Day two: ah the coast.
Today we walked along the road in the opposite direction from Penca. We passed a large castle promising beachfront condos, we passed an old American car, maybe a Bonneville, souped up to look like an emergency/ police car from the 70's. The lights are on, windows tinted and the paint looks like primer white with blue and red stripes. Nice. Super mangey dog lounging beside the rockstar car. We passed a pier and gas stop for the boats next to a beach bar, and arrived at a path into Flamingo Beach. Basically, if we walked the coast line from our swim hole yesterday, we would end up here; but we would have missed all those great asphalt sights and zooming motorbikes, I guess. Genius.
Earlier we picked up a boogey board. Max would not leave the water and played for no less than five hours in the waves. Nate was still somewhat unsure, however, when armed with the board, he was fearless, and caught nearly every wave. It looked like his 40 lb bod just merged with the board, and like a dart, he'd ride all the way up to the beach.
We walked home along the beach once toasted and salted, and I introduced myself to the sailing folk to set up surfing lessons; [hopefully to be continued...].
Up the dirt road we see our first ChickenMan sighting. He drives what looks like a Suzuki Sidekick, but is actually a Geo (I didn't know they made those anymore). Anyway, it's bright red, the driver side door is open with a knee rests outside, and a chicken rides shotgun. I could easily draw him, but it wouldn't best the real thing. ChickenMan: crazy wirey, white hair and bald topped, with clear, big, smart eyes that look up to no good and very kind, at the same time. He sits in the Geo with chickens and roosters when parked and reads. He tears around the dirt roads at top speed when driving. He's awesome. Sharing either his house or neighborhood are an array of kids. The littlest one was riding an adult sized bike on the chicken driveway and road.
Next door is a tall gate with alarm system signs, palm trees, sprinklers for gardens all surrounding a Spanish style three floor home. The neighboring two story has a trampoline out front, a dog that could be Neil Diamond's brother, and a friendly mom who welcomed us over anytime. Here in Costa Rica kids just play, she told us.
Further down is an overgrown plot of land for sale. vines and palms and a short barbed wire divider that weaves through the green. Then we see a house for sale that is covered in vines, a few steps before a large, white, stucco, guarded home. This house is across from ours. I heard its owner scolding (what I thought was) a dog, before my morning run.
No bueno!! He yelled in a Texan accent. NO BUEnoo! Did you DO this?! To my CASa?!! NO BUENO!!!
I opened the gate to sneak out and pity pet the scolded pup, and instead saw the man who cleans our pool and gives me a toothy morning smile, standing across the street, looking unhappy and ego bruised. I haven't forgiven the neighbor for his disgusting temper tantrum, and knowing me, I probably won't. But I do speak poor Spanish every buenos dias with our guard, who always engages and patiently smiles.
Still trying to settle my head, but I think I have worked this out. Bear with me: Where is the middle class? What is the middle class? Why is its ghost town absence detrimental to human kind?
Walk
Low tide
Book boy