Sarah had a plan. We would meet Jenny halfway for a passport exchange. I thought this sounded complicated, but Jenny worked out that she could get an Uber to Guapiles for $65, a three-hour round trip for her and a five-hour round trip for us. It also meant we didn’t need to drive into San Jose. What was the alternative – for Jenny to spend the day in the consulate trying to get an emergency passport?
It wasn’t the best night’s sleep in the Dream House. I hadn’t realised when we’d arrived, but the roof was half made up of transparent corrugated plastic panels. This meant you could see the silhouettes of the trees in the moonlight – charming, but also a bit unnerving. Sarah was bothered by sunburn while I became convinced something had got in to bite me under the mosquito nets. It was probably nothing except a touch of prickly heat.
We set off on our drive at 7 am. Luckily, this was a Sunday morning, so there was light traffic and few trucks. We reached Guapiles at 9.30 am and met up with Jenny quite easily. Her Uber driver had been uber-helpful, pleased to assist in an emergency. The passport was exchanged; yes, we had remembered to take it with us. It was another chance to say goodbye to Jenny all over again. Crisis over!
Sarah and I headed back along the now-familiar set of roadworks along the Ruta 32, skirting Limon, then onto the Ruta 36 coastal road past all the banana plantations. That was our unexpected journey completed. Now, around 12.30 pm, we were back again.
We took the opportunity to stop at Puerto Viejo, which, even more than Cahuita, was supposed to embody the new commercialism of the Costa Rican Caribbean.
It was certainly a bustling place with plenty of tourists, but it also had a lot of charm. The gift shops weren’t tacky; some were quite smart (and expensive). There was an art gallery too, with some of the same artists we’d seen in Cahuita, which got Sarah itching to purchase once more.
The Caribbean vibe: laid-back, sleepy and slow, had gone up a notch even from Cahuita. However, we were there at midday, and it was very hot.
We thought about finding somewhere to eat, but either the food was right (empanadas, for instance), but the place looked wrong, or the place looked great, but the food was wrong (only pizzas for sale). The places that had both good food and ambience were all packed.
In the end, we just wandered around and absorbed the scenery.
For lunch, we drove down the road to a supermarket, bought some supplies, and returned to our dream house.
We discovered that the house had an extra benefit: a guardian who would sleep under the hammock unless something approached the house (like another dog) when he would run off barking.
After a bit of a siesta, sleeping in the hammock above the dog, we wandered to the beach. It was 50m on forest trails, then along a rubber tyre path for another 50m to the sea. There were a few bamboo seats for Congo Bongo residents, though nothing to stop anyone else from using them if they’d got this far along the beach.
It was a lovely setting. On the right was Manzanillo village; on the left, nothing but the jungle-shored beach. There was even a wreck of an old steamer painted with lively graffiti. It was so well sited that it could easily have been one of Congo Bongo’s artistic, refuse-recycling installations.
We had a bit of a swim in the lovely warm water. It was calm and perfect for bobbing up and down.
We walked along the beach, away from Manzanillo. Sarah’s favourite pastime is wading through the surf on her bare feet. What a setting for it.
There was nothing except driftwood and sand. The palm trees leant over the beach, creating that perfect Caribbean view.
We stayed out until sunset, watching the pelicans fishing, gorging themselves while they could.
The last of the light was particularly beautiful. Even though we were facing the wrong way to see the sunset, the fading sun lit up the clouds, creating the perfect end to the day.
Going back through the forest was dark and eerie, needing a phone torch to see the way. Our light set off the fireflies, which blinked on and off in our path. This was another first: neither of us had ever seen fireflies before.
Back at the house, we settled in with some beers and then some wine. Sarah cooked a lovely dinner with rice and fish, with courgette and aubergine. Sometimes, the no-fuss, delicate flavours of home cooking can be much nicer than restaurant food.
Sadly, it was not such an idyllic end to the day for Jenny. She was supposed to fly home this evening, but San Jose was fog-bound. Iberia Airlines couldn’t get their plane in: it was stuck, diverted to Panama. That was closer to us than it was to her. The flight was cancelled. She was arranged airport hotel accommodation for the night.
As I was off to bed, someone sneaked onto my place on the sofa. Shameless!
