on the edge of the road. Raising mohawked heads to the sunshine, they appear a not very friendly lot, snobily looking aside with tails twitching. I snap a couple photos and run slowly, creating dust and sweat. Every morning this is how it goes down. I run the dusty reptiled road across the city of Quepos avoiding drug offers and too early morning male looks of lecherousness, lower lips sucked and oily eyes marinating in dark desire. Old men sit on rocks looking out at the waves gathering on the shore in the early morning wind. My favorite stray dog sits perched on a rock chewing on a stick with no care for my attentions without treats. I jog past over a small bridge and into a small neighborhood of brightly colored stucco homes. Bags of garbage sag in front of iron gates as I realize ignorantly that it is trash day. This means it is also stray dog day. I dodge fur and plastic to the sounds of "Outkast", bring a bottle of water to my mouth for a gulp and continue on. The morning is hot already and salty sweat streams into my eyes. I am loosened up, my heart rate pumping to the music, my lungs open and asking for air. It is another beautiful day.
We have been here in Quepos now for a couple months and relaxed into our Costa Rican life on Dardanella. The quietness of this small town, the developed relationships with the local businesses, and the ease with which one can enjoy the simple beauties of nature routinely have made it feel like a home and less like a resort or city to try to maneuver a normal life through. The fishing boat next door has travelled near us from Panama City, the crew a couple nice fellas who share the occasional barbecue or surf break. The World Championship Billfish Tournament just ran its course and ended yesterday bringing a festival-like atmosphere with men from all over the world parading out in the early morning for their catches and back at sunset with flags raised as trophies. I was able to finagle Mahi Mahi and Snook catches from some of the boats for which I exchanged cooked dinners for their return. It was a fun way to make friends, get some free fish, and have a hot meal ready for grateful hungry men. I look at this life here, this simple and pure life and I see I can be good at multiple ways of making a living as long as I am happy where I am. I know I will be sad when we leave here.
Today I will pack my beach bag and cooler with snacks and drinks. An ex-pat friend Jonny is picking me up and we are picking up our friend Sheree to head down to the beach. Our spot is a windy, bumpy, seemingly endless rock filled path down the hill to a private, untouched beach near Manuel Antonio Park. We will unpack the Jeep, lay under palm trees, listen to music, surf all day in the turquoise wash of waves. At dusk we will pack up the jeep and head back up the hill to watch sunset from Emilio's while a local jazz artist sings in the background. It is a $10 day and a priceless one at that. I know I say it all the time…but truth is truth…I am one lucky girl.
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