Well folks, they dragged me back, grumpy and unshaven. I am now sitting at my desk looking at frost covered pine trees. Here is part 2

Day 5

Walking Playa Samara early, before the sun becomes too strong, I am passed by joggers and a man on an old bicycle. The tide is out and the sand is firm. I pass cabanas and private homes and empty lots. Eventually I come to an upscale resort, with brick paved paths and a nice pool. The cabanas here are clean and white and the A/C hums quietly. It is a postcard picture of the perfect gringo resort. An old man with one arm rakes leaves. I watch him for a few moments. He is quite energetic in his work.

Farther along the beach is a group of men pushing beat up boats into the ocean. They are going fishing. A truck has pulled the boats as close as possible. The men roll the boats on small logs and time their efforts with the waves. Soon the boats are in open water. They have a camp of sorts on the beach, and a young dog chases the vultures that are congregating about their trash.

Later Susan and I go for a drive. We go south, past Playa Carillo, where a long sweep of palm trees line the beach. The road narrows, and soon becomes little more than a two track trail. Eventually our path is blocked by a truck loaded with logs. We decide to turn around. On our way back we help a horse get back to his friends and into its pasture. We stop at a small roadside Soda for a beer and a snack.

The ceviche is excellent. We enjoy the quiet until the proprietor turns on the musica. It is some sort of Latino rap. Then a delivery truck arrives, and idles in front of us as supplies are unloaded. A young boy helps his father. So much for peace and quiet, but we have to smile. This is maybe the best ceviche we have ever had.

Day 6

Samara is a beach town, with few pretensions at the moment of being much else. It is nice to walk the playa, or go into town (which is small and but a few steps away) without being assailed by vendors hawking cheap jewelry or blankets. You are left alone here.

We go for a swim, and the water is warm. In the afternoon we take another drive, this time north, towards Nosara. The road is dirt. There is more traffic this way, and the dust coats the surrounding jungle with a residue of brown. We cross a river and come to a beach with a few cars, a rundown bar, and a store. A family or two play in the surf, and farther out fishing boats at anchor bob on the swells. It is a peaceful scene, and the bar keeps the cervesas mas frio.

Closer to Nosara we take a turn at a sign for a Preserve Ecologico, and end up on the terrace of the Lagarta Lodge. The view is dramatic, with the forest of the Preserve below us and the beach empty but for a few fishermen casting their lines in the surf. On the deck is a table made of mahogany, 4 feet wide and 20 feet long. The waiter takes us to see a room, whitewashed and fresh. We promise someday to return. Outside we see an armadillo scuttle into the brush, and later an anteater crosses the road in front of us.

Change is coming here, as evidenced by the For Sale signs and construction. Most of the realty signs are ReMax or Century 21. We explore another playa, passing luxury condos in the making before arriving at an informal parking area. The waves crash, and for now at least, it is a surfer's heaven. There are seashells everywhere, and a Tica woman shares her's with Susan.

On the way back we stop where some caballeros have roped a steer into a chute. His horns have been tied to a post in such a way that he cannot move. A man explains that he has a bad leg. They are trying to treat it. The bull has killed two men. Though he cannot do a thing, and is quite secure, we are told to be careful. We are. Cuidado amigo, muy malo toro.

Almost back to Samara, Susan spies a monkey. He is sitting in the crotch of a tree. He is small, and to my eyes seems forlorn. The only thing he moves is his head, following Susan as she takes his picture.

Day 7

The days are beginning to blend together. In the evening we take a go at the surf boards. It is too much fun, though my total time actually standing upright on my board can be measured in milliseconds. As the sun sets the light is golden. The water is warm, very warm. It is a perfect moment on the playa. We laugh and we play and we grin at each other like idiots. It is awesome.

Day 8

Time to leave Playa Samara. Our stay has been wonderful. We return to the Pan Am highway and head south. This is the one day we are not booked into any hotel. It is our Random Day. Our plan is to get to the town of Jaco.

Jaco is described in our guidebooks as THE party town on the Pacific coast. The plan is to stop and search for rooms there.

It is Sunday, and the traffic is busy. People are in a hurry. We pass an accident. A new SUV has hit a motorcycle. Motorcycles, mostly the smaller dirt type, are very popular here. In the ditch we see the bike, and next to it a form covered with a white sheet. Just ahead, also in the ditch, is the SUV, its front end crumpled. Susan thinks it may have passed us earlier. There are police and an ambulance, and the traffic backs up for a long distance. It is bad.

The road is paved all the way, and in a few hours we arrive in Jaco.

Yikes! What a freakin' zoo! This place is the worst of Cancun, Cabo, and any other tourist trap resort town combined. Bars and restaurants and hotels are all piled one on top of the other. New construction and garbage is everywhere. The vibe feels bad. The whole place is an assault on our senses.

The town is also full up. After a bit of fruitless searching we pile back into the cars and head south. 5K later we see a hotel down below us, make a U-turn and pull in. They have rooms. We take them. It is heaven.

We drop off our bags and head to the bar. In but a few moments we are up against a beach sipping cervesas as the sun sets. A couple of young surfers are out in the waves making it all look so easy. Later we play in the pool. This place is absolutely fantastic, beautiful, a bit of magic. It is dubbed, forever, the Random Hotel.