Pura Vida Magic

It’s difficult to capture in words and even in pictures the sense of this place. The photos miss the heat, the warmth and moisture of the air, the aromas and sounds. So many of the experiences have this fantasy – or even psychedelic – aura to them.

Like on a few evenings, we’ll find a tree full of fireflies. You can just stare at them twinkling on and off. Sometimes they emit a lime green glow, other times, they’re colored in an orange tint.

Like walking through a meadow, kicking up a bunch of butterflies with every step. I can’t even try to imagine what it would look like if the butterflies in the entire field launched all at once!

Like pulling the car over under a shade tree, only to find a troop of howler monkeys relaxing in its branches. In this group, there were two tiny young ones and six adults. They accepted us pretty well as long as we were still. They made some noises, more grunts than anything else. But when we moved around a bit, they started up the distinctive hyuh hyuh hyuh defensive roar.

Even the beach has a special magic. Here at Playa Grande, the sand is extremely fine and spiral shells about 2 inches long are everywhere. Each wave rolls shells like tiny logs toward the surf as it retreats. The primitive line drawings made by little sand crustaceans like pill bugs are undisturbed and reach an artistic and complex design before the high tide eventually washes the beach clean. These creatures are in no hurry like California sand crabs. They just casually burrow when you pick them up instead of a panicked shoveling. I saw at least 3 varieties of crabs at the beach today. My favorites are the red crabs with purple feet that scrabble along.

Just outside our ‘Lighthouse’ wild parrots hang out in a tree and chatter at us. Their green feathers are well colored for camouflage in the tree and they are hard to pick out.

Iguanas and other large lizards are all around. Yesterday, we disturbed one about 18 inches (nose to tail) as we walked along the gravel road. He rounded a tree and disappeared into its burnt trunk.

Much of the writing about Costa Rica is filled with statistics – x number of species, more such and such than anywhere else. We’re not inclined to catalog what we see, but to just enjoy it. Pura Vida! Pure Life!