"This is paradise", I thought aloud, as I snapped yet another photo of Costa Rica's coastline at sunrise. Smiling, I clicked and scrolled, admiring the morning's shots on my camera, blissfully unaware of my surroundings, when...
SMACK.
Stunned, disheveled, and suddenly horizontal, my body took the necessary milliseconds to alert my brain of its discomfort.
OW, I yelled at the slippery rocks surrounding me, as if they alone were responsible for my painful and unexpected downfall. Any reverence for their beauty I had previously held was now destroyed as the rocks displayed their indifference: unaware, unapologetic, unchanged.
I lay there for a minute, letting my body ache and my lips pout, before looking around for any signs of external damage. A thin layer of fresh blood was spreading unassumingly a few inches below my knee... 1, 2, 3 seconds before it began its descent down my dirt-smeared shin.
Sigh. All right, all right, I'm getting up. Note to self: "lazy, hippie surfing" towns lose their charm fast when you're bleeding at 7:40 AM on a Saturday and only one roadside tienda is open.
"Bandage."
"Necessito a bandage."
(What the fuck is bandage in Spanish anyway?)
A hurried skim through my English/Spanish dictionary proved useless, leaving me alternating between the use of broken Spanish and panicked gestures - a pathetic but endearing sight for the man behind the counter. He understood, and began moving his lips rapidly as he searched for una curita - I could only imagine the possible meanings of his persistent, inquiring foreign words:
What had happened? Where had it happened? Was I okay? What else did I need?
Questions to which I could provide nothing but a weak smile and the occasional "no hablo espanol" or "gracias". Helplessly lost in (the lack of) translation. Silent to the ears that wanted nothing more than to ease my discomfort.
At last, relief came in the form of a small but effective curita and wet towel, for which the man kindly refused any reimbursement. 20 graciases and 10 minutes later, I was on my way, searching for the most mundane of breakfast spots to balance out the morning's events.
I didn’t get very far, however, before noticing a flashy, enticing sign fit for the prototypical pleasure-seeking tourist such as myself:
"Horseback Rides to a Waterfall: Only $35USD!!"
Not only had they somehow managed to avoid the erroneous English spelling or grammar that I was accustomed to seeing on signs around the country, the price was unbeatable! Um, yes please. This wouldn't be the first time on the trip that I was spending more than my daily cash allotment before breakfast.
Paradise, indeed.
