Rain

Saturday, February 7 - Sabado

6:06 p.m. 

It has been raining non-stop for 5 days and nights.  Extremely heavy at times with slight pauses, not stopping.  Everything is swollen - the rivers, ground, even my hair.  Ah, my hair, which normally accommodates every type of weather always looking fabulous, is tired, full and frizzy - unrecognizable even to it’s owner.  Rain seeps through the walls in the conference room.  A line of water appears seeping down a support log, forming a puddle at the base.  More water seeps through the opposite wall, wetting the chairs and blankets stored nearby.  Terrace roofs and the walkway coverings begin to leak.  A deep chill accompanies the rain - we are all cold.  The guest rooms do not have glass in the windows, only curtains serve to resist the chill.  The doors gap at the frame, a brillant design for warm and humid weather, designed to allow air flow, allow the chill to enter.  Everything is damp - the bedcovers, passports, clothing, paper, money, even the burlap applesac which serves as the MacBook case.  

The guests are wearing their coats and sweaters, staples in the North.  A requirement for transition from their climate to this one.  Never expected to be worn in the typical Central America climate, now begin to appear on each and everyone of them.  I am envious of their coats and find myself wishing I had listened to my insight upon packing.  The one that told me to pack at least 3 long sleeve shirts, a jacket, a fleece and my old stand by, warm yoga pants.  The instinct I surpassed with reason and knowledge, telling myself ‘It’s Costa Rica, you always bring those items and never wear them, you won’t need them, you are just confused by the cold weather in Florida’.  After all these years, I still allow reason and logic to override instinct on occasion.  Each time, paying the price and relearning the lesson for a period of time.  In the absence of warmer clothing, I make a note to purchase a unitard, warm socks and stow them in my luggage for every trip - even to St. Barth’s.  After several failed attempts at warmth, I resort to my limited sailing knowledge and become creative with my clothing.  I don full underwear, long thin cotton pants tucked into socks, a sport bra, long sleeved thin cotton shirt tucked into the first layer of pants, nylon hiking pants over the first outfit topped with a long polyester bathing suit coverup.  Amazingly all of this matches and I top it off with a cotton camisole as a scarf.  Finally I am warm.    

Everyone is still bright and cheery, although the rain is beginning to take it’s toll.  As the guests board the shuttle, they thank me and attribute the success of the week to me!  Which shocks and astounds me, for I think the success is due to their bright spirits and lack of complaining about something that is beyond our control.  I step back, and realize that although there has been dense cloud cover for a sky since Tuesday and we haven’t seen a ray of sun, there has been the effect of sun emanating from deep within my solar plexus.  I felt bright and sunny and have managed to convey that throughout the week.  Everyone leaves with a smile on their face.  I will miss them, I always miss them - it’s part of my lesson - learning how to give and receive without attachment.  Missing, well, that’s just part of the process.  

At lunch, the chief, Katalina and I warm ourselves over the flat top grill, which is fed by a propane fire.  We place our hands above the grill and rub them back and forth.  I am chillier than they, I warm my face and arms as well.  I even turn my backside to the grill for warmth while I extend my legs underneath the grill.  The heat feels soothing.  I wish for a warm place, but realize there isn’t one in Sarrapiqui.  The houses don’t have heaters, most spaces are open.  The only enclosed spaces are malls at least an hour away.  I spend most of the day in the warmth of my glass enclosed office.  I don’t have any work - we only have two guests arriving.   I gaze off at the dense cloud covered sky and wonder when I will see the sun.  The lagoons are full, the river is wide and rushing, the earth which should be saturated is taking in all of the water and looks as if it could continue for days to soak in the abundant rain.  I miss the sun.  I can’t imagine a season of non-stop rain. I mentally toy with the idea of leaving, fleeing to a warmer climate - if only it was that easy.   As if reading my mind, Aura assures me this will end and it will get warm.  She is amazed that I am so cold.  After all, I’m from the North.         

Alone on my terrace, I watch the day give way to night.   I notice individual clouds moving quickly across the mountain top.  Not many, but enough to indicate that the dense covering serving as a sky may be willing to give way to smaller clouds, allowing ray’s of actual sunshine to filter down.  As I make this realization, the rain begins to slow, the sound of the rain is replaced by the visual evidence of sprinkles on the surface of the lagoon.  The cacophony of the night begins.  Insects, birds, frogs, and other assorted animals making their presence known  Bringing with it the realization that I’ve heard nothing but rain, holler monkeys and the occasional Toucan since Tuesday.   As the cacophony strengthens it renews the sky’s furtive promise of sunshine.   

Sunday, February 8, 2009

1:35 p.m. 

I woke this morning to the sound of American voices.  The rain, which continued throughout the evening, has paused.  As annoying as it is to listen to loud tourists at 7:00 a.m., the fact that I can hear them clearly indicates the rain has paused.  As I prepare for the day, I feel that it is warmer.  The steam from my extended morning shower seems to fog the mirror in the entrance hall as well as the one in the room.  I don one layer - pants and a short sleeved shirt, ventilated hiking shoes sans socks and a three quarter length sleeve sweater.  I add a scarf - just for good measure, in case it’s the shower that has warmed me, not the air.  As I walk to breakfast, it is noticeably warmer.  The scarf must go.  The dense cloud cover remains indicating there is more rain to come.  Apparently the individual clouds from last night were just a tease or perhaps an indication of things to come.  

As the morning progresses, I am shed the sweater, keeping it nearby.   I return to my room for a mid morning break and notice the remnants of Clearwater Beach sand in my hiking shoes.  I sit and stare at the mountain surrounded by green glory, remembering the peace of the beach.  The thought is enough to lift my spirits and renew my faith that it will be warm again - the rain will stop.  It is warmer and the shoes need to be traded for flip flops.  I carefully remove the shoes, look at the sand on my feet and without brushing it off transfer into flip flops.  Taking a physical piece of Clearwater Beach with me through the rain forest.  

The temperature is increasing along with the humidity - the doors are swelling and difficult to close completely.  All of the mirrors are covered with fog from temperature change.  The rain continues off and on with the off periods exceeding the length of the on periods.  The river has receded at least five feet, leaving the debris it has carried on land.