Flying through the days, it suddenly felt that my trip was almost over. I woke up one morning in the gulf coast town of Montezuma and walked downtown for breakfast. Paradise was met with a feast from heaven at the local health food restaurant. I eat two breakfasts because I felt like I might skip lunch. Fresh yogurt and tropical fruit topped with homemade granola, and a tofu scramble with vegetables and extra garlic. The mosquitoes don't like Italian blood like mine -- too much garlic in the system. At least I hoped that was true. At dinner that night, with five new friends created out of the friendly atmosphere of this idyllic waterfront town joining me, the discussion landed on bugs for a minute or two. This of course meant hitting the topic of mosquito bites. Each person took a turn to recall the strange effects from the pills they had taken in order to avoid awful incurable plagues like malaria. Evidently the area I was traveling in had several cases. Oops. Forgot to go get my shots before the trip. But I would never take the malaria pills. Why suffer absurd nightmares and anxiety just to avoid the fractional chance of acquiring it? Don't answer that.



Earlier that day, after eating my scrumptious breakfast, I hiked up to the waterfall north of town. Supposedly an easy hike, I strapped on my tivas (pronounced "tehvas" not "teevahs" in case anyone cares), and carried my camera up the trail. I tend to make off-based assumptions, especially concerning directions to a place I have never been before. This was proven the case again as I interpreted the directions given to me by two people just returning down from the falls in an incorrect manner. Instead of going "just to the right of the first falls and then the trail will be just below you", I scaled a sheer jungle cliff. Grabbing onto vines and the stalks of plants to maintain from falling fifty feet to a muddy and painful conclusion, I made it to the top of what I thought was the right way to go. Sweating profusely, mud all over my hands and knees, my sandals indistinguishable from pure black tar, I look down and see people merrily skipping down a perfectly cleared single track trail just twenty yards to my starboard. Oh well, it made jumping in the crystal clear pools underneath the seventy-foot waterfall all the more refreshing. In fact, sitting on the banks facing the waterfall, the temperature was a full fifteen degrees Fahrenheit cooler than anywhere else for ten miles. It was like a natural, gigantic mist machine, and it sprayed coolness into the atmosphere to the delight of those who hiked up the to relax by the continuous drone of water recycling itself. Nosara was next on the docket. Pacific facing, and therefore exposed to swells that produce surf that produce crowds that produce surf shops that produce surf tourism that produce jobs and litter.

ER Harris