Lluvia, the word for rain, has been heavy all night. It drowns out other sounds. The veranda (Anita says it is called a tala), but I really wanted a more exotic word, is a cocoon.
There is a guy on the veranda this morning who reminds me exactly of the Ned Beatty character in Silver Streak. He is standing at the table of a young blond couple belly poking them as they try to eat. I can't hear his words--the rain is pounding down now--but I keep waiting for her to pour her coffee into his shorts. No luck, they abandoned their food and fled into the deluge.
Anita says the hotel is full, and there are lots of people here in the evening, but the beach and the restaurants seem sparsely populated. Most of the tourists are young kids with backpacks. There are more Europeans and Latin Americans than North Americans. A real dearth of the blue-hairs. I expected to see clusters of them here during this season.
The economy, everyone says. Nodding heads all around. Those nodding are the ones hurrying to get all the fun in (their money's worth) before their flights home. They are, understandably, frustrated by this rain. They pace up and down the veranda, plaintive voices directed at no one in particular, or anyone who will listen; When will the rain stop? I thought this was the dry season? How long has it been raining? How much does a taxi cost? Don't you think it is expensive here? I thought it would be cheap here?
A dark haired woman of his own age has joined the Beatty man, her hair in a dark blue knitted quaker-type cap. But she is wearing shorts, so maybe it is not a religious artifact after all; maybe it is a middle-aged Caucasian's do-rag.
Young backpackers are running on the road in transparent rain ponchos, laughing and shouting to each other.
I'm going to take a bus to the AA meeting in Quepos later, a concession to the rain. I hate to sit through a meeting soaked to the skin. I promise, though, no matter what, I will walk back to the beach. I am loving the beach more each day.
I saw an absolutely gorgeous naked dark skinned man man at the far end, past the big rocks, yesterday evening. He had his back to the water and was stretching to hang his towel on the rocks. As you would expect, I modestly averted my eyes and immediately hurried away.
The net went down at this point. Was it something I said?
The picture link is not the guy I saw.
2 comments:
I looked up tala. No connection. I do like terraza, which is obvious, but sounds good.
So the link ain't of Tiger Woods "hangin' his towel on a rock". Must be that Ned Beatty guy.
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